“I’m sorry I had to ruin the pelt,” offered the Inuit coolly.
“An experienced hunter can take Tornarsuk out with a single shot to the head, thus insuring that the skin will be free from bullet holes.”
While yanking out his commando knife, the Inuit added, “Ever have a fresh polar bear steak. Lieutenant?
Though it might taste a bit strong to you at first, you’ll soon enough get used to it. I guarantee you, our dogs are certainly going to be in for a feast this evening. Why tomorrow they’ll be strong enough to pull the sled all the way to Lancaster Sound and back without even stopping to catch their breaths!”
Ootah’s search for the fiery comet he’d seen falling from the sky on the day of his father’s death took him far up the coastline. With Akatingwah and their son riding on the sled that Ootah had originally built for Nakusiak, they began this pilgrimage.
Fortunately, they still had walrus meat left over from his last kill, so they could travel without the time-consuming chore of stopping to hunt.
Arnuk, his lead dog, seemed to sense the importance of this journey, and led the pack onward with untiring effort. Still not certain what, if anything, they’d find at the end of this trek, Ootah chose their course by dead reckoning. Perpetually etched in his mind’s eye was the fiery exploding wheel he had watched soar through the dawn sky, and the resonant, earsplitting boom that had shaken even the pack ice beneath him. Thus, he needed no white man’s compass to lead them onward.
The fractured ice made their progress slow, and whenever Ootah’s doubts clouded this mission’s purpose, he had only to touch the bone amulet that hung from his neck. Carved by the hands of Anoteelik, his grandfather, this sacred charm inspired Ootah to push on. For how could he ever forget the horrifying nightmare he had shared with Nakusiak?
During this dream, his mother had journeyed from the land of the dead to warn of the great evil that would soon be upon them. Surely this vision was a presentiment of things to come, for Nakusiak’s body was still warm in his grave when the very sign he had warned of filled the dawn sky with a fiery brilliance.
The tales of the grandfathers told of this very same event. And if the time of prophecy was indeed upon them, it was now up to Ootah to appease the great evil that had fallen from the sky and been subsequently released in the frozen land of the people. This responsibility was a great one, and Ootah did not take it lightly. For to fail meant utter calamity, as the land would be cleansed with fire and the people would be no more.
Try as he could, Ootah had valiantly tried to keep his thoughts pure ones. But he was only a man, and as such was subject to the weaknesses that each and every member of his species shared.
Consigning himself to do his best, Ootah relentlessly pushed his team further up the coastline. A vicious wind began blowing in from the north, and when a line of black clouds began gathering on the horizon, he knew that a storm would soon be upon them. A moment of indecision followed, in which Ootah was caught between halting and immediately building a snow house or continuing on to reach his mysterious goal. As the fates would have it, it was Arnuk’s incessant barking that convinced Ootah to push the sled onto the ridge of the next ice hummock.
With the storm continuing to develop on his left, he looked out onto a massive snow-covered plateau located at the very edge of the frozen sea.
Scattered throughout this plain were thousands of bits of fire-charred debris. And at that moment, Ootah knew that his pilgrimage was over.
Their first priority was to build a snow house
Ootah, Akatingwah and their son joined in to help with the construction of this domed structure in which they would ride out the rapidly advancing storm. Ootah planned to begin his exploration of the debris field that surrounded them as soon as the igloo was completed. Yet no sooner was the last rectangular block in place than the blizzard was upon them.
Rushing outside, Ootah began to work on a windbreak for his dogs. The snow was falling thickly by this time, and as he hurried to complete building this protective barrier, it was Arnuk’s mad yelping that convinced him to temporarily abandon his efforts and see what was upsetting his lead huskie so.
Ootah loosened Arnuk’s tether and the dog went dashing out onto the plain. The snow was falling so heavily that Ootah lost sight of the huskie in a matter of seconds. Yet knowing full well that Arnuk would not run away like this on a mere whim, Ootah reluctantly trudged out into the gathering drifts to see where the dog had run.
The howling gusts penetrated even his double262 thick caribou fur parka, and Ootah was set to abandon his quest when Arnuk came bounding through the snow. After briefly nuzzling his master’s legs, Arnuk once again turned away from the campsite.
Yet this time the huskie proceeded at such a pace that Ootah could readily follow him.
After climbing up a jagged ice-filled ridge, the Inuit was in the process of questioning his dogs’ sanity when the alien flash of a blinking light suddenly caught his attention. Emanating from the opposite base of the ridge he had just scaled, this flickering light had an intense reddish glow to it, and easily cut through the falling snowflakes. Arnuk could be seen furiously pawing into the adjoining drift, and Ootah decided that this mysterious object certainly deserved a closer look.
Paying little attention to the bone-chilling winds, the Inuit slid down the ridge and approached the blindingly bright light that continued flashing in short staccato blasts. With Arnuk’s help, Ootah merely had to kneel down and lift the now-uncovered object out of the drift it had been buried in.
It was shaped like a small box, and considering its size was surprisingly heavy. Its four sides were painted jet black. The flashing red light was mounted firmly on its lid. A warm glow emanated from its interior, and could be felt even through Ootah’s thick fur mittens. Anxious to see what it contained, the Inuit decided to carry it back to the igloo to share this amazing discovery with Akatingwah.
The trip back proved a bit more difficult. The snowdrifts were rapidly forming, and the bitter winds were gusting with such velocity that it was a chore just to remain standing. With Arnuk leading the way, Ootah lowered his head and plowed for263 ward, his newly found treasure locked firmly in a tight grasp.
With great relief he crawled back into the snowhouse. Arnuk was not about to be denied, and followed him inside. Before Akatingwah could shoo the dog away, her attention was drawn to the strange object her husband had placed beside the igloo’s flickering soapstone lamp. The intense flashing red light hurt her eyes at first, and as she shielded her gaze from its blindingly bright radiance, she spoke out in protest.
“What in the world is that thing, Ootah? Get it out of here this instant before it blinds all of us!”
Their young son Arno was instantly infatuated with his father’s find, and sprinted over to its side.
Yet much to the youngster’s dismay, his mother pulled him away and carried him off to the sleeping rack, where she proceeded to tuck him beneath the furs.
Only when she was certain that her son was properly protected did Akatingwah again turn her wrath on Ootah.
“Did you hear me, husband? I said get that infernal thing out of here this instant!”
A wondrous gleam filled Ootah’s eyes as he looked down at his find, and he replied, “Why in heaven’s name should I do that, Akatingwah? Don’t you see, this is the object of my quest!”
“Nonsense,” returned his mate.
“Whatever it is, it’s a creation of the devil, and must be disposed of immediately before it brings heartache to us all.”
To prove his wife wrong, Ootah crawled up to his discovery and gently stroked its smooth black sides.
“This is no demonic creation, Akatingwah. It’s a sign from the Great Spirit, the one my father warned of before he began his final journey. Come wife, touch it yourself and feel how it pulsates with a warmth that needs no flame in order for it to glow.”
“That’s the fire of hell that burns inside of it,” warned Akatingwah.
Ootah calmly shook his head.
“I beg to differ with you, dear wife. For what you see before you is the heart of the comet, sent to us from the Great Spirit to warn of the time of prophecy. We must treat this heavenly messenger well, and burn offerings to it, for the fate of the people is in its divine hands.”
“You’re beginning to sound more like Powhuktuk the shaman,” offered Akatingwah disgustedly.
Ootah held up the bone amulet that hung from a piece of sinew string around his neck.
“Perhaps the spirit of the shaman has possessed me, dear wife.
This amulet that my father transferred to me on his death bed was carved by the hand of his own father.
Anoteelik was a great shaman of the people; no miracle was too great for him. It is said that once my grandfather took off to capture Tornarsuk armed only with his sacred rattle, and seven days after leaving his snow house he returned with the body of the dead demon, who had taken the form of a huge polar bear. Upon further examination, it was found that the bear hadn’t suffered a single flesh wound.
Now what do you suppose it was that took the beast down?”
As Akatingwah shook her head that she didn’t know, Ootah continued.
“I’ll tell you what it was, dear wife. It was the power of the Great Spirit acting through its earthly vassal that was responsible for slaying the beast. And now I too have a direct channel to this all powerful source, because of this amulet I wear!”
Akatingwah seemed upset by this revelation, and, while shielding her eyes from the flashing beacon, worriedly sat down on the edge of the sleeping plat265 form.
“Surely this does not sound like my husband.
What ever happened to Ootah the hunter?”
His eyes still locked on the blinking red strobe, while thoughtfully fondling the bone amulet, Ootah passionately answered.
“The pursuer of game has become the hunter of souls, and at long last I now know my destiny!”
Hardly believing what she was hearing, Akatingwah vainly pleaded, “Please, dear husband, take this infernal object that you dragged in from the snow and drop it into the depths of the frozen sea.
Listen to the pleas of my heart, and know that it will only bring tragedy!”
Deaf to her words, Ootah directed his supplications solely toward the incessantly flashing light.
“Welcome, Great Spirit, to the humble home of this neophyte shaman. You have been called here to fulfill the prophecy of the grandfathers. The time of trial is upon us, and to insure a favorable judgment, the people’s vision must be spotlessly clean. For already the red demon approaches, and it will be our petitions alone that will send this beast back to the cold depths from which it struggles to emerge!”
Akatingwah could only look on in horror as her husband’s eyes rolled up into his head and Ootah slipped into the deepest of trances. Fighting the urge to grab the alien blinking object herself and then dispose of it, she consoled herself by reaching out for her son. Hugging her beloved offspring close to her full breasts, the Inuit closed her eyes and prayed for the evil spell to pass. While in the distance, the mad shrieking howl of the wind signaled that the brunt of the blizzard was now upon them.
“Captain Markova, we have just reached the coordinates relayed to us by the cosmonauts on the Red Flag. Will we be surfacing now?”
The Neva’s commanding officer had been seated at the wardroom table with several of his crew when this news was personally delivered by the which man
After putting down the tea he had been sipping, Sergei anxiously responded.
“Why of course. Comrade Ustreka. Please let the senior lieutenant know I’ll personally join him in the attack center to supervise this ascent.”
“I’ll do so at once, sir,” snapped the Michman as he smartly pivoted to convey this message.
As Sergei Markova pushed back his chair and stood, the white-haired figure at the head of the table did likewise.
“I hope you don’t mind if I join you. Captain?”
queried Mikhail Kharkov.
“This is a historic moment, and I’d like the honor of witnessing it firsthand.”
“I don’t mind at all,” replied Sergei.
“Surfacing in the ice is always an adventure, and I’m certain that you won’t be bored.”
“So I remember,” reflected the Admiral of the Fleet, who addressed his next remark to the individual still seated at the table.
“Well, Comrade Zampolit, aren’t you interested in joining us? I’m sure that piece of cake will be waiting for you once we’re on the surface.”
Having been totally absorbed in the tasty poppy-seed cake the steward had just served him, Konstantin Zinyagin looked up and blushed. With his mouth still full, he awkwardly stood and began brushing the crumbs from his clipped mustache and beard.
Mikhail Kharkov shook his head in disgust and followed the captain out of the wardroom, the still-chewing Political Officer close on his heels. They were halfway down the passageway when the Neva banked violently over onto its side. The force of this unexpected turn was so great that both Sergei and his distinguished guest were forced to reach out for the handrail to keep from falling. Behind them, the Zampolit’s reactions were a bit slower, and the Political Officer went sprawling to the deck, where he landed squarely on his backside.
Not bothering to give Zinyagin the least bit of attention, the admiral quickly said, “What in the hell was that all about. Captain?”
Sergei held back his answer until the Neva’s deck was stable once more.
“I guess such tactics hadn’t been perfected when you took the first Victor up to the ice. Admiral. Such a turn is standard procedure when looking for a polynya in which to surface.
Most likely we just passed beneath such an opening, and the senior lieutenant ordered this abrupt course change so that we wouldn’t miss it.”
By the time they began to make their way down the passageway once again, the Zampolit had picked himself up. While rubbing his bruised rear end, the pained Political Officer did his best to continue on also.
Once in the attack center, they joined the Neva’s senior lieutenant as he stood beside the periscope well.
“What have you got. Comrade Belenko?” questioned Sergei.
The senior lieutenant was quick to answer.
“We just passed beneath what looks to be a fairly good-sized lead. Captain. The ice was thick to this point, and I thought it best if we didn’t pass this polynya up knowing our present coordinates and all.”
“You decided correctly, comrade,” returned the captain.
“We’ve got thin ice above us,” observed the seaman responsible for monitoring the surface-scanning Fathometer.
“All stop!” barked Sergei.
“Bring us up to thirty meters.”
The loud whirring growl of the ballast pumps activating filled the hushed compartment. This was followed by the sound of water flowing back into the tanks as the diving officer attempted to control the rate of ascent of the now-lightened vessel, “Secure flooding. Thirty meters. Captain,” said the diving officer.
“Up scope,” ordered Markova.
There was a loud hiss and the hydraulically controlled periscope lifted up from its well. Sergei pulled down the hinged grips and peered through the rubberized viewing coupling.
Behind the captain, Mikhail Kharkov softly addressed the Neva’s second in command.
“What in the world does he hope to see down here? We’re still a good ten meters away from periscope depth.”
“That we are. Admiral,” offered Viktor.
“But you’d be surprised what these new lenses can pick up while still submerged. Actually, all the captain is trying to do is locate any inverted ice ridges that the Fathometer may have missed.”
“Looks good from this angle,” observed Sergei as he backed away from the lens.
“Down scope. Bring us up to twenty meters. Comrade diving officer. But do it gently, my friend, just as
you’d caress your lover.”
This remark was intended to help break the strained atmosphere inside the compartment as the ballast pumps once again whirred alive.
“Twenty-five meters,” noted the diving officer.
“We’ve still got thin ice above,” added the Fatho meter operator.
“Twenty meters and still rising,” said the diving officer a bit tensely. Then, “We seem to have hit a strong current of colder water and I can’t hold her!”
This revelation was followed by the distraught cries of the seaman assigned to the Fathometer.
“Heavy ice. Captain! We’re drifting out of the polynya!”
“Flood emergency!” commanded the captain.
To a blast of highly pressurized air the ballast tanks opened to the sea. Yet this order was given a fraction of a second too late, and the Neva smashed into the ice pack above with a deafening, bone-jarring concussion. Once again the Zampolit found himself thrown to the deck, yet this time he was not alone; several of his shipmates joined him along with an assortment of loose gear.
As the lights blinked off then on again, the frantic diving officer could be heard screaming, “Blow negative to the mark!”
The tons of seawater that the Neva had just taken on in its vain attempt to keep from striking the ice were vented, but not in time to keep the vessel from spiraling down into the black depths.
“One-hundred and fifty meters and still falling,” observed the sweating diving officer.
At a depth of two hundred meters the Neva’s welded steel hull began groaning as the ship approached its crush threshold. At two hundred and fifty meters this sickening, rending sound intensified prompting the ship’s Zampolit to cry out in panic.
“Can’t you do anything to save us. Captain?”
Knowing full well that it was out of his hands, Sergei Markova briefly caught the resolute stare of his white-haired passenger. Mikhail Kharkov appeared cool as ice as he turned toward the whimpering Political Officer and disgustedly spat out.
“Shut up. Comrade Zinyagin!”
Under the Ice Page 24
