Icequake

by Crawford Kilian

  *

  With the temperature in the tunnels close to -40°C, the huts were far colder than usual. Everyone at that night’s seminar was warmly dressed, and a few even wrapped themselves in blankets. But Hugh had ordered full rations for supper, and no one seemed unhappy.

  Al and Penny reported on their trip to Outer Willy and the possibility of repairing the Hercules. When they had finished, Hugh asked for comments.

  “We’ve got to go,” Steve said at once. “As soon as possible.”

  “Easier said than done,” Will remarked. “It’d take the Otter at least two trips to ferry everyone there; probably four or five if we took some supplies and our scientific data. I don’t think the weather would co-operate that long.”

  “Anyway, we don’t have enough gas now for four or five trips,” Al said. “Almost all the JP4 is gone, except for three or four drums and what’s left in the plane. What we could do is take the mechanics back to Outer Willy, fix the Herc and fly it here to pick up everybody else. But that would take two, three weeks, maybe more — assuming the Herc will fly at all. And Shacktown wouldn’t be a very comfortable place to wait.”

  “That’s an understatement,” said Colin Smith. “The next blizzard will fill the tunnels with drift, and maybe even bring down more of the roof. We’d be better off in igloos on the surface.”

  Hugh leaned over and spoke quietly with Don Treadwell for a few seconds. Then he said: “We have another choice. One group flies to Outer Willy to fix the Hercules. The other traverses the Shelf.”

  “That’s goddamned dangerous,” Gordon said. Hugh nodded.

  “It’s three hundred kilometres by air, and a good deal more on the surface, I’m sure of that. But our vehicles are intact, and Don tells me we ought to be able to carry enough food to keep everyone on normal polar rations for three weeks.”

  “That’s assumin’ that we don’t have to rely on whatever they got at Outer Willy,” Don added. “If we have to winter over there, and they don’t have much food, then we all go on short rations again.”

  “Does my idea meet with your approval?” Hugh asked. “All in favour — ” Everyone’s hand went up. “Any opposed? None. Very good. I suggest that the mechanics and the women — and the Russians — all fly. The rest of us will do the traverse.”

  Arguments broke out at once over who should fly and who should traverse. Hugh refused to fly, but Katerina overruled him. When he gave in on that, she pressed her advantage and announced that she would be more useful with the traverse party. Jeanne and Suzy didn’t want to be separated from their men, and some of the mechanics argued that they would be more useful servicing the vehicles they knew than trying to help Al with the Hercules. Penny, somehow dreading relegation to the Outer Willy kitchen more than the hazards of the Shelf, insisted on being in the traverse party.

  Hugh irritably put an end to the bickering. “I am abiding by the tsarina’s ukase,” he growled, “but I must insist on deciding who’s to fly and who’s to walk. And I’ll be grateful if you would all go along and spare us any more fuss.” He jotted down some names and read them off: “The Otter party will consist of Al, Kyril, Ivan and Yevgeni; Jeanne and Suzy; Reg and Simon; and myself. The rest of you will be on the traverse, with Carter in charge. Colin, what’s the weather like?”

  “Wind’s picking up from Grid North. I think we’re in for another blizzard tomorrow.”

  “Right. I’d like the Otter refuelled and flown out of here at once. Take the bare minimum of baggage, but you’d better carry along some food and medicine as well. We don’t want to be total sponges on the Americans,” he added drily. “Any tools or spare parts that you think you’ll need should go along as well.” He stared around the room. “Well, don’t just gawp at me — get along!”

  It took just over an hour to prepare for the flight. At 1945 hours, the Otter took off in the light of the haloed moon. Steve, Carter, Gordon and three or four others went into the ruins of the hangar, which was still smouldering, and salvaged some big tarpaulins that had been stowed on the roof of the machine shop. They dragged the tarps outside, pounded the folds out of them and stretched them over the gap in the roof. The tarps would not survive a serious storm; if the wind didn’t rip them loose, snow would bear them down into the tunnel. But in the meantime the tunnels and huts could warm up a bit, and salvaging supplies for the traverse would be easier.

  Under the tarpaulins Tunnel D was dark and stank of burning. The men groped cautiously over the icy duckboards until they reached the undamaged part of the tunnel. Carter touched Steve and Gordon: “We ought to talk a minute. Hugh’s office will do.”

  “Sure,” Steve said.

  “The rest of you lads go have a beer,” Carter said; the men, scarcely seeming to have heard him, plodded on down to Tunnel A without a word.

  In Hugh’s office Carter dropped into his accustomed seat; Steve and Gordon took two other chairs, leaving Hugh’s empty. “Pretty busy day,” Carter grunted. “Tomorrow will be worse. Look, don’t do a damn thing more tonight. But tomorrow morning I’d like you two to start organising the evacuation. Steve, that means sorting out all the scientific material — computer tapes, whatever — and deciding what to take.”

  “What about instrumentation?” Steve asked. “We could do some work on the traverse.”

  “Sure, as long as it’s simple, light stuff. Gord — you have a tougher job, in a way. Get your technicians together and figure out every possible thing that could go wrong with those bloody vehicles. Then decide what you’d need to fix it once you’re out on the Shelf.”

  “How much time you giving us?” Gordon asked.

  “Two days. Maybe more, if Colin’s blizzard is a long one, but don’t count on it.”

  “Okay. Listen, we’ll have to build some wanigans that’ll fit on the sledges. Otherwise we’ll never be able to shelter everybody.”

  Carter nodded wearily. “Of course, very good. Take whatever steps you need to build them. And I’ll look after the nontechnical support — just Terry and Don now, I guess. Let’s meet tomorrow afternoon — just after lunch, say — and compare notes. With luck, we’ll be ready to go by the evening of the 5th.”

  *

  Steve and Gordon went straight to their cubicles, too tired even to walk straight. When Steve opened his door, he saw Tim sprawled face-down on the bottom bunk, asleep in his soot-blackened clothes. Steve sat down and tugged vaguely at his bootlaces for a minute before waking enough to do the job properly. He got out of his anorak and found himself shivering. The big electric baseboard heater was turned up to maximum, but the cubicle was almost freezing. At least the upper bunk would be a bit warmer. He found a spare blanket and put it over Tim, then heaved himself into the upper bunk.

  “What time?” Tim mumbled.

  “Almost 2100. Go back to sleep.” Steve zipped himself into his bag and leaned out to turn off the light.

  “Why don’t you go see Penny?” Tim asked.

  “The idea occurred to me. But I’m just too goddamned tired.”

  “Well, you better do something t’morrow, man.” Tim’s voice was a thick monotone. “Sure don’ wanna cross the ice with you mopin’ around lookin’ sorry for yourself.”

  *

  Too restless to sleep, Penny went for a walk to the greenhouse. The lights burned as brightly as ever, but it was uncomfortably cold; many of the plants had already died. She picked some seed pods from the sweet peas and tucked them into her shirt pocket. A little scandalised at herself for her sentimentality, she decided to go back to bed.

  The bunk was cold, and stayed cold. She wondered what it would be like out on the Shelf, sleeping in the Nodwell or one of the wanigans, with the wind crashing against the walls; and she felt a touch of the midnight horrors as she imagined them all freezing in some endless blizzard. They might write letters home, like Scott, but no one would come to seek those last documents.

  *

  Everyone was up early the next morning, and Penny and Terry worked f
rantically to get them all fed. Then the others dispersed and the mess hall was chilly and silent.

  “Right, forget the dishes,” Terry said. “We got to start sorting through the shelves and see what goes and what stays.”

  It was hard work, lugging out crates of food from the stores room and into a corner of the mess hall. Terry and Carter argued about what would be needed, with Terry usually getting his way. Even so, the amount of food they would take did not seem very large.

  “Carter and his fussing about ‘acceptable loads’,” Terry growled. “Worries about fuel for the damn tractors and forgets fuel for the damn people. Well, as long as everyone gets plenty of carbohydrates and protein, we’ll manage. Right now — let’s lay on some lunch.”

  It was a cheerful meal, with conversations sputtering at every table and men moving about to see how other groups were doing. When Herm Northrop came in, Penny handed him a bowl of clam chowder and three big sandwiches.

  “When do you shut down?” she asked.

  “Last thing. We’re only running at 5 per cent capacity now.” He smiled a little uncertainly. “I’m not sure I’m sad or relieved to be leaving the core here.”

  “It’ll be safe till spring, won’t it?”

  “Oh, no doubt. Still — it’s a little like leaving a sleeping baby alone in the house.”

  There was no seminar that night. A tense quiet filled the station, broken by the occasional snarl of a power saw or the scuffling footsteps of men hauling loads up to the newly repaired ramp. The wind picked up, and by midnight the tunnels were full of blowing snow. The tarpaulins banged and flapped. Carter went out to the men working on the vehicles, and ordered them inside.

  The wanigans — and two extra sledges — were finished by noon on the 5th. After lunch the sledges were loaded and covered with tarps. The wanigans, little more than A-frame plywood boxes lined with fibreglass insulation, were equipped with stoves and battery-powered lamps. After looking inside one, Penny was guiltily relieved to be assigned to a proper bunk in the back of the Nodwell.

  Most people took a nap that afternoon, but Steve and Tim spent the time analysing the last of the seismographic data, and Colin made weather observations from the dome. The wind had died down again, but an overcast had turned the moon to a white blur; there would be snow by morning, but not enough to force a delay.

  Supper was quiet. As people finished, they drifted out by ones and twos to check for forgotten items, or to haul last duffel bags and instrument cases out to the vehicles.

  All of Penny’s gear was already aboard the Nodwell; she went back to her cubicle to dress, and went out for a last walk in the tunnels. The duckboards were already drifted ankle-deep in snow that rose like fine mud in a disturbed pond as she walked through it. After a minute or two she realised that the tunnels and the huts were empty. The symphonic roar of the vehicles echoed against the high walls, but that was the only sign of life. She turned at the end of Tunnel D and began walking towards the ramp and the outside.

  The lights went out without warning. She gasped and stumbled, then caught her balance. The darkness seemed total, and the noise from outside disorientated her, made her feel she was in a far narrower space. Groping, she took a few steps, then a few more. — What if they leave me?

  A light flashed on in the darkness ahead of her, and she heard men’s voices.

  “Hello?” she called.

  The light swung round and dazzled her.

  “Aha,” said Herm Northrop. “Sneaking in after curfew, eh?”

  “What on earth are you doing down here?” Carter asked. “I thought everyone was outside by now.”

  Their dark figures, much like the shadow fantasies she had just imagined, came close. Carter patted her shoulder, and guided her towards the little circle of light that Herm’s flash made on the drifted floor. They followed it out into the cold.

  Chapter 13 – Traverse

  The air stank of diesel fumes, burned wood and scorched metal. Penny was glad to get into the rear of the Nodwell. It was rather like a trailer, with a sink, a chemical toilet and several canvas bunks rolled up against the walls. Apart from a narrow, divided windscreen in the driver’s cab, the only window was a small porthole set in the rear door. No one seemed interested in looking outside; the five people in the passenger compartment were trying to shout to each other over the noise of the engines. Katerina was sitting on one of the bunks and made room for Penny. Herm, Don Treadwell and Ray Crandall sat amiably crowded on the bunk opposite; Sean McNally, their driver, was up in the cab.

  The vehicles’ noise changed pitch, and the Nodwell lurched slowly forward. The convoy was heading Grid North-East, towards the scree slope where Will and Tim had descended to the Shelf. The two snowmobiles went first, ridden by Gordon and Roger. Next went Sno-Cat 1, with Will driving. Its wanigan, riding on a sledge, carried Steve, Carter and Ben. Tim drove Sno-Cat 2; his passengers were Terry, Max and Colin. The D8 was Howie’s, with Gerry and Bruce as passengers. Tom Vernon drove the D4 with only George Hills as a regular passenger; Gordon and Roger would use the D4 wanigan for sleeping and foul-weather shelter. The Nodwell came last.

  No one in the Nodwell said anything about leaving the station; conversations centred on the weather and the likely condition of the surface once they got down on to the Shelf. Penny found herself feeling a little depressed about it, and guessed the others were, too.

  Compared to the Sno-Cats, Penny found the Nodwell relatively smooth-riding, but slow and noisy. There was frost on the walls and floor, though at head level it was warm. To heat the whole cabin above freezing was impossible: it would mean risking wet feet every time someone came in from outside, and the snow that would inevitably blow inside would melt and soak into everything. Every time the tractor went over a bump, there was a grating noise from the roof of the cabin, where a portable crevasse bridge was lashed down.

  Before long, Sean invited Penny and Don to join him in the cab. Through the double-glazed windscreen, they watched the running lights of the other vehicles. The Nodwell’s headlights glared on glittering wind-crust, upon which even the D8’s treads had left little mark. “Good sign,” Sean said. “It’s no fun bogging down in something as big as this beast.”

  The tractor moved at little better than walking speed, and the rest of the convoy gradually pulled ahead. Occasionally, as they heaved over the crest of a ridge, they could glimpse lights ahead; otherwise they might have been utterly alone. Apart from occasional sastrugi and the convoy’s faint tracks, there wasn’t much to see.

  It took almost another hour to reach the edge of the island, where the rest of the convoy had halted. It was just past midnight. Carter Benson came in through the rear door and gratefully accepted a cup of hot tea.

  “We’ve already sent people down the hill to look for soft spots,” he said, speaking mostly to Sean. “We’re lucky — the slope faces the wind, and it’s packed down like cement. Howie’s taking the D8 down first. He should be able to push through the patch of pressure ice at the bottom. Then we’ll let the sledges down. The rest of the vehicles will follow. You’ll be last.”

  “Think it’ll hold us?” Sean asked.

  “Yes, but it’ll probably be the most exciting part of the whole traverse.”

  They worked for the next few hours in a glowing ice fog formed by the vehicles’ exhaust. The D8 made it down without incident; the first sledge, however, bogged down and had to be hauled most of the way to the Shelf. The rest of the sledges were winched down by the D8.

  It was past 0600 the next morning, July 6, before the entire convoy stood on the Shelf. Penny found herself stuck yet again with kitchen duty, though only for the Nodwell crew. Sean, Don and Herm went outside to refuel and to make sure everything was secured on the sledges.

  “My God, it’s cold out there!” Don gasped when they got back inside. His short black beard was heavily frosted, and his dark face was grey. “The wind is picking up, too.”

  All three of them unrolled their can
vas bunks and wrestled themselves into sleeping bags.

  “Aren’t we pulling out soon?” Penny asked.

  “Not until eleven,” Herm said. “Carter says everyone should get some sleep.”

  “Easier said than done,” Sean shivered, “when your balls are frozen solid.”

  “Well, can’t you even start the engine and warm this place up?” Penny asked plaintively.

  “Uh-uh. Carter says we gotta save fuel. And it’s not so cold that the engine might seize up.”

  “Hell.” Cold was already seeping through the fibreglass in the walls. The primus stove gave a little light and less heat — which was lost in any case, since Katerina insisted on turning it off to prevent carbon monoxide build-up.

  Penny thought she would be unable to sleep, but suddenly woke to find the engine roaring again and the Nodwell swaying as it began to move. — Now, she thought, the journey’s really begun.

  Gordon and Roger roved ahead of the convoy, looking for the easiest route. Their snowmobiles were fairly new Bombardiers, with semi-enclosed saddles, good radios and powerful headlights. Even so, they found it hard going; a wind was rising from Grid South, chilling them, and the headlights weren’t much use against the drift. At least they had good radio contact with the convoy, and it was reassuring to eavesdrop on the vehicle drivers’ chatter.

  Their course had been roughly Grid South-East since leaving the scree slope, and Laputa’s cliffs were now only a distant greyness off to the right. The horizon was a dim band of greens and pinks, against which another ice island stood out in black profile. The Shelf was smoother than Gordon had expected, with only occasional hills and hollows, and the wind-crust was firm.

  It was nearly noon, and they were about to stop for lunch when they suddenly came upon a pressure ridge looming out of the drift. Gordon stopped, swore and picked up his microphone. A hundred metres to his left, Roger’s headlight showed that he had also halted.