Cold Welcome

by Elizabeth Moon

  “Thanks. I should have thought of that.”

  When she was free, she and Kurin moved away from the entrance. At first Ky couldn’t unclench her hands from the line she held, and watched Cosper and McLenard struggling with Marek and the raft’s erratic movements. Finally they pulled Marek in, along with enough water to more than refill the puddle in the raft’s center. “Close it up,” she said; one of the men yanked on the zipper string of the canopy hatch and it closed; the relief from wind-blown spray made it seem warm. Ky struggled with her hands, blowing on them, and finally pried them off the line. She looked at Marek—his suit had a long gash on the sleeve nearest her, and another on the leg. He must have caught it on something as he fell out of the module hatch. Water ran out of his suit.

  “Keep that pump going,” Kurin said. “We need to get this place as dry as possible.” Ky saw her point to one of the others—Corporal Lakhani, her implant informed her.

  Marek lay, eyes closed, his head up on Sergeant Cosper’s knees as the sergeant wrestled the rescue ring off him. Across the raft Corporal Lakhani vomited again, and immediately two more gasped and did the same. Ky ignored the stench, struggling to make her stiff fingers work. “We need to get Marek out of that.” Staff Sergeant Kurin took over, unfastening the clasps down Marek’s chest. Underneath, his uniform was soaked; Ky laid a hand on his chest; his heart thudded against her hand.

  “We should strip him down and dry him,” Cosper said. He pulled the tab on Marek’s uniform, and laid his fingers against Marek’s neck as if he knew what he was doing. “Got a pulse. Regular enough.”

  “Sir, we found these blankets—” Specialist Gurton handed Ky two, blue on one side, green on the other. “Directions say the blue side goes on a wet person.”

  “Good,” Ky said. “Thank you; that should help.” Kurin and Cosper stripped off Marek’s wet clothes and wrapped him in the blankets.

  Now that all the survivors were aboard one of the rafts, Ky leaned back against the sidewall and tried to think what to do next, but her mind moved as sluggishly as her cold fingers. It had happened so fast: they had been dry, warm, in comfortable seats, expecting to land. And now they were being thrown around by mountainous waves, in cold that sapped strength and energy. In the dim light, the faces of most of the others looked dazed, confused, frightened.

  Although sheltered from the direct blast of the wind, spray, and rain, she felt every movement of the raft under her as it rose and fell with the waves passing under it, jerking a little side-to-side as its tether to the other raft, and its own sea anchors, shifted the two rafts’ positions. The wind howled; rain hammered the canopy, and occasionally the raft smacked loudly onto a wave.

  Through the canopy windows, smeared with water, she saw blurred glimpses of waves and sky, sky and waves. What can you do right now to make things better? Her father’s voice, in memory. What was the order her father had taught her in case of capsizing at sea? Raft—they’d accomplished that. Seal the canopy—they’d done that. Stop, take stock, think. She was doing that. Except she hadn’t gotten past stop.

  Take stock: she knew they had no communications devices or transponders, but what did they have, besides the life rings, lines, and blankets they’d found so far? You can’t use it if you don’t know you’ve got it, her father had said. Which in his boat had meant every child knowing everything in the life raft and where it was stored.

  Ky raised her voice over the noise of the storm. “We need to inventory our supplies,” she said. Cosper, Kurin, and Yamini looked up at once. “We found the pump and the survival blankets, and I know you didn’t find any nav gear or comunits—what else do we have?”

  “There’s the standard survival manual,” Kurin said. “It’s right—here.” She pulled it from its pocket. “It’s got a list of supplies; there’s a stylus for checking them off.”

  “Good,” Ky said. “Does it have a diagram with locations, too?”

  “Yes, sir. Starting dextral from its own pocket. R-1 to R-4 contain ration packs, then R-5 to R-10 contain drinking water.” Kurin turned, opened the next pocket, and reported. “One unbroken pack, twenty individual rations, correct.” The next two pockets also held rations. In a few minutes, as Kurin directed the others which pockets to examine, they had located all their supplies: food enough for twenty for thirty days, potable water for five days, a hand-pumped desalinator to convert seawater to potable water, eight more survival blankets, fishing lines and hooks, eight plastic paddles, and more items than Ky remembered from her father’s equipment.

  “We’re in good shape, then, Staff Sergeant.”

  “Aside from not having any way to tell where we are or contact those who should be looking for us,” Sergeant Cosper said. “Someone should be court-martialed for that.”

  “I’m sure they will be,” Ky said, “assuming we can survive to complain, and the guilty party can be found. In the meantime, we’re alive, the rafts are floating, and we have air, water, and food.”

  “It’s not enough!” Corporal Lakhani said. “What if they never find us? Or not before the food runs out? We could starve—or freeze—”

  “That’s enough, Corporal,” Kurin said. “The admiral’s right: for now, we’re in good shape, considering what happened. Keep pumping until the water’s gone.”

  “Do all of you know one another already?” Ky asked.

  “No, sir,” Kurin said. “Corporal Inyatta and I served together on Myseni Reef, so I know her by sight, but we weren’t in the same assignments.” Others were shaking their heads as well.

  “Time for more than handshakes and names, then,” Ky said. “You know my name; I spent most of my childhood on Corleigh. Did some sailing with my father and brothers, including a few overnights, and practiced in a life raft a lot smaller than this one.” She glanced at Marek, who seemed to be dozing; his color was better, but she didn’t disturb him. “What about you, Staff Sergeant?”

  “Jana Kurin, from Seelindi, the second largest island in the Mandan Reef chain. My family has a big farm; we grow rice and vegetables, about fifty hectares in fruit trees. We export produce out of Mandan Home over to the mainland. But like all the island kids, I learned to sail, paddle a cane raft, fish. My other uncle is a fisher, and so are my cousins.” Kurin sounded calm and confident now, and Ky was sure she’d be an asset.

  “I’m from Arland,” Sergeant Cosper said. “Hautvidor, very modern city, where everyone has a good work ethic. The mountains make us healthy, that and a healthy lifestyle. Everyone spends time outdoors, year-round. If we want to survive, we must all commit to a rigorous exercise program, starting today. I have training as a physical fitness instructor, as well as a secondary tag as first responder.”

  Arland, Ky knew, had been one of the original nation-states, and a major factor in the war Grace Vatta fought. Cosper was tall, clearly very fit, and as clearly proud of it. Though he had been polite so far, his glances at her made it clear he thought of her as a small woman in need of toughening up.

  One by one, the others offered bits of personal history—background that might be useful in this situation, or lack of it; what their military specialties had been. Sergeant McLenard, one of the stewards in the aft cabin, had spent the past seven years assigned to shuttle duty. Married, with three children, he had no deep-space or combat experience. Corporal Lakhani quit pumping long enough to say his father ran a hardware store in a small town three hundred kilometers from Port Major. Corporal Yamini confirmed Ky’s guess that he was related somehow to Commander Yamini (“He’s my second cousin”) who had served with Ky in the recent war.

  All of them seemed alert now, listening to one another—better than the initial blankness. Master Sergeant Marek pulled himself up to sitting before all the others had finished.

  “I’m from the west coast of Arland, Sogrun,” he said. “Twenty-five years in, communications specialist. Just in from duty on one of the big satellites.”

  “Glad you’re feeling better, Master Sergeant,” Ky said.r />
  “I’m fine now. Don’t worry—I’m not that old.”

  She hadn’t meant to imply he had been hypothermic because he was old. “Your suit had rips in both arm and leg. We can’t fully repair it, but we did find rolls of repair tape that should hold for a while.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” he said. “I think—” He was interrupted by someone yelling from outside.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SLOTTER KEY

  DAY 1

  Ky slithered over to the canopy opening, unfastened it, and looked out; cold rain stung her face. Her aide was staring out a narrow opening in the other raft’s canopy. “Admiral! What am I supposed to do? I don’t know any of these people and—and I don’t have the right training for this! They’re just—just sitting there, staring at me and there’s water in the bottom of the raft, and—”

  “You’ve got some good people there, Commander Bentik. Tech Lundin—is she caring for the injured?” Best to be formal when a Cascadian was upset. Jen did not look any less upset.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said again, her voice rising to a wail. Behind her, Ky caught a glimpse of another face, looking worried. With Bentik acting and sounding terrified, no wonder.

  “Maybe I can calm things,” Marek said from behind her. “Would you like me to switch to that raft and help her out? She is a stranger to Slotter Key, after all.”

  Ky managed not to snap I know that at him; it was a good idea if he could manage it, but she didn’t want to risk his falling into the water again. “Thank you, Master Sergeant, that’s a good idea. Get someone to tape up your suit, and we’ll hook in a safety line for you.” To her aide she said, “I’ll send you Master Sergeant Marek; he’s been through the training and will help you out. I still think it’s important to have an officer in each raft.”

  “Of course it is,” Jen said, scowling now. “It would be even better if I were in their chain of command. Tell me when he’s coming over and I’ll open the canopy for him.” She jerked it closed before Ky could answer. Ky sighed and looked around. Marek was taping up the rip in the arm, and Kurin was taping the one in the leg. In a few minutes, as Marek wrung out his wet uniform and put it back on, wincing at the damp chill, Kurin finished taping all the gashes. Marek kept one of the blankets, folding it around him as he worked his way into the survival suit and fastened it. Then he scooted over to the hatch and unfastened it. Ky clipped him in to the safety line she’d left attached to the outer cleat, and he called across to the other raft.

  “Commander Bentik—I’m ready to board now.”

  The other hatch opened, this time with Staff Sergeant Vispersen’s face visible. Vispersen reached out; he and Marek clasped arms and Marek slid from raft to raft with only one foot hitting the water as another wave passed beneath them. Marek turned around and looked at Ky as he unclipped the safety line and tossed it back to her. “Don’t worry, Admiral; I can handle the situation over here. Call if you need me.” He gave her a brief, tight smile then fastened the canopy hatch again; Ky did the same on her side.

  Everyone in her raft was watching her now. Kurin put the mending tape back in its case, sealed the case, and put it away.

  “Orders, sir?” Kurin said.

  “For now,” Ky said, “all we have to do is keep the rafts afloat.” Tentative grins from some; others—Kurin, Cosper, McLenard, Yamini, Inyatta—nodded, clearly focused on what she was saying. “Let’s finish the introductions while it’s still light enough to see faces. Then Staff Sergeant Kurin and I will set up a schedule for meals, raft maintenance and hygiene, and a regular on–off watch rotation. I’m sure Master Sergeant Marek and Commander Bentik will do the same in the other raft.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tech Betange spoke next, in a monotone, looking down. “Space drive technician. I’m—my parents were killed—I’m going home to arrange something for my brothers and sisters. I’m the oldest. I—I need to be there!” He looked up for a moment. “If I—if we die, they’ll have nobody.”

  “We will survive,” Ky said. “You will get back to them. We just have to be smart and careful.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “We’re breathing air and not water, we have supplies, and nobody’s shooting at us. To me, that says survival is possible. I intend all of us to make it home.”

  He relaxed a little, sagging back against the side of the raft.

  “Specialist Gurton?”

  Gurton looked older than most of them, a broad-faced woman with a slightly crooked smile. “Twelve years, started in shuttle maintenance but switched to food service. If you can find us a stove, Admiral, I’ll cook anything we can eat.”

  “Fish?”

  “Yes, sir. But I do need a stove.”

  “When we get to land,” Ky said. “Specialist Kamat?”

  Kamat had green eyes, startling against her dark face. “Six years in, Admiral, space drive maintenance, rated for every class of deep-space ship Spaceforce has. I have an engineering degree from Arland University, too. Family’s been in some tech field for several generations, so it comes naturally, but they’re nearly all civilians. My aunties kept saying, What’s a pretty girl like you doing going into the military?”

  “I had an aunt like that,” Ky said. “But she didn’t call me pretty. I have a cousin who is the family beauty.”

  “My family does that,” Corporal Inyatta said. She had seemed quiet, almost withdrawn, but now looked interested. “Everyone’s got a role: the smart one, the quick one, the athletic one. We’re farmers; we grow rice, vegetables, fruit trees, and we have chickens and pigs. By the time I was seven, they’d decided my gift was with chickens. I didn’t want to spend my life with chickens.”

  Private Ennisay was the last to speak. Just out of recruit training, only eighteen years old, he was the youngest and least experienced, but the most eager to talk. And talk. Finally, as he was extending his family tree in all directions, Ky broke in.

  “Save some stories for later, Private. We’ve got a long way to go and there will be time.” She looked over at Kurin. “Staff Sergeant, issue a ration pack and water to everyone. If you’re hungry, eat a few bites now. Then—did the first-aid kit have seasick patches or pills?”

  “I’ll check,” Yamini said.

  “Fit people with a good mental attitude do not become seasick,” Sergeant Cosper said. He was sitting as bolt-upright as anyone could in a raft in high seas.

  “If Medical agreed with you, they wouldn’t issue meds to prevent it,” Ky said. His attitude was not going to help.

  “Here they are, sir,” Yamini said, holding up a packet. “Twelve patches in this one, and there are more packets.”

  “Everyone who hasn’t had a patch since we undocked, apply one now,” Ky said. “Whether you think you need it or not—what if we get worse weather?”

  Cosper opened his mouth, but shut it again and applied a patch when the packet came around to him.

  In another hour, by her implant, her raft’s occupants were all looking more comfortable, and each had a day’s ration of food and water in hand or tucked in one of the side pockets. Kurin had set up a rotation for pumping out the puddle, and the raft was as dry as it could be in the circumstances. All the gear had been either returned to the storage pockets or lashed down safely. Ky wished they had a way to communicate with the other raft that didn’t require opening the canopy hatches and letting in more spray and rain, but with both Lundin the medical tech and Master Sergeant Marek over there, they should do as well as her raft was.

  “Do you know where we are?” Tech Betange asked.

  “Generally, yes. But not an exact location. I’d need to be able to tag a satellite for that, and my skullphone’s as dead as anyone else’s. I had a message on it during descent, but it cut off suddenly.”

  “Message from Spaceforce?”

  “No, from my flagship. When they saw a severe course deviation, they launched a shuttle to come to our aid. But since they probably lost the signal as we w
ent into the cloud cover and neared the surface, they wouldn’t have had eyes on us when we landed.”

  He nodded, eyes downcast.

  “But knowing Captain Pordre—my flag captain—he won’t quit.” She looked around at the others. They were all watching her. “Spaceforce will be looking for us. Space Defense Force—my flagship—will be looking for us. But we’ll improve the odds by getting ourselves to land, feeding ourselves from the sea, making shelter. We won’t be lounging around like drunken sailors on holiday until they find us.” A few grinned; most did not.

  “But there’s nothing nearby but Miksland and it’s nothing but rock and ice,” Ennisay said. “It’s a—”

  “Terraforming failure. I know. That’s what I was taught in school. Barren and worthless. On the other hand, it’s not as barren as deep space. Land has advantages over ocean.”

  Someone laughed. “The raft can’t sink?”

  “Among other things.” Ky realized she could not see faces clearly now; it was getting dark already. “Staff Sergeant, it’s been a long day already. You had me first on the watch-list, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. My implant has it ten ticks to the hour. Start then?”

  “Right.” Ky waited until her implant hit the mark then formally took on the watch. The others settled down to rest as best they could.

  Twelve minutes into her watch, she heard a roar from outside. Her first panicked thought was a ship bearing down on them, but then the squall hit, the wind shoving the two rafts into a sickening whirl. It was almost night-dark inside the canopy; Ky could not see the others, or hear them for the noise outside. Rain and spray both pounded on the canopy, a tattoo almost as loud as the wind. Someone let out a yelp.

  Then she heard Kurin yelling: “Lie beside the sidewall—beside! Hold it down!”

  Ky twisted, stretching herself along the sidewall as best she could. The raft tilted on a steeper wave, and her legs slid downslope. At the bottom of the trough, it tilted up again, pushing her back against the sidewall. The raft pinwheeled when it came into the wind again; she wondered how the other raft fared, but it would have been stupid to open the canopy hatch and look.