Cold Welcome

by Elizabeth Moon

  “Rarely, there. Deer, mostly. But here—depends how hungry they are, I imagine.”

  With eyeshades in place, they went back out. Ky soon spotted the herd they’d seen before, grazing along the margin of the runway.

  “Someone had to bring them,” Inyatta said. “Whoever terraformed the place. I never studied Origin biology, but my guess is they’re from Old Earth. And if someone put grazers here, they’d have put their natural predator or some equivalent here as well.”

  “They’d have to be from the time people first got into space,” Marek said. “Whatever was left on the home planet by then. I mean, we’re told it was in bad shape, many species already gone.”

  Suddenly all the animals jerked up their heads and stared—not at the humans, but in a different direction. They moved, not in a panic, but in a group. Ky looked where they had looked. Something moved, just visible behind the nearest rise. “What’s that?”

  “I have no—”

  A tall shape rose into view, turning toward them. Another followed, and another.

  “That’s not anything I ever saw in a picture of Old Earth animals,” Inyatta said. “Unless they had shaggy elephants. And elephants were gone by the first colonizations. Besides not fitting on spaceships.”

  Ky watched as the animals trudged nearer. Much bigger than any animal she’d seen, like pictures of elephants, only covered with long coarse hair. Ears like ragged flaps of thick woolly blanket, dramatic tusks gleaming in the sun, long noses hanging down in front. Despite their size, they moved with surprising grace. The leader stopped. That long nose—trunk, she remembered, was the name for it—lifted, pointing at them.

  “They’re downwind of us; they’re getting our scent,” Inyatta said as the rest lifted their trunks.

  “We’ll go back now,” Ky said. She wished they had real weapons. Her pistol would be no use against something that size.

  In the next hour, all the animals wandered away, the deer-things in one direction and the hairy elephants in another. Ky turned her attention to the other buildings, assigning a group to examine each. The two that looked like hangars had huge sliding doors chained together, the chains locked with a simple padlock for which they had no key. “Bolt cutters would work,” Sergeant Chok said. “If we had any.” The doors did have small windows, one each; they brushed off the snow and looked into the dim empty space of the first building, hoping to see barrels of fuel for the generator, even aircraft. “Something in the back corners, maybe, but until we get the doors open I can’t tell what it might be,” Chok said. The next had some machines inside, but they couldn’t tell, in the dimness, what they were.

  That left the building beside the tower. Only a small part of it showed; it ran straight into the rise behind it. They had already tried the Rector’s code on the door, but it didn’t work. Was Marek right? Could the door be rigged to harm anyone who tried to force it open? Marek’s group was still over at the more distant hangar. It was her decision. Frustrated, she asked for suggestions.

  “There’s a crowbar in the generator shed,” Ennisay said. He jogged off and came back with it. “There’s a sledgehammer, too, and an axe and other tools. I found ’em this morning when I filled the generator’s fuel tank and knocked over those boards stacked at the end.”

  “You could have mentioned that before we went to the first hangar,” Chok said. “We might’ve been able to break the chain.”

  “Never mind,” Ky said. “Let’s get this open. Ennisay, go back and bring all the tools you find.”

  In the end it took well over an hour to destroy the lock, using the crowbar, sledge, and a pick, but they finally wrenched the now-damaged door open, revealing a small square chamber. “It may never lock again,” Sergeant Cosper said, with satisfaction.

  An overhead light came on when Ky stepped inside. Rough concrete floor, concrete walls, large enough for all six of them. To the left was another door, closed, with a pushbar on it and a sign: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

  Ky walked over and pushed the bar; the door, thick and heavy, swung open silently. Beyond, lights came on in a sequence, revealing a corridor slanting down into dimness. “Sergeant McLenard, stay in the antechamber. You can close the outer door, but don’t try to lock it. Chok, Ennisay, you’re with me.” She started down the slope; the others followed. As she went, lights turned on ahead of her. After about ten meters, the corridor turned right and continued downward. Ky checked to be sure there were no secret doors that might shut behind them. After another ten meters, the corridor turned right again.

  “You have any idea how far down we’ve come?” asked Chok.

  “No,” said Ky. “The slope is not as steep as a stairway; makes it hard to figure.”

  “At least it’s cut off the wind,” said Ennisay. “Feels warmer, whether it is or not.”

  Ky nodded without answering. The ramp ended in a space larger than the chamber above with a wide opening to the left. Here, too, lights came on, this time along a straight, level corridor as wide as the opening, with doors on either side. All were closed. All had keypads but no card slots. Although they were labeled, the labels meant nothing to her; clearly they were codes. She tried the first door, expecting it—like the outer door—to refuse Aunt Grace’s code, but to her surprise it opened. A small room, not more than three meters wide and deep, lined with metal shelving, the shelving full of boxes. Two were open and partly full: one of white paper, one of yellow.

  “Admin,” Chok said. “The spoor of the paper pushers.”

  Across the passage, the shelves of a larger room held a wide variety of electronic gear: desk comps, pocket coms, printers, cameras, surveillance gear including both wire-guided and wireless fliers, each carefully wrapped in transparent fabric and labeled, this time in familiar symbols. “Whatever this organization was—or is,” Ky said, “it’s certainly well supplied with equipment. I wonder if they’ll know we broke the lock or turned the lights on.”

  She turned as a clatter of boots on the ramp neared them. Marek and his search team came into the main hall. Marek whistled.

  “If they noticed, they’ll come rescue us,” Ennisay said.

  “They’ll come, at least,” Marek said. His brows drew together; Ky noticed a bulge of muscle at the side of his jaw.

  Ky moved on to the next rooms. Later they would have time to examine everything in each of them, but she still needed to find something they could use to survive. Fuel for the generator. A water source. Food. Clothing.

  The next door on the right opened into a larger room lined with racks that held weapons familiar to all of them. An armory—and one full of Slotter Key military weapons stamped with the familiar logos. An unlocked door on the far side opened into a practice range with a shooting gallery and a line of targets on cables at the far end. Cabinets on two walls held ammunition, cleaning supplies, replacement parts, fully charged powerpaks for the weapons that needed them. Two long workbenches filled the center. On one, a standard-issue rifle lay clamped in a stand. She went to it, recognizing the biometric control panel just as Marek said, “No good; these are all palm-locked.”

  “If we can break the code, we can hunt with them,” Cosper said.

  “Later,” Ky said. Her mouth watered at the thought of fresh meat. There had to be a way to unlock those weapons.

  Across the passage again, and this time something immediately useful: a store of clothing, from olive-green heavy-duty cold-weather suits through indoor shipsuits to underwear, in a range of sizes, all with Slotter Key military tags inside. Clean, whole clothing—now if they could find water enough to bathe and change, what a difference that would make. Ky resisted the temptation to grab gloves off the shelf—she didn’t really need them down here.

  “Almost paradise,” Inyatta said. “Warm, no wind, new clothes—”

  “Maybe it’ll have water and food as well,” Gossin said. “Or a magic tunnel straight to Port Major.” Nobody laughed.

  Next down on that side was a door without a lock,
a swing door, and inside what Ky had hoped for—a large shower room and toilet facility, much like those she’d used at the Academy. She turned one of the faucets; a trickle of water came out and stopped. A loud click came from overhead and a mechanical voice blared:

  “THIS FACILITY IS NOT AVAILABLE FOR USE AND REQUIRES AUTHORIZATION FROM OFFICER TO RESTORE FUNCTIONALITY. IF OFFICER IS PRESENT, STATE NAME, RANK, NUMBER.”

  Marek looked at her and raised an eyebrow. Ky shrugged. It couldn’t hurt to try. “Vatta, K., Admiral—” and uttered not her aunt’s number, but the one she’d been given at the Academy.

  After a moment, the voice spoke again: “FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED.” This time the water ran from the faucets, hot from hot and cold from cold. Ky turned them back off. Was the speaker connected to an AI of some kind?

  “Locate mess,” she said, testing that idea. No response. Several other commands—to open doors—also produced no response.

  “If it’s an AI, it’s a very limited one,” Marek said. “Maybe they had a problem with troops leaving the water on or something.”

  “So we’ll explore,” Ky said. She led the way to the end of the passage, a T-intersection. To the left was a short passage with two doors on one side, one on the right, and a heavy door with a lock panel and wheel, like a pressure door. To the right was an open arch.

  That led into a dining area: four rows of three tables, each topped with eight upside-down chairs. To the left, behind it, was a kitchen, with a serving line dividing kitchen from dining: long metal counters, cooktops, ovens, storage below for large pots, all neatly covered, implements hanging on racks, bagged to keep them dust-free. At one end an opening led into a large pantry with coolers, open empty racks for produce, and rows of canned and boxed foods. Ky’s mouth watered.

  Specialist Gurton opened one of the coolers: neatly wrapped packages of frozen foods, clearly labeled. “I could start cooking now,” she said. She turned on a faucet; water came out. Then she touched one of the cooktop controls and a red light came on. “It’s all working. We could have a real meal.”

  Ky almost said yes, but Marek spoke first. “Cleanup first. Everybody showers, gets into clean clothes, then we can eat.” He looked at Ky. “If the admiral agrees.”

  “Cooks clean up first,” she said. “Get a start on the meal. But not too rich a meal at first. We still need to be careful about that.”

  “Good point,” Marek said. “Two of you—” Two hands went up: Gurton and Kamat; he nodded. “Get clean clothes from the storeroom, see if you can find hairnets and kitchen gloves, then shower.” The two volunteers hurried off. To Ky he said, “Send someone back topside to bring the others down?”

  “Yes. Let’s see what we have for sleeping quarters next.” More questions rose with every discovery, but she had to focus on the immediate needs. Water, food, warmth, someplace safe to sleep…but this whole place felt safe. Which could mean it wasn’t.

  The entrance to quarters was only a few meters back up the main corridor, a passage with no door and doorways opening off it. First on the left, a small office. “Watch station,” Marek said before she commented. “Good place for it.” They moved down the passage, opening all the doors. On the left, a large open bay with bunk beds. Bedding, neatly folded and sealed in clear bags, lay on the foot of each. On the right, smaller rooms with two or four beds each, also with bedding. “NCO quarters,” Marek said. “That’s probably officers’ quarters down there.” He nodded toward the end of the passage, where one door ended the passage, and another was set nearby on either side. “My guess is the end one’s yours, Admiral, as ranking officer. Your aide will take one of the others.”

  “You’ll take the last, as senior NCO?”

  He shook his head. “No, Admiral. I’ll take one of the NCO rooms nearer the watch office up there. Lets me keep a closer eye on things. We have plenty of room; no one will be crowded.”

  Ky opened the door to the end room. She found a small suite: an office with desk, chair, two side chairs, shelves along one side and cabinets below, then a door into a comfortable bedroom with another desk built into shelving and cabinets on one side. Power outlets showed at the back of the desk. On either side of the bed a small nightstand with a light; power outlets on the wall beside both nightstands. Two comfortable-looking chairs. A closet with a built-in clothes ’fresher and a lockbox with a key in the lock. She stowed the flight recorder and the IDs she’d collected in the lockbox, and took the key with her. She felt the bed and thought of lying down just for a moment.

  In the distance, she heard excited voices and returned to the main corridor. Jen stood near the sanitation suite door, counting people off. She looked at Ky. “Admiral. It’s too bad we didn’t find this place right away.”

  “Agreed,” Ky said. “Would have saved us those miserable days down on the beach.” She didn’t mention Jen’s opposition to her exploration. “Still a lot of questions to answer about this place.”

  “Just a moment,” Jen said to Droshinski and Hazarika as they started to enter. “Let the admiral go first.”

  “No,” Ky said. “I’ll wait. And I can show you where you’ll be quartered, Commander.”

  “But I need to—”

  “I don’t think anyone’s going to skimp on their shower,” Ky said, grinning. “Come on—you’ll have a real bed and some privacy.”

  Jen sighed but followed as Ky led the way down the passage. “You can have your pick of these two rooms,” Ky said, gesturing to the doors. “I’ve claimed the one on the end. It’s got a little office in front where I can do paperwork and we can talk in private. I haven’t seen the others yet; they may be the same.”

  Jen opened the door to the right. She also had two rooms, both smaller than Ky’s. “Very nice,” she said. “Who’s got the one on the other side?”

  “Nobody,” Ky said. “Marek refused it; he wants to be up the passage nearer the watch office.”

  “You offered him an officer suite?” Jen’s brows were up.

  Ky wondered what Cascadian rule she’d broken this time. “He’s the senior NCO, two grades higher than any other.”

  “But it put him back here with us—with two women. It would have been…unseemly.”

  “It’s—” Ky stopped. She had been saying It’s different here. This is Slotter Key, not Cascadia too much. Yet it was true: in Spaceforce, men and women bunked in the same passage, even in the same bay.

  “It is not appropriate,” Jen said with emphasis. “I know this is an emergency situation and I said nothing in the life rafts. But now that there’s room, it matters. The very fact we’re so isolated and few in number…”

  Ky managed not to say, You remind me of Aunt Grace at her worst. “Well, he refused,” she said instead, “so it’s not an issue.”

  “He refused very properly,” Jen said. “He knows what is appropriate; you are lucky he is with us.”

  “If you’re satisfied with your quarters, let’s go get some clothes and start moving in,” Ky said, hoping to cut off that topic. She turned to leave.

  “I don’t suppose there will be any proper insignia,” Jen said. “It’s important to maintain appropriate appearance—”

  If she heard appropriate many more times today, Ky thought, she would say something inappropriate. On purpose. She held her tongue all the way down into the clothing stores.

  There she gathered enough almost-fitting clothes to last several days and tried on several pairs of indoor soft-soled shoes until she found one that—with two pairs of socks—fit well enough to walk in without tripping. When Jen had an armload of her own, they returned to their quarters. All the others were either in the showers or already out. Ky dumped all but a utility uniform, underwear, and socks on her bed and headed for a shower.

  Hot water and soft soap were sheer bliss. She felt both grime and muscle knots melting away. Now she could really see how thin she’d become in only a few tendays, ribs and hip bones prominent. Well, food and exercise would fix that. Maybe there wa
s a gym in this place, too. And a clinic. One cut looked puffy and red. Others, too, would have unhealed injuries. And they needed a laundry: one or two ’freshers would not be enough for everyone.

  Once in clean new clothes, she padded sock-footed out to the main room, ran her hands through her clean hair, and braided it snugly to the back of her head. She heard another shower running. Jen, most likely. She picked up her dirty clothes from the floor, wrinkling her nose at the smell. It was worth trying what the ’fresher could do with them, but she suspected her uniform would never be the same.

  By the time she had put her survival suit and uniform into the ’fresher and set it on long cycle, she could smell something cooking. She fished in the desk drawer for a fresh cord and tied off her braid. She heard Jen next door, opening and shutting her inner door, and met Jen in the passage.

  “Good to be clean again, isn’t it?” Ky asked.

  “Necessary,” Jen said. She looked Ky up and down. “We need to find a way to put your insignia on these things.” She had her own pinned to her shoulders.

  “I don’t think anyone’s going to mistake me for anyone else,” Ky said.

  “That’s not the point,” Jen said. “If you—” She clamped her mouth tight, gave a little shake of her head, and followed Ky down the passage.

  “I wanted mine to go through the ’fresher,” Ky said. “They’ll be shinier when it’s done, probably.”

  “Oh. Well, then. At least you’re thinking about it.”

  Ky could think of no answer to that. “Let’s see what Gurton and Kamat have found for supper,” she said. The closer they got to the mess hall, the better the smell. When they came in, Marek signaled the others; everyone stood. A separate table had been set for her and Jen. As soon as they sat down, the cooks brought in the food.

  “It’s just a simple stew,” Gurton said. “Not too rich, as you suggested.”

  “It’s not basic gruel or fish,” Ky said. “So it’s perfect.”

  “We did put some oat flour in it.”

  “Fine.”