Cold Welcome Page 13

“My primary interest is that Spaceforce personnel, from Private Ennisay to the Commandant of the Spaceforce Academy, were aboard a shuttle that crashed and we haven’t found them,” Grace said. “That my grandniece was on the same shuttle is unfortunate, and yes, of course, I am concerned about her as well. But my duty, as Rector, is to Spaceforce. Five dead we know about but that leaves twenty-three who might be alive. We must not abandon them.”

  “Rector, the winter storms are lined up now and we do not have any bases nearer than Pingats to fly from.”

  “One more search,” Grace said. “One more, the next day they can. I take your point; I’m not going to insist on risking crews after that, but—”

  “One more. We will do that.”

  It was over. Grace leaned back in her chair and stared through the solid wall into her imagination: giant seas, tiny rafts rising and falling on them, rain or snow or sleet, howling winds. If they were not all dead, what would they be doing? How long could they survive in that cold, with just the resources in the rafts? Even if they caught a lucky current, and it swept them north out of the polar circulation, that was still winter, still cold. Suppose all twenty-three were alive, and in two rafts—thirty days’ rations for forty would feed twenty-three for…fifty-two days. That would not get them even to midwinter, let alone to spring.

  “We have to find them in fifty days or less,” Grace said to MacRobert.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. But in fifty-two days, if they’re all alive, they’ll run out of food. We can’t let them starve to death, Mac. We can’t.”

  “They can fish,” Mac said. “The rafts have fishing gear.” He grimaced. “If the weather lets them fish. If the fish are there.”

  “Water?”

  “They have desalinators. Hand-pumped.”

  “We need to locate them. Hicks has authorized one more search. They could cut off some of the distance to the search area by flying over Miksland. High altitude, to avoid that communications problem.” Grace cocked her head at him. “If we knew what it was, maybe we could fix it. ISC might have someone—”

  “Government’s not going to like involving them, and if crews think flying over part of Miksland is especially dangerous, Hicks isn’t going to push them.”

  Grace glared; MacRobert’s return look exuded patience. She sighed. “Mac, sometimes you are annoying.”

  “The truth sucks.” His expression offered no hope.

  “Yes. It does. Let’s hope the next flight shows something.”

  SPACE DEFENSE FORCE HQ, GREENTOO

  “You know they’ll call off the search,” Admiral Driskill said. “She’s bound to be dead. We should inform our governments that you’re taking over.”

  Dan Pettygrew, interim commander of SDF, felt the knot in his belly tighten. “I’m not ready to assume that,” he said. “We’ve been told there’ll be one more search mission, and that the reason for ending the search after that is distance and weather. They could well still be alive.”

  From their expressions, none of the other admirals agreed.

  “Pordre thinks she may be. He thinks the communications problem is a deliberate event, and thus indicates someone may know they’re alive and be frustrating attempts to find them.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Admiral Hetherson said. “No one would do something like that.”

  “Oh, they would if they could, but I doubt it’s possible.” Admiral Driskill leaned back. “I wonder if they’ve contacted ISC to ask about it.”

  “Have you?”

  “No. I’m sure someone at ISC is aware of the problem, given that Admiral Vatta is—was—somewhat involved—”

  Pettygrew wanted to wipe the smirk off Driskill’s face, and others, but held his temper. “I will inform the governments when I myself am satisfied that either she is dead, or her absence is impairing our ability to respond to threats. Neither is the case now.”

  Pursed lips, sideways glances—but they didn’t argue. Good.

  “And now for the quarterly budget review,” Pettygrew said, tapping his stylus on the agenda.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SOUTHERN OKLANDAN

  DAYS 8–9

  During the eighth day, the wind lessened again, but snow continued to fall. Frozen condensation frosted the inside of the canopy, and every watch had to poke open the ventilation flaps. Consultation with the other raft revealed that most of the rations from Goose had not been salvaged.

  The ninth day brought a clear sky and good visibility. Ky ordered the canopy on her raft opened enough that she could see the coast again in both directions. The same barren wall extended behind them, but straight across it was already lower, obviously lower. Ahead, the cliff wall disappeared into the sea. The current pulled them on; soon they would be even with the rocks low enough to see over. She could not see what lay beyond, but if there was an eddy current heading north, this was the place to look.

  “Wake up!” she said loudly. “Kurin, lower our canopy completely. Master Sergeant, lower the canopy in your raft. It’s time to start paddling.” In her own raft, those offwatch stirred, looked up sleepily. Those awake looked around. Kurin grinned and reached for a paddle.

  “It’s too cold!” Commander Bentik said from the other raft as its canopy retracted. “It’s freezing.”

  “We don’t want the wind’s push now, and we’ll be paddling,” Ky said. She had already assigned the first teams of paddlers from those with experience in small boats. “We’re heading across this current, hoping to find an eddy that will carry us around that point and on north. These rafts won’t be easy to steer, but if we find the right current we should be able to do it.”

  At first, the paddlers seemed to make no difference in the rafts’ movement, and as they passed the point of rocks, she could begin to see what lay on the other side: a bay, like a chunk bitten out of this end of Miksland, with a slope—steep, but not a cliff—up to the high plateau. Beyond it, another line of cliffs marked this end of the continent, with rising ground beyond.

  After something over an hour of paddling, another current caught them, moving them north, though not nearly as fast as the main ocean current had moved them east.

  “We could go all the way north,” Marek said. “The current might carry us all the way past Miksland into the shipping lanes. Toward warmer water. I think we should try that.”

  “I’m worried about the food supply,” Ky said. “And the cold. Doesn’t the sea freeze down here in winter?”

  “I don’t know how much of it,” McLenard said. “How far north, I mean, but I’ve heard it freezes as far as this.”

  “These rafts won’t stand up to sea ice,” Kurin said. “We could get stuck in it when it’s too thin to walk on, but thick enough to crush them.”

  “Warmer to the north,” Marek said again. “Probably more bays up there, less likely to freeze.”

  “I take your point, Master Sergeant,” Ky said, “but as short as we are of food, and with these rafts—we’re going into this bay while it’s good weather and we can see what we’re doing.”

  They came nearer, nearer, the paddlers switching out now for a fresh crew. Once out of the eddy current, it was easier paddling between the arms of the bay. Waves were smaller, mere ripples on the surface. Ky could see the shore on both sides and ahead clearly.

  “It’s just rock,” Jen said, from the other raft. “No trees, no driftwood—nothing to build shelters with.” Ky said nothing.

  “We could build a hut with rocks,” McLenard said. “Stuff mud in the cracks.”

  “We’re closer to this side.” Marek nodded to the north. “Head for that?”

  “No,” Ky said. “Keep going, all the way in. It should be shallower there, maybe enough to walk the rafts ashore. We need lookouts to watch for rocks beneath.”

  The rafts moved with agonizing slowness toward the shore. Gradually the bottom came into view, tumbled rocks and then seaweed, shellfish clinging to the rocks, several fish. Ky was heartened. With
the loss of supplies, they needed every extra calorie they could find, and she saw no sign of plant life around the bay.

  When the rafts finally touched bottom on shingle, everyone sat silent for a moment.

  Marek started to climb over the side into the water. “Not you,” Ky said. “Your suit’s not sound. We want to preserve the rafts for shelter and future need, so we don’t want to drag them loaded over the rocks. Only those with whole suits.”

  She rolled over the side herself, confident in her suit’s integrity, into knee-deep icy water. Her first lurching steps on the slick, rounded cobble reminded her that days at sea made for shaky legs. She pulled on the lines between the two rafts, moving them only a few centimeters, but soon others were there to help. Finally, only Marek and Jen were still aboard a raft. He helped Jen over the side, and she splashed ashore, almost falling.

  “We need some protection under the rafts,” Ky said. “These rocks will wear through them. We’ll use the uninflated spare raft for one, and its canopy for the other.”

  It took longer than she had hoped to get everything ashore, the improvised groundsheets laid down, and the rafts securely held down with piles of stones serving instead of stakes. But Marek and the two staff sergeants kept things moving, and before dark the makeshift camp was complete.

  Everyone gathered into one raft-shelter out of the rising wind. Even sitting down, Ky felt that the land was moving like the sea, rising and falling. Underneath, the stones were unyielding lumps instead of smooth, resilient water. And the ration bar, last of the day’s ration, did not satisfy her hunger. She looked around at those who’d been in the other raft, whose stories she didn’t yet know, but she was too tired to ask for them now. And here, on land, they would have more time to get to know one another.

  “At least I’m not seasick,” Hazarika said. “And we’re not going to drown.” He patted the floor of the raft.

  “Not sure I think freezing or starving is any improvement,” Lanca said. Staff Sergeant Gossin glared at him and he subsided.

  “Should be more things to eat in this bay,” Kurin said.

  “Did you recognize anything as we came in?” Ky asked.

  “A few things, yes, Admiral. Some of the seaweed looks like an edible type, and the shellfish certainly should be.”

  “Then you’ll teach the rest of us.” If only they had a small boat, something other than the rafts, so they could use the rafts for shelter and have access to the bay’s water for fishing. It was far too cold to dive into, even if they’d had the right gear for it.

  But here, at least, they could have a real latrine, far enough away from the rafts they were to live in. Here, at least, someone flying over might see their bright-colored rafts. If anyone flew over. If the search hadn’t been called off. In any case, everyone was still alive and they were on land, not adrift at sea.

  SLOTTER KEY, OFFICE OF THE RECTOR OF DEFENSE

  DAY 9

  “Bad news.” Grace looked at Helen’s face on the vidscreen, Stella behind her. “The last flight we can make, they found nothing more. No more debris, no more bodies. We’ve notified surface shipping to the north to be on the lookout for anything, but the search has been called off. Given the weather conditions down there, the danger to their own crews, it was the only reasonable decision.”

  “You let them?” Helen said, a little breathlessly.

  “Yes. Admiral Hicks is convinced they could not have survived this long even if they’d survived the crash. If there is anything found, it will be next spring, when—” She stopped, trying to find a way to edit what she’d been told. “If anything does come up, it might be found when the ice melts.”

  “I can’t believe—” Helen’s eyes glistened with fresh tears. Her shoulders shook. Stella put an arm around her.

  “I still hope they’re wrong,” Grace said. “I believe Ky is a lot more capable than they think, but it’s true she never had cold survival training or experience.”

  SLOTTER KEY, MIKSLAND COAST

  DAY 10

  The tide turned. The ebb was gentler, the waves lapping more quietly, slowly leaving behind rock pools. Staff Sergeant Gossin assigned work parties: one to forage for food in the rock pools, one to find a location for a latrine, one to locate fuel for a fire and any materials for building a better shelter. Two worked the desalinators, until all the containers they had were full, then joined the food foraging party. Ky moved from one to another; Jen said she would work on cleaning and organizing the shelters.

  Despite the biting wind, Ky was glad to be out of the confines of the raft, eager to find better shelter, more food supplies. Inland, at the head of the shingle, a tumble of boulders looked at first like a natural fall of rocks from the cliffs on either side. She clambered up the slope to the first, a head-high block of rough rock, about a meter from the next to the right, and a half meter from the one to the left. Ky glanced down the line of them. Except for being different sizes and shapes, they looked like a row of bollards blocking traffic from a pedestrian-only square, closing off the beach from higher ground. One of them was low enough for her to climb; she was hauling herself up the side when she heard Marek calling her.

  Sighing, she let herself down. He was toiling up the slope, brow furrowed. “Admiral, what were you doing? You could fall, break your leg or something.”

  “I thought if I could climb it, maybe I could find a way up.”

  “Up—where? And why?”

  “Not much to live on down here, Master Sergeant. We’ve got a long cold winter ahead of us; we need better shelter, a source of heat, and more food.”

  “You won’t find anything up there but rock and ice.” He looked worried. She wondered if he might argue again for continuing north in the rafts, but he didn’t. “Commander Bentik asked me to find you.”

  “Of course,” Ky said.

  She started back to the camp, but detoured to speak to the latrine detail when they waved her over. Neither the location nor the hole itself was really adequate, but it would do for a short time. When she got to camp, she found that Jen had done another inventory of supplies, a chore that had kept her in one or the other raft all day.

  “And I really think, Admiral, that we should both be here, available to each other and anyone else. We could use one raft for a sort of office.”

  “I appreciate your work on the inventory,” Ky said, “but I need to check on each working party while they’re at their tasks. It’s good for morale, besides ensuring that the work is going well.”

  “As you wish, Admiral,” Jen said. “Though I should think you could leave that to their own NCOs.” Ky reminded herself that Jen had always been staff, never in a command position.

  The foraging party brought in some seaweed and shellfish scraped off the rocks at low tide. That night they had the first hot food since the crash, boiled in a pot from the raft over one of the SafStov cans. Everyone had a taste of the shellfish along with a regular ration bar; the seaweed, Ky thought, was a taste she hadn’t acquired yet, but she chewed through a portion to encourage the others. Eventually it was all gone.

  DAY 11

  Cloud hung over them the next morning, ominous, the color promising more snow. Ky elected not to explore the trail to the top of the plateau, and when the snow began falling, she declared a holiday once morning chores were done. She designated one raft for resting quietly or sleeping and the other for conversation. Some started with a nap, and then came out to chat and eat. Others moved over to sleep after looking over the stores in the conversation raft. Snow fell steadily, covering the stones outside. The canopies began to sag; Ky told the staff sergeants to make sure they didn’t sag too far. She took this opportunity to chat with those she hadn’t met yet, starting with Staff Sergeant Gossin.

  “My family’s military back as far as the civil war, at least,” Gossin said. “My second cousin was stationed at headquarters when you were in the Academy—” She gave Ky a wary look then went on. “But I don’t tell people what he said ab
out that situation you had.” An invitation, or a test.

  “I was a young idiot,” Ky said. She had expected someone to bring up her expulsion from the Academy. Only one way to handle it, frankly and without excuses. “I didn’t think it through.”

  Gossin didn’t smile, but Ky saw a slight relaxation in her face. Something had worried her, and now didn’t. “He said right away it was a setup and they’d be sorry to lose you.”

  “I created a mess,” Ky said. “They had no choice.”

  Gossin nodded, meeting Ky’s gaze. “Well—I told my cousin I might get to meet you, and he asked me to give you his regards. Staff Sergeant Antak Birgirs, Joint Services Command at Ordnay.”

  Birgirs. Should she remember a Birgirs? Then she did. “Sergeant Birgirs, then—fitness instructor? He ran us off our legs.” Ky grinned. He had taught her how to handle larger opponents. “Are you staying in?”

  “Absolutely,” Gossin said. “This is my life and what I want. Not going to complicate things with marriage or family; if I don’t screw up I could make sergeant major. Maybe. At any rate, I’m in for the duration.”

  Ky liked her: sensible, direct, and utterly professional. She considered asking Gossin about the others in the second raft, but Gossin spoke first.

  “Admiral, by your leave, I’ll take a party outside to brush the snow off these canopies. I see a little sag over there.”

  “Go ahead,” Ky said. They could talk again later. She watched as Gossin chose a crew, noting that she mixed personnel from both rafts. Then she went out herself to stretch and look at the bay, the snow melting quietly into dark water. Sergeant Chok was just coming out of the other raft, and Ky beckoned to him.

  “You’ve got inflatable raft experience,” Ky said. “How long do you think the ground cloths we made will protect the raft bottoms?”

  “You mean to use them again as rafts?” he asked, brow furrowed. “The longer we’re on land, the more abrasion they’ll have, even with people trying not to scoot around inside and rub the fabric against these rocks. If we’re here all winter, I doubt they’ll be seaworthy when it warms up again.” Ky nodded; he went on. “You think no one will come?”