Pliocene Exile - The Adversary Part 69

WALTER: Never mind them! How are you and Irena? Your thoughts are so weakVEIKKO: Well, it's nearly dawn here and Old Sol is starting to hash me out. But I'm fine and so is Rena.

WALTER: Thank G.o.d. Tell me about it.

VEIKKO: [Event replay.] It was only bad at the start of their attack, when they were using the tight metaconcert to s.h.i.+eld themselves and direct the psychoenergetic blasts. The elite golds and the Tanu knights got the worst of that. Four humans and one exotic killed. But then the spooks let mental discipline slip and went one on one. Our people mowed them down like sawgra.s.s in a hurricane with the heavy blasters once they let the multiple mind-screen slip. None of us kids was even singed. The action was over at least two hours ago, but I was feeling a bit rocky-reacting to the violence, I guess. It's taken me this long to pull myself together so I could bespeak you.

I'm sorry you were worried.

WALTER: It's all right. Just so you're safe.

VEIKKO: We must have killed 60 or 70 Firvulag. The rest just ran away.

WALTER: Any chance of further attacks?

VEIKKO: Our Tanu leader, Ochal, says the Firvulag won't fight now that their Truce has began. We'll be safe from here on in, I think.

WALTER: Wonderful.

VEIKKO: ... Daddy? Did you do it?

WALTER: Yes. Alex Manion and I wrecked every one. We took Boom-Boom's cutting torch from the shop and burned the EM pulsars to slag. Melted down the spare parts, too. You can tell the Little King that he won't have to worry about being attacked with X-lasers. I just wish we could have got the rest of the weapons. But they're stored too near the CE rig's hold. Too many sensors about.

VEIKKO: Did-did Marc find out yet?

WALTER: Don't worry about it, son. I broke Kyllikki's autopilot after we finished the job on the zappers. There's a whole chain of storms brewing along our path. Marc's not about to kill me and chance having the s.h.i.+p sink. Not with the CE rig's powerplant on board.

VEIKKO: Marc could do worse than kill you. I still remember how he turned Hagen into a fish and played him!

WALTER: He didn't really.

VEIKKO: So it was an illusion. But Hag still has the scar on his mouth from the barb. Psychosomatic. That's even worse.

WALTER: You said that the climbing party is ready to leave Camp 1. How long before they can reach the aircraft?

VEIKKO: If everything goes well, about three days. I'll keep you posted. Now ... tell the others the great news ... when I think of the risk ... worry ... how you ...

WALTER: You're skipping out, son. Catch you later. I'm gone.

Walter Saastamoinen let his eyes come back into focus and flick momentarily to the wind-trend readout, then to the marine scanner. Ominous high cirrus clouds streaked the northern horizon, but otherwise it was a beautiful sunny morning on the North Atlantic.

"Congratulations on the survival of your son," Marc said.

Walter nodded. "I don't suppose you happened to d-jump in on that little scene and help the kids out?"

"The base camp was adequately defended. They didn't require my a.s.sistance. Earlier, I did help to precipitate an avalanche down around the ears of the other Firvulag force-the one menacing the climbing party."

"That was kind of you. I wonder why you bother, though?"

"It takes guts to tackle that mountain. I have a certain admiration for those with unmitigated gall."

Walter smiled, watching the sea. "Is that why you let me live?"

Marc did not reply.

"But you made an example of me, nonetheless. I'm curious.

Is there a reason why you chose ... this particular form of discipline?"

"We're on s.h.i.+pboard," Marc said, "and I was reminded somehow of the tale of the Little Mermaid. She insisted upon abandoning her own kind and paid a severe price for it-as you have. The mermaid wanted legs rather than her fish's tail, and her wish was granted. But whenever she walked, it seemed to her that she trod upon invisible knives."

The bridge door opened and Steve Vanier came in. "Eight bells and all's well! I relieve you at the helm, skipper. How're you, Marc? Ready to take one of us along with you on the jump?"

"Not quiet yet, Steve. I want to minimize the risk factor."

Vanier was studying the instrumentation. He frowned. "I see George is down again."

Walter said, "I'm afraid so, Steve. Just maintain course on manual."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Marc said, "Would you like me to give you a hand to your cabin, Walter?"

"Appreciate it," Kyllikki's master said. Leaning heavily on Marc, he limped toward the door. He was wearing only heavy woollen socks on his feet, and he left a trail of dark stains on the deck behind him.

At Vanier's horrified exclamation, he grinned and said, "Bit by a G.o.ddam mermaid. Wake me if the wind tops thirty knots, and don't bother asking Arne-Rolf to try fixing the autopilot.

When I break a thing, it stays broken.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Another storm struck Monte Rosa on the third day of the princ.i.p.al a.s.sault. Fortunately, the climbers had been given ample warning of its approach by Elizabeth, who tracked them almost constantly with her farsight. Led by Basil, the seven-man party pushed off from Camp 2 before dawn and moved up the spur of Middle Tine in deceptively perfect weather. Aside from the alt.i.tude sickness that had begun to afflict both Tanu, the trek was uneventful. The climbers traversed the upper Bettaforca Glacier as awesome c.u.mulonimbus clouds reared above the alabaster Breithorn to the west. Static electricity charged the air, making the scalp crawl and the torc sing odd, buzzing melodies as a counterpoint to the tympanic rumbles of the approaching storm.

No sooner had they settled into the two decamole huts of Camp 3 than a t.i.tanic lightning bolt, pink in the gathering murk, blasted Monte Rosa's summit. The polycell structure of the decamole was an excellent insulator-a fact they gave thanks for during the next hour or so, when a pyrotechnic display of stunning violence seemed to shake the ma.s.sif to its roots. Then hail rattled down, followed by thick snow, and the wind howled up a hurricane.

But Camp 3 was nestled snugly in the lee of a rock cleaver at 7039 metres, and the seven people inside were safe and warm.

Farspoken rea.s.surances from Ochal the Harper at base camp told them that Taffy Evans and Magnus had finally brought Stan and Phronsie to safety. The reduction in alt.i.tude had eased Stan's edema, and Magnus seemed confident that the former starfleet officer would recover in time to pilot a flyer back to Goriah. Phronsie's frostbitten feet were responding to treatment. Dr. Thongsa's body had been retrieved and interred in a rock cairn. The a.s.sault party was encouraged to proceed with all dispatch, since even the pickled slugs were running low in Camp Bettaforca's commissary.

Late that night, when the storm had nearly blown itself out, Elizabeth bespoke Bleyn the Champion in Camp 3.

ELIZABETH: Do you hear, Bleyn?

BLEYN: Yes, Elizabeth. I was not asleep, nor is Aronn. But the humans fill the second hut with their snores so as to drown out even the roar of the tempest.

ELIZABETH: [Mind-smile.] They are well, then?

BLEYN: Basil is a prodigy of strength. Ookpik, Bengt, and n.a.z.ir are weary but fit. The one called Mr. Betsy complains vociferously at every opportunity but seems second only to Basil in stamina.