Terminal Freeze - Страница 4

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As they quickened their steps toward the base, Marshall wasn’t sure whether to feel curiosity or alarm. Although they’d been on-site for a month, the scientists had had no interaction with the Indians. In fact, they only knew of their existence because the soldiers at the base had mentioned it in passing. Why would they choose today, of all days, to pay a visit?

As they passed the fence and empty guardhouse and approached the entrance, the group turned to face them. “This lot knocked on the door not two minutes ago,” Barbour said in her broad North London accent. “The sergeant and I came out to meet them.” Her plain, friendly face was pinched and somewhat worried-looking.

Sully glanced at Gonzalez. “Has this ever happened before?”

Gonzalez was fifty-something and burly, with the clear-eyed fatalism of the career soldier. “Nope.” He unshipped his radio to alert the other soldiers, but Sully shook his head.

“That won’t be necessary, will it?” Then Sully turned to Barbour. “You’d better get back into the warmth.” He watched her head for the main entrance, then cleared his throat, faced their guests. “Would you like to step inside?” he said, slowly enunciating each word and gesturing toward the door.

The Native Americans said nothing. There were three women and a man, Marshall noticed, and the man was by far the oldest. His face was seamed to an almost leathery complexion by years of cold and sunlight. His eyes were a clear, deep brown. He wore large earrings of bone, carved with fantastic detail; there were feathers in the fur of his collar; and his cheekbones bore the dark tattoos of a shaman. Gonzalez had told them the band lived a life of unusual simplicity, but- Marshall thought, staring at the spears and animal skins-he’d had no idea just how simple.

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence settled over the group, the only noise the grumbling of the nearby generators. Then Sully spoke again. “You’ve come from the settlement to the north? That’s a long journey, and you must be tired. Can we do anything for you? Would you like something to drink or eat?”

No answer.

Sully repeated himself, slowly and emphatically, as if speaking to a half-wit. “You like drink? Eat?”

When there was no response, Sully turned away with a sigh. “We’re not getting anywhere.”

“They probably don’t understand a word you’re saying,” said Gonzalez.

Sully nodded. “And I don’t speak Inuit.”

“Tunit,” the old man said.

Sully turned back quickly. “I’m sorry?”

“Not Inuit. Tunit.”

“I’m very sorry. I’ve never heard of the Tunits before.” Sully patted his chest lightly. “My name is Sully.” He introduced Gonzalez and the scientists by name. “The woman you met is Penny Barbour.”

The old man touched his own breast. “Usuguk.” He pronounced it Oos-oo-gook. He didn’t offer to introduce the women.

“Pleased to meet you,” Sully said, as usual playing his role as team leader to the hilt. “Would you care to step inside?”

“You asked if you could do anything for us,” Usuguk said. Marshall noticed, to his surprise, that the man spoke with a completely uninflected accent.

“Yes,” Sully replied, equally surprised.

“There is something important you can do-very important. You can leave here. Today. And don’t come back.”

This response left Sully speechless.

“Why?” Marshall asked after a moment.

The man pointed toward Mount Fear. “That is a place of evil. Your presence here is a danger to all of us.”

“Evil?” Sully repeated, recovering. “You mean, the volcano? It’s extinct now, dead.”

The Tunit glanced at him, the lines of his face thrown into sharp relief by the setting sun. It was a mask of bitter anxiety.

“What evil?” Marshall asked.

Usuguk declined to elaborate. “You should not be here,” he said. “You are intruding where you have no business. And you have made the ancient ones angry. Very angry.”

“Ancient ones?” Sully asked.

“Normally they are”-Usuguk searched for the word-“benevolent.” He made a semicircular movement with one hand, palm open. “In the old days, all the men here, the ones with guns and uniforms, stayed inside the metal walls they built. Even today, the soldiers never stray into the forbidden place.”

“I don’t know about any forbidden place,” Gonzalez rumbled. “But I keep my keister inside, where it’s nice and warm.”

Usuguk was still staring at Sully. “You are different. You have stepped on ground where no living man should tread. And now the ancient ones are angry, more so than in any memory of my people. Their wrath paints the sky with blood. The heavens cry out with the pain, like a woman in labor.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘crying out,’” Sully said. “But the strange color of the night sky is simply the aurora borealis. The northern lights. They’re caused by solar winds entering the earth’s magnetic field. Admittedly the color is rather unusual, but surely you’ve noticed them before.” Sully was acting the kindly paterfamilias now, smiling, patronizing, like a man explaining something to a young child. “Gases in the atmosphere give off excess energy in the form of light. Different gases emit photons of different wavelengths.”

If this explanation made any difference to Usuguk, he didn’t let on. “As soon as we saw how angry the spirit folk had become, we started on our way here. We have been walking-no rest, no food-ever since.”

“All the more reason for you to come inside,” Sully said. “We’ll give you food, something hot to drink.”

“Why is the mountain forbidden?” Marshall asked.

The shaman turned to him. “Can you not understand? You have heard my warning. You now refuse to heed it? The mountain is a place of darkness. You must leave.”

“We can’t leave,” Sully said. “Not yet. But in a few weeks, two or three, we’ll be on our way. And until then, I give you my word that-”

But the shaman turned away, toward the Tunit women. “Anyok lubyar tussarnek,” he said. One of them began to cry loudly. Turning back, Usuguk looked at each of the scientists in turn, his face filled with such a mixture of sorrow and fear that it curled the hairs on Marshall ’s neck. Then, pulling a small pouch from his parka, the elder dipped a finger inside and daubed a number of signs in the frozen tundra with a dark liquid too viscous to be anything but blood. And finally-intoning something in his own language with a low and prayerful voice-he turned away and joined the others already retreating across the permafrost.

4

For the two days that followed, a frigid wind blew out of the north, bringing clear skies and bitter temperatures. At 11:00 AM on the third day, Marshall, Sully, and Faraday left the base and walked across the frozen plain that stretched south endlessly from Mount Fear. It was a perfect morning, the sky a dome of arctic blue unblemished by clouds. Beneath their feet, the permafrost was as hard as concrete. The temperature hovered around zero degrees Fahrenheit, and, temporarily at least, the glacier had stopped its dreadful cracking and groaning.

Their thoughts were interrupted by a sudden low drone, strangely attenuated by the arctic chill. A speck appeared on the southern horizon. As they watched, it slowly resolved into a helicopter, flying low toward them.

Faraday sniffed with displeasure. “I still think we should have waited a few days. Why did we need to phone it in so quickly?”

“That was the deal,” Sully replied, eyeing the approaching chopper. “If we’d stalled, they’d have known.”

Faraday mumbled something, clearly unconvinced.

Sully frowned at the biologist. “I’ve said it before. Make a deal with the devil, don’t complain about the consequences.”

Nobody replied. Nobody needed to.

Northern Massachusetts University didn’t pretend to be in the first rank of educational institutions. With grant money in short supply, the university had resorted to a relatively new tactic: securing expedition financing from a media conglomerate in return for exclusive rights and access. While global warming wasn’t particularly sexy, it was topical. Terra Prime had bankrolled the team as it had half a dozen others-a group studying native medicines in the Amazon jungle, another excavating the potential grave of King Arthur-in hopes of snagging at least one science documentary worth developing. For weeks now, Marshall had kept his fingers crossed, hoping they could finish up their research and leave without attracting attention. Those hopes were now dashed.

The scientists drew together as the helicopter approached, circled over the camp, then settled onto a relatively level section of ground, rotors beating hard against the air. The passenger door opened and a woman jumped out. She was dressed in a leather jacket and jeans. Long black hair spilled over her collar, dancing lightly in the chopper’s wake. She was slim and perhaps thirty, and as she turned to reach for her luggage, Marshall caught sight of a shapely derriere.

“Nice-looking devil,” he murmured.

Now the woman was hoisting her bags and heading toward them, ducking beneath the rotors. She turned to give the pilot a wave of thanks; he gave a thumbs-up and, goosing the engine, quickly lifted off and banked sharply southward, hurrying back the way he’d come.

The scientists stepped forward to meet her. Sully pulled off his glove and quickly extended his hand. “I’m Gerard Sully,” he said. “Climatologist and team leader. This is Evan Marshall and Wright Faraday.”

The woman shook their hands in turn. Marshall found her grasp brief and professional. “And I’m Kari Ekberg, field producer for Terra Prime. Congratulations on your discovery.”