The Iceman's Lament
Begone

He’d let the the rig drift off to the side, mammoth wheels leaving long scars in the regolith. The main engines spooled down, leaving just the low and distant hum of the aux power unit.

Never gone EVA out here, he mused, out on the Plain, beyond the shelter of the mountains. No traffic on the monitors in either direction for at least an hour. He stepped into the freshly-repaired and maintained pressure suit: its tanks flushed and filled, all systems tested. Hard plastic has its own particular echo, he thought, as the airlock cycled, transitioning from the fresh air of the rig into the acetone-scented confines of his helmet. Seals popped, alarms bleated. The outer door opened into a maelstrom of tearing wind and he dropped once more onto the surface of Phoedrus.

Immediately he was blown backwards. Scouring wind created a pressure zone under the rig. Sharp stones like pellets of hail. He forced himself away, pushing outwards, replaceing as always that once he was clear the wind abated, things calmed down, that the immensity of the rig caused its own weather.

The suit calibrated almost instantly now after all of his unauthorized and ongoing extra-vehicular-activities. Oxygen flowed, heaters whirred: his own little world within: the raging hell of the haul-road without.

He walked for a good hundred meters, then turned. The lights of Eleanor twinkled in the distance: a cozy port on the edge of a vast ocean. Immense boulders cast long shadows as the Deccan sun began to settle over the distant mountains. He made his way over to the nearest of these boulders and climbed carefully to the top, watchful for sharp edges

If the launch was on time he would see the corona of super-heated gas heralding the departure of the Trade Voyager.

He wanted to watch Lucy Lin leave.

A week previously he’d been at the docks, cleaning out the cabin of F-351 when an alert had come in: an accident out on the haul road. A medevac skimmer had gone out. Listening in on the hauler channel he learned that it was Dmitry.

His guts began to knot as he left the rig to join the small crowd awaiting their arrival. Flanagan was there with his henchmen. He marched right over to Tom.

“What’s she doing out there with that crazy Bolshevik?”

“Who?” Tom feigned confusion.

“Lucy Lin, she went out with Dmitry. I didn’t tell her to go with Dmitry. Why was she with Dmitry? I told YOU to take her….Kelly.”

Tom held out his hands, palms up. “Hang on now, what’s all this about?”

“Hey make a hole there, people, move back,” the dock captain called out as the medical crash-wagon came whirring down to the docks.

Flanagan let go with a long string of blood-curdling oaths. Tom moved back from him. The henchmen looked around in confusion.

“She’s hurt,” Flanagan said, looking at Tom.

“Jesus Christ who?” Tom cried in exasperation. “Who’s hurt?”

“They went EVA,” Flanagan said evenly. His eyes were small and dark like twin pissholes in a snowbank as he moved close up to Tom. “Lucy Lin and her assistant. They went out on the surface. They went to look at something, up in the mountains…”

Tom swallowed, looked out over the docks and the line of haulers waiting off to the side of the main airlock. “That doesn’t sound like a very good idea,” he said quietly.

“Out onto the surface, up in the mountains,” said Flanagan again. “Why would they do that?”

“Jesus I don’t know!” Tom sputtered.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with her. What’s she doing?”

“I don’t know what she’s doing, really, I don’t.” He held up his hands.

It looked like Igor was going to extract a more concise answer from him when they heard the hiss of high-pressure air and turned to see the inner airlock opening. The skimmer came through, followed by Dmitry’s rig.

“All I fucken need,” Flanagan muttered, spitting on the ground.

The newswoman and her assistant were lifted from the rig, already strapped into gurneys, oxygen masks clamped to their faces, drips held aloft by the medics. Tom couldn’t get close enough to tell if either one was conscious. A small crowd followed them to the infirmary and Tom had edged up to the periphery, a gorge of raw fear rising in his throat.

“Return to your posts,” an UNSA guard had bellowed. “Nothing to see here.”

He couldn’t leave. The consequences of his actions like a punch in the gut, he stood staring after the medevac team as they barged through the double doors and disappeared. Flanagan followed them in.

“Wassamatter pal?” the guard had poked Tom in the chest as he tried to slip in after them. “Where you goin’? You a lawyer or somethin’?” He laughed mightily at his own joke.

Tom just blinked at him, barely aware of the taser gun pressed against his chest.

You sent them into harms way, he thought. In the full knowledge that the Lights were not benign, that they could throw a skimmer two hundred yards, that they could turn a persons mind inside out.

“Hey! You deaf? You want a little booster shot there, pal?”

“What happened?” Tom asked, moving back.

The guard ignored him, stepping into the entrance, pulling the doors shut behind him.

Down on the docks, standing at the bottom of the ramp, Dmitry stood, looking up at him. Tom started to walk down towards him but Dmitry darted past and disappeared into the station.

More UNSA security types began to arrive.

They would have questions, he thought. They would have a lot of questions.

Jared was also in the infirmary, hobbling around in his cast despite the imprecations of the staff. He’d broken a leg in the ‘fall’ and banged up his head a little. Nothing serious, he’d told Tom, several days previously.

“Your mate, there, Ronak? Came to see me like you asked him to. Looks like I’ll be haulin’ ice, Tom! What do you think of that?”

“I think it’s magnificent, Jared…we should have a drink.” But he was still off the Drink. They’d toasted each other with hot tea.

But now, after seeing Lucy brought in, Tom went to see Jared and slumped heavily into a chair.

“What?” Jared eased himself off his bed. “Tom? You look bad, mate…”

Scrubbing at his scalp, Tom could meet Jared’s eyes.

“What? Tom? What happened?”

“I don’t know…I don’t know Jared. They went out, they came back…they’re….”

“They’re back?” He struggled to his feet. “What did they…what happened?”

“I don’t know I don’t know” Tom wailed, holding up his hands. “I think they’re OK, but…”

And Jared stared hard at him.

“Whaddya mean you think they’re Ok?” His tone changed. The cockney seemed to disappear.

“I….”

“You said they’d be OK…”

“They will!” Tom stood, determinedly. “They stayed out too long, that’s all. Hypoxia, hypothermia…Someone should have gone with them. Dmitry could have…”

“Where is she? Where’s Lucy?”

“Took her in upstairs, that’s all I know. They won’t let anyone near her and now there’s a security goon….” He stopped. “Er…I guess they sent down…”

“…my Replacement?” Jared snapped. “Good luck to him.” He eased himself back onto the bed and looked at Tom.

“Stay away from them. Did they even get to the Lights? How long were they out?”

Tom shook his head.

“Where’s this Dmitry now?”

Tom shook his head again.

“Find him,” Jared instructed.

Dmitry, downing a quick shot at the Scurvy Dog looked nervously at the entrance.

“Fucking bullshit,” he muttered again, glaring at Tom.

You didn’t have to bring them out there, Dima, Tom thought, nodding at Todd for a pint he probably wouldn’t drink. But who could resist Lucy Lin when she had a favor to ask? He rubbed his face again. None of this shit is my fault he reminded himself. I didn’t ask for this…

Todd was furiously polishing glasses. The bar was otherwise empty. Tom raised his chin and nodded. Another shot for Dimitry. And one for him.

“Dima…” he said quietly when they arrived.

“These people, these women,” Dmitry downed the shot, slammed the glass back onto the bar. “They say ‘bring us to Pole.’ Then they want to EVA, wander up into mountains with camera gear. I say ‘don’t go out there’, and they say ’we know what we do, we are trained, we have permissions…”

“She tried to get me to do the same thing, Dima…”

“What you mean?” The Russians eyes narrowed. Then he looked over Tom’s shoulders, at Todd. Two more shots arrived.

Tom had tossed off the first shot without even realizing it. But he wasn’t feeling the nausea this time. In fact the second shot went down even better.

“She offered me money, then she she threatened to write this story about me and what happened on Ganymede…”

Dimitry snorted. His hands were shaking.

“I tell them not to go,” he said again. “Fucking bullshit…”

He doesn’t know, thought Tom. He doesn’t know I was the one that pointed Lucy Lin in his direction. Dima, the poor bastard, he had taken the money, made his choice, but Tom had made that choice possible.

“So what happened out there?”

And Dmitry, as if rehearsing his story, explained about the air supply and how they’d stayed out beyond the limits of their gear, how he’d gone there himself to replace them floundering in the regolith, how Gail had been dragging Lucy Lin like a dogsled behind her. He had saved their lives. That was undeniable.

The Lights, Tom kept thinking. What did they do to them?

The sudden onslaught of alcohol was making his head reel. He ignored it, looked at Todd and now beer was arriving.

Fuck it, he muttered.

And then a contingent of UNSA guards arrived to hoist Dmitry from his stool. It had only been a matter of time after all. He didn’t give them any trouble.

“Women, huh Tom?”

The evening descended into oblivion.

The next morning he cursed his aching head and informed Jared of his replaceings.

“I know all that,” The now-former Minder said irritably. “I went to see her.”

Tom was silent. Jared was making ready to leave the infirmary, the worst of his concussion over, and was stomping around the room in a lightweight cast.

“Did she…is she OK?”

“No she’s not fucking OK,” Jared barked. “She’s a long way from OK.”

Tom rubbed his face.

“I’m sorry, man, I really am...”

“You need to see her now, Tom.”

“I think I….”

“Now would be a good time. They’re gonna ship her up to the navy hospital. Soon.”

Tom was afraid to look at him.

“She’ll recover, eventually.” Jared’s tone was a little softer. “Might take a while, they said. Didn’t let me into her room, but that’s what they told Gail.”

“What happened to Gail?”

Jared started to say something, then stopped.

“We’re going back to the Lights, Tom. After this. On your next run. Understand?” The Minder looked off distantly. He sat heavily, face creased with pain. His eyes closed. “We’re going back to the Lights.”

Tom bowed his head. He left the room. He went to see Lucy Lin.

“And you are…?” The charge-nurse consulted a list upon which his name did not appear.

“A friend,” Tom said. “Well…not a friend. Not really. She was writing a story on me.”

“A story? On you?” The nurse looked dubious.

“Yes!” Tom scrubbed at his scalp, irritated by her officiousness. “Can I see her?”

“Of course not!”

And then a new Minder had loomed up. He was American, Tom could tell by his teeth. Eyes like dead fish. No name tag, just a badge that read Sinclair Media. The owners of Channel Ten. He raised a massive hand, palm-forwards, towards Tom face.

“Yep. Yeah…got it. Going…” Tom muttered, stepping back.

But he didn’t leave the building, simply sat on a plastic chair at the back of the waiting room. A couple of mildly-injured miners regarded him warily.

They’re wondering why I’m here, Tom thought. What’s the matter with me? Head injury, he felt like barking at them. Massive trauma to the cerebral cortex caused by gallons of foul Phoedran lager.

No dreams these past nights though. He felt surprisingly rested. But he sank his face into his hands, the weight of his deeds heavy. You could have killed them, he reminded himself. And for what? His dubious reputation? The reputation of a drunken Major?

The Lights assumed the form of whatever was uppermost in your mind, he knew. For him it had been about injustice, mis-directed blame, unassigned guilt. For Jared it had been forgiveness for things he had done and regretted. For Annie it had been the revelation of the non-existence of God. Why else would she have strewn her crucifix on her cabin floor?

So what manifestation had Lucy Lin experienced?

And suddenly the doors to the infirmary irised open. A slight form in a wheelchair pushed herself out, cursing in a low voice.

Gail.

At first he’d stood rooted to the spot as she’d banged around the foyer, pushing on various doors until one of the miners called out: “The lady is looking for the elevator!”

Tom jumped to the job, pressing the call button.

“They all look alike, these doors,” he called out cheerfully as with a ping the elevator arrived.

Gail grunted. Their eyes met.

“Thanks,” she said, wheeling herself past him.

“Welcome…” he said.

She didn’t know who he was.

And then one of the UNSA doctors had recognized him.

“Friend of yours, isn’t she, Lieutenant? Ms. Lin?”

Tom had shrugged. “I wouldn’t say ‘friend’. I was helping her with a story she was working on.”

“Maybe she’ll speak to you. She won’t speak to anyone else. Not even to me.”

He wanted to bolt from the room. He didn’t want to see her. But he had sent her up to the Lights and Jared had sent him to her.

You knew what you were doing. Now face the consequences.

They brought him through to the room where Lucy Lin lay in bed, rigged up to all manner of monitors and drips. It was as if someone had punched him in the chest when he saw her.

“Hey,” he rasped dryly. “How are you?”

Her big dark eyes regarded him solemnly. There was that look. The same look. The look Annie had given him as she fled. He scrubbed at his scalp. She said nothing. He felt fear, stark terror. He wanted to run from the room but he forced himself to stand there, to face what he had done.

That epicanthic inscrutability. He squirmed before it. She said nothing but her eyes said everything.

Stand, he ordered himself. Face it.

I know what you did, her eyes said. I know what you are, Tom Kelly.

And then the monitor began to chirp more rapidly. Heart rate rising, blood pressure rising.

“Alright,” the doctor said briskly. “I guess that didn’t work. I’ll ask you to step out now…”

And Tom hobbled out of there. He thought of Lucy Lin’s mass of dark lustrous hair, the way it had cascaded over his face, up there at the Pole. He nodded at the nurses and left. He couldn’t speak for a long time afterwards.

Lucy Lin’s hair had turned completely white.

The pressure suit crinkled up around his ass as he squatted atop the boulder. On the far side of Eleanor a bloom of hydrogen gas began to billow. He stumbled to his feet. Never gets old, he thought, watching a ship the size of the Trade Voyager making ready to claw its way up into the sky.

Greg had called him that morning.

“Did yer get yer paystub yet?” he’d inquired.

Tom had logged into his bank account.

“Holy shit,” he’d said.

“I got it too,” said Greg. “So did Dirk and Joe and those guys. That’s a lotta cake my friend!”

Flanagan had been whisked away, summoned back to Corporate and like magic every member of the hauler fleet had found an unexpected bonus in their paychecks. Accounting errors were being rectified. Lucy Lin had left a time bomb ticking in case harm came her way, Tom realized. And while they were rushing her to the infirmary this automated bomb had begun to ignite: a damming indictment of all Flanagan’s schemes. At least that was his theory. She may have been enraptured with the Lights and with exposing Tom Kelly, but that didn’t mean she’d left other stories unattended.

There’s redemption in all of this, Tom thought, a silver lining in the shit sandwich he’d built.

Gail.

She might have beaten them, he realized. She’d been in a bad way coming in but her mind snapped right back. Either the Lights had decided she was pure, or they’d been busy with Lucy Lin, or Gail’s very aura had pushed them back. That morning in the infirmary, when she’d looked past him, through him, he’d wanted to grab her arm, spin her around, demand the truth.

There was no truth, only the Lights. And that truth was different for everyone who encountered them.

He checked the tablet. Twenty minutes. Gantries began to fall back from the ship. Giant guy lines held her in check as the power began to build.

This might be the last time he’d get to witness such a site, he thought. Next time you’ll be inside the ship itself. Going home. If you’re lucky.

Ronak had fallen into step with him on the way to the docks. Behind him were a pair of UNSA investigators.

“A word Tom,” he’d asked.

Tom swiveled and looked at the investigators. He frowned.

“Sure Ronak, gotta make it quick though. Ice waits for….”

“A few minutes,” said one of the UNSA people, a man he dimly recognized from his previous adventures.

“We can use this,” said his colleague, a blonde, thin woman, pushing open the door to the dock captain’s office.

Tom swallowed a lump in his throat and followed them in.

“Think these people have any decent coffee?” the man asked, rattling things around in the little kitchen.

“You want coffee get it at Jakes little shack up there on the concourse,” Tom breezed confidently. “Although the capn’ generally brews a fresh pot every week, whether it needs it or not…” He wondered why the dock captain was nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll get us some,” Ronak said hurriedly, turning to leave the room. “Tom, just listen to what these folks have to say, OK? They have some questions…I’ll be right back.”

“Questions,” mused Tom. He poured himself a slug of black goopy coffee anyway, drowning it in sugar. The man drummed his fingers on the table. The woman set next to him, pulling out a plain yellow legal pad, pencil and all.

“So Tom…”the woman began pleasantly.

“What’s this about then?” Tom interrupted.

“Well Tom…” she began again.

“You’re a DS 9. He’s a DS 12,” Tom interrupted again. “Must be somethin’ serious, I’d say.”

“What can you tell us about Lucy Lin?”

“Er…she’s lucky to be alive?”

“She was researching something for her show,” said the DS9, the woman. “You were involved. Now she’s lying in a state of severe injury. Perhaps you can help us figure out why.” She put her foot on one of the chairs and pushed it towards him.

Tom sat down. The woman picked up her pad again.

“Start at the beginning: how did you meet her?”

“In a bar fight…”

With agonizing slowness, the Trade Voyager lifted off, thrusters scouring out a crater, regolith billowing out over the station, a big hole in the night, leveling out, the main engines fired. Seconds later it went howling overhead, shaking the ground beneath his feet.

Goodbye Lucy Lin. He snapped off a salute.

He’d given the investigators a good enough story, he hoped. Selective nuggets of truth. A whole lot of omission. And Dmitry, in deep shit at first, had found himself defended quite skillfully by Ronak and the Croft. Nobody wanted the story getting out. Not UNSA, especially not Channel Ten. He was back on the road already.

Back in the airlock he hosed regolith from his suit and gained entry back into the cab of the hauler. He took off the suit and stowed it neatly away.

Jared had brewed a pot of fresh tea. His cast leg rested up on the console.

“Best be puttin’ the pedal to the metal, eh mate?” he said.

Tom grunted as he got the rig back underway.

The Lights were waiting.