Never mind: there was bound to be an innocent explanation. She had enough to think about without adding to her worries.
Rashmika followed a circuitous path between the black upright slabs of radiator panels, the squatting orange mounds of generators or navigation transponders and the soft snow-covered lines of parked icejammers. She had been right about the footprints, for when she looked back it was impossible to separate her own from the muddle of those that had been left before.
She rounded a huddle of radiator fins and there it was, looking much like the other parked icejammers except that the snow had melted from the flanged radiator above the engine cowlings. It was too bright to tell if there were lights on inside the machine. There were fan-shaped arcs of transparency in the windscreen where the mechanical wiper blades had flicked aside the snow. Rashmika thought she saw figures moving behind the glass.
Rashmika walked around the low, splayed-legged jammer. The black of its boat-shaped hull was relieved only by a glowing snake motif coiling along the side. The single front leg ended in a broad, upturned ski blade, with smaller skis tipping the two rear legs. Rashmika wondered if it was the right machine. She would look rather silly if she made a mistake now. She felt certain that there was no one in the village who would not recognise her, even though she had a suit on.
But Crozet had been very specific in his instructions. With some relief she saw a boarding ramp was already waiting for her, lowered down into the snow. She walked up the flexing metal slope and knocked politely on the jammer’s outer door. There was an agonising moment and then the door slid aside, revealing another airlock. She squeezed into it—there was only room for one person.
A man’s voice—she recognised it immediately as Crozet’s—came through on her helmet channel. “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
“Who is ‘me’?”
“Rashmika,” she said. “Rashmika Els. I think we had an arrangement.”
There was a pause—an agonising pause during which she began to think that, yes, she had made an error—when the man said, “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“I think it is.”
“You could go home now.”
“My parents won’t be very pleased that I came this far.”
“No,” the man said, “I doubt that they’ll be thrilled. But I know your folks. I doubt that they’d punish you too severely.”
He was right, but she did not want to be reminded of that now. She had spent weeks psyching herself up for this, and the last thing she needed was a rational argument for backing out at the final minute.
Rashmika knocked on the inner door again, knuckling it hard with her gauntlet. “Are you going to let me in or not?”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re certain. Once we leave the village, we won’t turn back until we meet the caravan. That’s not open to negotiation. Step inside, you’re committed to a three-day trip. Six if you decide to come back with us. No amount of pissing and moaning is going to make me turn around.“
“I’ve waited eight years,” she said. “Three more days won’t kill me.”
He laughed, or sniggered—she wasn’t sure which. “You know, I almost believe you.”
“You should do,” Rashmika told him. “I’m the girl that never lies, remember?”
The outer door closed itself, cramming her even further into the tight cavity of the lock. Air began to skirl in through grilles. At the same time she felt motion. It was soft and rhythmic, like being rocked in a cradle. The jammer was on the move, propelling itself with alternating movements of its rear skis.
She supposed that her escape had begun the moment she crawled out of bed, but only now did it feel as if she was actually on her way.
When the inner door allowed Rashmika into the body of the jammer, she snapped off her helmet and hung it dutifully next to the three that were already there. The jammer had looked reasonably large from the outside, but she had forgotten how much of the interior volume would be occupied by its own engines, generators, fuel tanks, life-support equipment and cargo racks. Inside it was cramped and noisy, and the air made her want to put the helmet back on again. She imagined she could get used to it, but she wondered if three days would be anywhere near enough time.
The jammer lurched and yawed. Through one of the windows she saw the blazing white landscape tilt and tilt again. Rashmika reached for a handhold and was just beginning to make her way to the front when a figure stepped into view.
It was Crozet’s son, Culver. He wore grubby ochre overalls, tools cramming the many pockets. He was a year or two younger than Rashmika, blond-haired and with a permanent look of malnourishment. He viewed Rashmika with lecherous intent.
“Decided to stay aboard after all, did you? That’s good. We can get to know each other a bit better now, can’t we?”
“It’s only for three days, Culver. Don’t get any ideas.”
“I’ll help you get that suit off, then we can go up front. Dad’s busy steering us out of the village now. We’re having to take a detour because of the crater. That’s why it’s a bit bumpy.”
“I’ll manage my suit on my own, thank you.” Rashmika nodded encouragingly towards the icejammer’s cabin. “Why don’t you go back and see if your dad needs any help?”
“He doesn’t need any help. Mother’s there as well.”
Rashmika beamed approvingly. “Well, I expect you’re glad that she’s here to keep you two men out of trouble. Right, Culver?”
“She doesn’t mind what we get up to, so long as we stay in the black.” The machine lurched again, knocking Rashmika against the metal wall. “Fact of the matter is, she mostly turns a blind eye.”
“So I’ve heard. Well, I really need to get this suit off… would you mind telling me where I’m sleeping?”
Culver showed her a tiny compartment tucked away between two throbbing generators. There was a grubby mattress, a pillow and a blanket made of slippery quilted silver material. A curtain could be tugged across for privacy.
“I hope you weren’t expecting luxury,” Culver said.
“I was expecting the worst.”
Culver lingered. “You sure you don’t want any help getting that suit off?”
“I’ll manage, thanks.”
“Got something to wear afterwards, have you?”
“What I’m wearing under the suit, and what I brought with me.” Rashmika patted the bag which was now tucked beneath her life-support pack. Through the fabric she could feel the hard edge of her compad. “You didn’t seriously think I’d forget to bring any clothes with me, did you?”
“No,” Culver said, sullenly.
“Good. Now why don’t you run along and tell your parents that I’m safe and sound? And please let them know that the sooner we clear the village, the happier I’ll be.”
“We’re moving as fast as we can go,” Culver said.
“Actually,” Rashmika said, “that’s just what’s worrying me.”
“In a bit of a hurry, are you?”
“I’d like to reach the cathedrals as soon as I can, yes.”
Culver eyed her. “Got religion, have you?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “More like some family business I have to take care of.”
Quaiche awoke, his body insinuated into a dark form-fitting cavity.
There was a moment of blissful disconnection while he waited for his memories to return, a moment in which he had no cares, no anxieties. Then all the memories barged into his head at once, announcing themselves like rowdy gate-crashers before shuffling themselves into something resembling chronological order.