The run to catch up was the best part, with the wind biting into his face and blowing his breath back, the whole white-and-blue world framed in the icicles clinging to his lashes and the ruff of his hood. As soon as they slowed down to fall in behind the other sled, he got cold, then bored at having to stay so far behind. Lavelle, loping beside him with a funny knee-high gait to let each cumbersome snowshoe clear the snow before she set it down again, began telling him about the great races her grandfather had told her about, the ones they used to have in the old days in Alaska, which was part of a country back on Earth.
"One of the biggest races they had back in those days developed from a dogsled relay that took emergency serum from a big city to a little town called Nome far away," she told him. "People admired the stamina and skill it took to do it, and so they made a race out of it. Whole towns sponsored dogs and their drivers, and people all over the world knew about it. Another race they had ran along the route the mail sled used to take. It spanned two countries, and drivers from all over brought their teams to compete. In both races, they still took a little mail with them to deliver at the end."
"Why did they need to send the mail by dogsled?" Diego asked. "That's silly when they could use computers."
"Some places they didn't have computers, sometimes," she shouted back. "And sometimes folks just liked to prove they could do things in the old ways and still survive like their ancestors did. They were learning to be tough like them, you know?" She grinned, a very white grin in her sun-darkened face. "Tough like us."
He grinned back, but he thought privately it was a little backward to do things the hard way instead of learning new skills. But then, he was now doing things the old hard way and he was learning new skills.
They camped that night and he listened to his father talking about rocks and stuff for a while, over rations that were much the same as what he ate on the ship. Then Lavelle slipped him a stick that smelled strong, but very spicy and interesting.
"Eat it," she said. "It's good. Smoked salmon. I caught it and smoked it myself."
He nibbled on it and she sang him a peculiar song about catching that particular fish. She said the song was her own song, though the tune was to an old Irish song her Grandmother O'Toole had taught her, "The Star of the County Down."
The chorus went:
"From SpaceBase down to Kilcoole town On out to Tanana Bay The wild fish swims but I caught him And he's our food today."
He fell asleep quickly in the heated shelter. The next morning when he woke up, looking forward to maybe driving the dogs again, soft powdery snow was sifting down from the sky. He knew, scientifically, that the snow was part of this world's ecosystem, but at the same time it seemed strange that he had spent so much time above this planet and had never been on it before. His father explained that snow was white rather than clear because it was a dense accumulation of light-reflecting frozen water crystals, but Lavelle showed him that each flake was a different, beautifully ornate design. He had to ride in the sled because Lavelle said they were nearing rougher country, and she had to be vigilant for the place the expedition was seeking. She promised to let him drive again on the way back.
He spent a lot of time lying in the sled, catching flakes on his mitten and trying to memorize the shapes before they melted.
"Maybe tonight at camp I'll make you some snow ice cream," Lavelle said, bending over him so that her breath blew icily into his face. "I've got some seal oil and dried berries with me, and a III lie sugar."
"Seal oil?" he asked.
"Yeah. Gives you instant energy on the trail. Don't knock it till you've tried it."
He pulled a face, and she pushed his ruff down over his eyes.
But the storm picked up as they moved, and twice the Petaybean guy, who seemed to be Lavelle's husband, asked Diego's d"l her and the other men if they wanted to camp, but they said to keep on, that their instruments were showing them the way. The snow no longer fell in single, beautiful flakes but in clumpy sheets, HO hard that it was all Diego could do to see the tails of the dogs In front of him, never mind the other sleds. All around him the world was white, and the sled moved more and more slowly, while Siggy, as Lavelle called the Petaybean guy, tried to break trail, keep track of the sleds, and persuade everyone to stop.
The ride had become much rougher, and although he couldn't see anything, Diego knew they had left the plains, because the dogs were tugging the sleds up and down little hills and, finally, up a long, long pull.
He heard Siggy yell something, and then he heard Dad cry out and the woman in front, Brit, whistle and call "Whoa, youmutts! Whoa! Oh, shit!" and multiple sounds of slipping, cracking, and sliding, but by that time the dogs had reached the summit and were plummeting down, too.
A man screamed, and several heavy things rolled and tumbled just as the sled was suddenly airborne, and Diego felt himself flying more surely than he had ever flown in the spacecraft he had lived in since he was a baby.
Lavelle called, "Whoa, Dinah! Back girl!" and Diego felt her hand pull on his ruff. For a moment she had him; then the sled jarred again and she fell and his hood was free, and he was falling from the sled, rolling, tumbling, into the snow, over and over, until his feet struck something soft at the same time his head struck something hard, and there was darkness.
Chapter 3
Yana tried to take the cat back to Clodagh's that evening when Bunny picked her up, but the cat refused to cooperate. When she tried to pick it up to carry it outdoors to Bunny's waiting sled, the cat escaped, firing a warning volley across her knuckles with its claws, and hid.
Yana explained this to Clodagh while the big woman finished stirring the contents of a pot on the stove. Delicious smells came from the pot and from the oven.
"Keep him," Clodagh advised her. Looking around the room at the four identical felines lounging on various furnishings, she added with a slight smile, "I have extras. Besides, they go where they wish and do as they choose. You seem to have been chosen."
"Yes, but what am I supposed to do with it?" Yana asked.
"Feed it," Bunny answered. "That's the important thing. And let it in and out as it likes, unless you want to keep an indoor tray for it."
"They do all right outdoors for prolonged periods," Clodagh said. "They've been crossbred for that, so they don't lose their tails and ears to frostbite the way their ancestors did. But they usually prefer a fire and a lap most of the time. They're good company."
"Mm," Yana said noncommittally. "I need to find out where to get things: food, clothing, wood. Someone brought a load and left it beside my door. Do you know who it was so 1 can thank them?"
Clodagh shrugged. "Could have been anyone. One of Bunka's relatives, maybe. Someone who knows you need more than the PTBs provided for you. Speaking of that, don't forget your pack tonight. Not that that flimsy blanket will do you a lot of good. You'll need a proper one."
"Where can I buy one of those?" Yana asked.
"Not at the company store, that's for sure!" Bunka said. "They don't have anything there but obsolete spacer stuff." She crossed to Clodagh's bed and pulled aside the standard-issue blanket to reveal another-full of lovely soft yellows, blues, and pinks-underneath. "Here, feel."
Yana leaned over and felt. The blanket was thickly woven or knitted-she had no idea which-of some heavy, long-haired material. It would be wonderfully warm.
"It's beautiful," she said.
"Speaking of that, here comes Sinead and my sister Aisling now," Clodagh said. "Sinead gathers the hair for spinning from the horses and dogs and sometimes the wild sheep she hunts and Aisling spins, dyes, and weaves the hair into the blankets. Perhaps they'll make a trade."