Ethan tried to imagine what kind of nest arboreals could build that would withstand a good blow on this world. Say, a 200 kph gale straight off the ice. He failed, turned to examine a blanket of thick red moss that grew in the shelter of a rock clump.
Hellespont du Kane was studying the same growth. “You know,” Ethan said to him, “there’s a lot of red in the pika-pina… and now this stuff, it’s almost crimson.”
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said du Kane. The old man was obviously enraptured. To Ethan it was only an alien fungus. The old man leaned close. “You know, I raise flowers. Oh yes! Considered quite an expert in some circles.” Then something seemed to go click again behind those eyes and the voice turned mercenary. “It might mean there’s a lot of iron or manganese on this world.”
“I don’t know,” Ethan replied, trying to separate flowers from ore. “The recordings didn’t say much about internal geology.”
“Ah well, an interesting supposition,” said du Kane. He stooped to examine the greasy-looking plant more closely. “I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. Many plants concentrate interesting minerals in their substance in commercial quantities.”
He stuck a finger into the middle of one patch, pushed… and jumped away with such surprising speed that Ethan jumped himself.
September and Colette must have heard the little screech du Kane gave, because they were there seconds later.
“Father… what happened? Are you all right?”
Since du Kane was sitting on the ground, gritting his teeth in obvious pain and holding his wrist, Ethan was tempted to offer some suitable comments on female semantic brilliance. At the moment, though, he was too concerned with the older man’s welfare.
“He stuck his finger in that bed of moss… or whatever it is,” Ethan replied.
“Felt like acid,” said the industrialist tightly. “It hurts rather intensely.” Click. “Colette?”
“I’m here, father,” she said evenly.
“Can you make it back to the boat?” September asked. Du Kane stood, still holding his wrist, and began edging the glove down.
“Boat? Yes, I believe so. I’m not dizzy or anything. It just pains.”
“It was a foolish thing to do, father,” scolded Colette.
“Now, look,” said Ethan, “it looks harmless enough, and your father had no idea it might be lethal.”
“And you had no idea, period,” she said, slipping an arm around the old man. Ethan started to object. After all, it wasn’t described on any of his tapes. Might even be an unknown species. But she wasn’t interested.
“Let’s just hope it isn’t toxic,” she said quietly.
Du Kane was controlling himself with an effort. Ethan wondered about the oldster’s on-again-off-again moments. One second he was a tower of power, steel-haired duralloy-spined master of a hundred industries. The next, he was a half-senile old man desperately hungering for approval and protection. Which was real, which was sham? Probably only Colette knew the answer to that one—and she wasn’t volunteering any information.
“No way to tell,” said September, jarring Ethan’s thoughts back to the problem at hand. “It might be no worse than a bad bee sting. On the other hand, you could keel over for good in the next minute. But I doubt it. Rich folk only die from overworking or overeating.” Colette threw him a furious look, but du Kane came close to smiling.
“Animals and plants that live in cold climates rarely carry poison. When they do it’s usually nowhere near as powerful as that toted by their tropical counterparts. And this is a completely alien ecosystem. It might be instantly fatal to other plants and animals and harmless to us. Or vice-versa. That’s enough talk, now. Get back to the boat and put something on it. To kill the pain, at least.”
Father and daughter started slowly back toward the wreck. Ethan watched them go.
“You really think he’ll be okay?”
“Yep. It does look a little like a mild acid burn. Can’t be certain. Know better tomorrow. But it’s a damned good thing he had that glove on.
“And now I think it’s about time you climbed that tree.”
“I’ll try,” sighed Ethan. “I’m not much for this kind of athletics. Now, tennis or poef or golf—”
“Do you good, young feller-me-lad. Besides, if the branches get dense near the top, you can slip through them a lot easier than I could. And you can go higher, as well.”
Ethan refrained from pointing out that September could snap off the branches that Ethan would have to dodge.
They found the highest spot on the island by the simple expedient of walking uphill until they were going down. From there they circled a couple of meters to a likely-looking tree. One leg went to the trunk’s right side and Ethan prepared to scramble to the lowest branch. He needn’t have bothered. The shove September gave him sent him flying into the lower branches.
After catching his breath and soothing a slightly scraped left hand, he started up. The branches grew very close together and made for easy climbing. The tree topped out at perhaps twenty meters. Trunk and stubby branches alike were thick and covered with a dense bark, to conserve heat and withstand the hurricane-force winds that swept the tiny islet.
Ethan was able to scramble within a meter of the crown, which swayed slightly in the steady wind. In fact, the wind had not ceased howling since their initial setdown.
From the top he was a good thirty meters above the ice, perhaps more. He looked down to his left. From this vantage point he had an excellent view of the crumpled lifeboat and the arrow-straight skid marks in the ice that extended unbroken to the horizon.
Off to his right, he thought he could make out in the distance a greenish tinge to the ice. More pika-pina, or maybe its giant relative, pika-pedan. Further off, there were one or two bumps on the horizon that might be large islands. Unfortunately, they lay due east. Not that they wouldn’t head for them if they proved to be the only land in sight, but he’d prefer to move in the direction of civilization.
He turned, keeping a firm grip, and was gratified to see what looked like similar bulges off to the west. They appeared to be just as large—if indeed there was actually something there besides a mirage or a figment of his wind-chilled sight. It was harder to see on this side because he was looking directly into the wind. While the tree remained thankfully solid, the ice goggles expressed a perverse tendency to shift position under the shield on his face. He reached around and fumbled with the strap, managed to tighten them a little.
He squinted harder.
On the ice between their island and those distant humps, he thought he could see a dozen or so dark spots on the ice. They weren’t pika-pina, because they seemed to be moving.
September’s voice floated up to him. “See anything, lad?” The wind made it sound farther away than it was. He turned out of the breeze and yelled downward.
“I’m not sure! Maybe a pack of animals. Then again, we might be due for an invitation to a feast.”
“Okay!” A wide grin split the shrunken upturned face. “Let’s hope we’re offered a menu and not put on one.”
Ethan had another look at the distant dots. He assured himself that they were really moving toward the island before beginning to pick his way down the ice-hard trunk.
Little clouds of frozen breath, the two men jogged their way down to the boat. Williams and the others were waiting for them. The schoolmaster helped September close the compartment door behind them.
Ethan saw that Walther’s jacket and pants were full of awkward bulges. It gave him a falsely gnomish appearance. His head was swathed in torn cloth and black eyes peered out through a small slit. It wasn’t pretty and couldn’t have been very comfortable, but maybe it was warm. And the kidnapper was in no position to quibble about fashion.