Punch levered a lid.
‘Whoa. Blasting caps. Thermite grenades. A shit-load of C4. If you want to shift ice in a hurry this stuff is pure gold.’
They found a plastic cargo sled. They stacked the crates and dragged them back to the zodiac. Jane did most of the pulling.
They loaded the boxes into the zodiac. It sank low in the water.
‘Let’s go find that meteor,’ said Punch.
They set off. He steered the boat. Jane tried the radio.
‘Shore team to Rampart, over.’
She got nothing but the strange tocking signal.
‘It could be military, I suppose. Some kind of interference. You can bet there were a bunch of nuclear subs at sea when this shit kicked off. Maybe they are cruising beneath the ice, ignoring our calls.’
Punch headed for the coast. He jumped ashore and slammed an ice axe into the snow. He tethered the boat to the axe.
‘There’s not much daylight left. Twenty-five minutes from now we turn around and head back to the boat no matter what, all right?’
They trudged inland. Unearthly desolation. The landscape was so featureless it was like walking on a treadmill: each stride seemed to take them nowhere. The ice was so hard Jane’s boots barely left an impression. She checked her watch. Ten minutes gone.
‘There,’ said Punch. A wide mound up ahead like the cinder cone of a volcano. The lip of a crater.
They doubled their pace. They clambered over ice debris, slabs and boulders thrown from the impact site. They struggled upward. Jane paused to catch her breath.
‘Can you see anything?’ Punch was standing above her, looking down into the crater. ‘What can you see?’
He didn’t reply.
Jane scrambled up ice rubble and stood at his side.
‘Now what the fuck is that thing?’
The Hatch
‘Rampart to Raven, over?’
Rawlins talked through the plan.
‘You have lifeboats?’
‘Shitty inflatables. Switlik four-man coastals. No rigid hulls. Nothing with propulsion.’
‘We can’t pick you up but we can meet you part way. Take to the boats. Lash them together. Ride the current. It will funnel you west towards us. You’d be a few days at sea.’
‘Jesus. It’s a big ocean. How would you find us?’
‘The inflatables should have TACOM beacons. They’ll squawk your position soon as they hit the water. There’s a relay on our microwave tower. We can track you, once you float in range. Then tow you back to Rampart.’
‘I’ll have to persuade the men. It’ll be a hard sell.’
‘I doubt it. You folks don’t have much alternative. Either roll the dice, or sit and freeze. Talk it over, but don’t take too long.’
‘The guys will want to hold on until the very last minute. Wait until the lights go out before they climb in the boats. There’s a good chance we’ll die. Natural to postpone the moment as long as we can.’
‘I know. I understand. But it would be better if we got it done while there is still a little daylight left.’
‘Like I said, we’ll talk it through.’
‘God bless, fella. We’re all praying for you.’
Nikki clattered up the spiral steps to the observation bubble.
‘Punch and Jane are back. They want to see you right away.’
They sat in Rawlins’s office still muffled in thermal suits. Their boots dripped melting snow.
Jane plugged her camera into the PC and brought up pictures.
‘Damn,’ said Rawlins.
First picture: a round capsule, like a scorched cannon ball, sitting at the centre of a wide impact crater.
Second picture: close-up of the capsule. Punch stood next to it for scale. Twice his height, blackened heat tiles, blackened portholes. No visible insignia.
‘Looks sort of Russian to me,’ said Rawlins. ‘Sort of Soyuz. Some kind of re-entry vehicle.’
‘Human?’
‘Of course it’s bloody human.’
Third picture: long shreds of tattered, candy-stripe fabric in the snow.
‘Drogue chutes,’ said Punch. ‘Looks like they didn’t deploy. Probably ripped or tangled in the upper atmosphere.’
‘Think there’s a connection?’ asked Jane. ‘All this shit kicks off back home. Space junk falls out of the sky.’
‘Doubt it. Poor bastards were probably marooned like those guys on Raven. Sitting in their space station watching it all go down on TV. Dropping through the atmosphere without proper telemetry. Just trying to get home.’
Fourth picture: close-up of the capsule. A heavy hatch with a small, dark window. No obvious hinge or handle.
‘We have to get the hatch open,’ said Jane.
‘Nothing could survive that impact,’ said Rawlins. ‘It’s been days. If they were alive they would have climbed out by now.’
‘Come on. You’re as curious as I am. Besides, it’s screwing up our radio. Long-wave is swamped. The beacon is drowning our may day signal. No one can hear us call for help while that thing is out there. If we get inside we can switch it off’
‘All right, but you two stay home.’ ‘Fuck that.’
‘I’m going. My turn ashore. And I’m taking Ghost. I’ll need him to open the hatch. Sorry, but that’s the way it is.’
Sian called Raven and ran through a list of questions. Rawlins wanted to hear their preparations in detail.
‘There’s seven of you, yeah?’
‘Yeah. Seven.’
‘You’ll take to the rafts.’
‘We’ll lash a couple together.’
‘What kind of survival gear do you have?’
‘We are going to carpet the rafts with NB3 parkas. The rafts have rain covers but no insulation. We are going to rely on hydro-suits to keep warm. Wrap ourselves in garbage bags. Sleep in shifts. Pack a ton of Pro-Plus to keep us going. We’ve got canned food, we’ve got flares. Hopefully that should see us through.’
‘Rawlins reckons you’ll make it.’
‘ Good.’
‘But if anything goes wrong, if we get picked up and you don’t, is there a message you would like to pass along?’
‘I hadn’t thought about it.’
‘That’s something you could do. Your lads could use the radio, one by one, in private. They could each dictate a message. I could write it down.’
‘I’ll mention it to the men. They might take you up on it.’
