know what to do.'
I watched him climb down and join the others. They were a strange, anachronistic sight in their bulky arctic gear-all they needed was sled dogs and a flag. I put the key in my pocket, shuddering involuntarily. You know what to do. The men began laying down a row of chemical glow wands in the snow.
I heard a far-off whine and saw headlights following the contours of an unseen hill. 'Vehicles approaching,' I said with chattering teeth. Then I remembered to switch the mike back on and repeated more clearly, 'Vehicles approaching.'
As the lights neared, wreathed in swirling powder, the sound of turbines became so loud it turned the ice into a vibrating drum. These were not ordinary vehicles. They were gigantic saucers gliding on fat rubber bumpers, their topsides bristling with antennae and weapons.
'Hovercraft,' I said in disbelief. 'Three of them, coming in fast. Big ones.'
Coombs and the others were waving flashlights as if directing taxiing aircraft. The imposing vehicles stopped well short, pulling up side by side in a howling blizzard of their own making, then powered down the rotors. Their blinding headlights turned ridges of upthrust ice translucent blue, brighter than the glow wands, and when they lowered their boarding ramps, it was like an alien visitation.
'There are ten or twelve men coming out,' I said. 'They are approaching our group.'
Barely audible under the idling engines, I could hear the lead stranger shout, 'Colonel Brad Lowenthal, Commander Twelfth Space Warning Squadron! Welcome to Thule!'
'Thank you, Commander!' replied Coombs. They shook hands. 'I'm Admiral Harvey Coombs, and these are my senior officers! Are there any Navy personnel with you?' It was the first time I had heard Coombs call himself Admiral.
'Everything is being arranged through SAC! First, let's get your people out of this wet sub and into a dry martini!'
'The rest of my crew will be staying aboard for now!'
'That's not necessary, Admiral! We have a team ready to take charge of your cargo and watch the ship! You're under our security umbrella now!'
'Thank you, Commander, but I need confirmation from NavSea before I can-'
They were moving toward the hovercraft, and I couldn't hear any more. It looked like an affable enough disagreement. Soon they were boarding the lead craft, which thundered to life and sideslipped away, trailed by the others. As the big vehicles turned in formation, I was sandblasted by their rotor wash. Seconds later, they were practically out of sight, and the heavy curtain of snow and space drew shut again.
Half-deaf, I said, 'They're gone!'
Mr. Albemarle was the OOW-the officer of the watch-and he erected a clear canopy over the cockpit to permit a normal six-hour duty shift. After an hour or so he was called below to attend to some minor crisis, and I volunteered to stand watch. He didn't like me, but he trusted me enough to leave me alone up there, keeping in radio contact from the control room. From time to time he or someone else would sneak up underneath, trying to catch me napping. They didn't do this to be funny-falling asleep on watch was considered a heinous crime. That was why standing watch topside wasn't considered a very desirable posting, because it was not just the boredom and the cold you had to contend with, it was also Navy guys threatening you with the whippings, hangings, and keelhaulings traditionally meted out to errant sentries.
They didn't scare me; I wasn't there to sleep. I was grateful for the chance to be alone. Never having been a tremendously sociable person, the daily strain of being in close quarters with so many people was taking a toll on me. Just after St. John's, the boat had seemed incredibly roomy, but its limitations were finally starting to sink in again, and I was glad the end was in sight… if in fact it was. I was shaken by what Coombs had said. I didn't want that responsibility, or even that key. I had become Cowper's jailer. Every second I had that key, it was killing me.
As the midmorning darkness wore on, I started thinking about my mother. The memories were intensely vivid, a trancelike dislocation that was common to everyone on the sub, weighed upon as we all were by the unfinished business of our lives. It was hardly surprising that our subconscious should come on so strong-what is a submarine but a giant sensory-deprivation tank?
I remembered singing in a church at Christmastime. It was the only time I ever went to church, except for a brief enrollment at Sunday school. This was a Southern California Lutheran church, airy as a basketball court, with honeyed sunlight beaming down on the lustrous blond wood and congregation. And above it all, an understated, minimalist cross.
My mother was beside me, gripping my hand. We were all holding hands and singing carols, but from my mother's glazed look and sweaty palm I suspected an agenda.
She had been working part-time in the church office as a secretary, and I knew she liked the pastor. I'd asked her if he was married. Oh, it's not like that, honey, she said. We're just friends. He's a nice man, that's all. She had even arranged for me to have a private talk with him in his study, under the pretense that the two of them had discussed my bookish ways, and he was 'fascinated.' But meeting the man was only awkward; I knew at once that Pastor Lund and I had both been duped-each of us kept waiting for the other to evince any sign of interest. In desperation I scanned his bookshelf for anything familiar. Seizing upon Alive-The Story of the Andes Survivors, I asked, 'What do you think of the proposition that survival cannibalism is a form of Communion?' He became very uncomfortable and recommended I read C. S. Lewis.
Now Mum had begun singing in German, singing 'O Tan nenbaum' while everyone else was singing 'Oh Christmas Tree,' and doing it in loud tones of righteous indignation. People craned their necks to see what was going on.
'Mom,' I hissed. 'What are you doing?'
She sang right over me. No one had any idea how to deal with it, paralyzed by the hard-to-define offense. When the song ended, a man in our pew leaned over and pleasantly asked her, 'Was that German?'
She remained rigid as a wooden Indian.
It wasn't over. When 'Silent Night' began, she belted out the German version of that, too ('Stille Nacht'), while Pastor Lund dueled with her from the pulpit, directing his organist and choir to pour it on. Elderly ladies got up to leave, covering their ears.
Once again I had been brought along as a prop. I was boiling. When it was finally over (I believe the service was cut short), and Mum and I were outside in that opulent residential neighborhood heading back to our roach motel, I turned on her furiously. 'This is it,' I stormed. 'This is the last time I trust you.'
She put on her innocent face, twitching nervously. 'What? Why?' she asked.
'Don't give me that! How could you do that?'
'Because I love him! Can I help it if I love the man?'
'But why do you have to drag me into it?'
'Because you're my child!'
'Oh please. So it's my duty to let you humiliate me like this? Uh-uh, this is the last time. No more.'
She faltered a little in her haughtiness. 'Lulu, have a heart. What do you mean, 'no more'?'
'I mean that's the last time I ever let myself be taken advantage of. I should have just got up and left, but I sat there and let you use me. Well, no more, no more.'
I was yanked back to the present by the appearance of a string of fairy lights in the distance. Their blue twinkle revealed higher elevations in the dark, creating the illusion of a floating island.
'Lights-I see lights,' I said. 'They just came on to the east, running in a straight line. It looks like a runway or something-' Just as I said this, I could hear the whistle of approaching jet engines. '-omigod, a plane! A big jet is flying in from the south! It's flying right over us! It looks like it's coming in for a landing!'
'It is an air base, after all,' said Albemarle dryly in my ear. 'We've been tracking it. Kranuski is gonna try to make a sighting.'
Behind me, the periscope rose up from its shaft.
'C-5A Galaxy,' Albemarle said, as I watched the plane set down. 'That's a big mother. It's for cargo-nothing to worry about.'
The lights went out again. The magic island vanished.
