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"Where do you think you're going?" asked Colette.
"Outside, to have a look at the neighborhood. And to see if there's a store
around that sells electric beds."
He snapped the top snap on the coat, tried to tighten the floppy hood and
failed. Flip went the goggles. Things imme-diately grew darker. He had to
fumble twice before he got a hand on the door latch. Turn and push-so.
It didn't budge-so.
He shoved again. "Stuck."
" Oh deity!" she began, "save us from such awesome, over-whelming, analytic
... !"
That was another good reason for getting outside. The door received a good
swift kick and a couple of choice curses.
Either the kick knocked it free, or maybe the curses had a warming effect on
the frozen joints. In any case, it popped open a few centimeters. From there
it moved, reluctantly, on its bearings.
He shut the door carefully behind him and turned. Making sure of his
footing-the snow could have covered all kinds of holes-he started down the
center aisle of the ship. Cold flakes crunched under his feet. It sounded as
though he was walking on glass. The wind moaned and howled through the torn
metal. His breath formed a tiny cumulus cloud, a small shadow of life that
stayed just ahead of ham.
He could feel his lungs expanding and contracting. They seemed pitifully tiny
in the frozen air.
Each breath was pain-ful, full of bee-stings and wire-wool.
The center aisle was tilted downward. Nose down, the shuttle had come to an
abrupt halt.
Then he did what might have been considered by some a foolish thing. But he
was a purveyor of cultured gee-gaws, not a planetary scout. And his taped
information said nothing against it. So he knelt and scooped up a small ball
of snow. It certainly looked like regular, old-fashioned, smack-in-the-face
type snow. It caught the light like snow.
He brought it to his mouth, felt a sudden momentary chill greater than the
air. It dissolved in the oral furnace, went down, stayed down. Plain old usual
terran-type H2O snow. He knew from the tapes that Tran-ky-ky's atmosphere was
practically Terra-normal. What he did not consider was the possibility that
the snow might contain acquired traces of toxic elements.
But it didn't, and nothing happened. The snow and his stom-ach got along just
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fine.
By way of experiment, he raised his goggles just a smidgin. It was a short
experiment. He had to blink away a couple of freezing tears before sliding the
dark glass back into place. The glare was fierce and unyielding. With the
goggles, every-thing showed as clearly as before, but he could look at the
snow without having his optic pathways turned to mush.
He reflected that a man caught here without goggles could go blind without
even being aware the process was going on. It was far more deceptive than
night blindness. Being caught in the light, it seemed, was worse than being
caught in the dark.
A slick part of the floor and he slipped, had to catch him-self with his
gloved hands. For a minute he didn't move, just stood, caught his breath.
Watch it, stupid! This was no place to twist an ankle.
He reached the end of the aisle. A fast glance back to the total destruction
in the passenger compartment, and then he turned to look into the pilot's
cubby. The door had been bent inward like the lip of a can. The shuttle's nose
was buried. The lensless ports were filled with a mixture of loose earth and
snow. It poured into the small forecabin oozing over the panel and
instrumentation.
What he could see of the mangled console and the precision switches made hire
wonder that the
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20-%20Icerigger.txt little kidnapper had been able to bring them down safely
at all. As for the boat tridee, it was so battered he barely recognized it.
Turning to leave the cabin, he stumbled again. Once more he was lucky and
didn't hurt himself. But be was beginning to get mad. He turned with the
intention of visiting a few suitable gripes on the twisted hunk of metal that
had so cleverly insinuated itself between his legs. The gripe got as far as
his lips, fizzled there when he saw the obstacle wasn't metal.
It was twisted, however.
The body was nude, lightly dusted with snow, and had be-gun to turn a color
that did not imply a state of advanced good health. The back was facing him.
He'd apparently stumbled over the head.
Kneeling, he put a hand on the back of the motionless skull. It moved freely
when he touched it.
Too freely. Du Kane had been right.
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