Approaching footsteps. Dancing flashlight beam.
Nikki grasped Nail by the ankle and dragged him down the tunnel. She was half Nail's body weight, but possessed a maniac's super-strength. He sobbed and begged. His fingers raked concrete. Punch could hear Nail pleading as he was dragged away down the corridor. Echoing screams.
Punch adjusted his grip on the sharpened coin. He cut as fast as he could. The cord binding his wrists had started to fray.
Nikki returned and untied him from the girder. She dragged him down the tunnel. He didn't scream. Whatever horror Nikki planned for him, he resolved his last words would be 'Fuck you.'
There was an office chair in the middle of the tunnel. Nikki tied him to the chair and pushed him down the tunnel.
'Where are we going?' demanded Punch.
'To meet the family.'
Nikki kicked open double doors and propelled Punch into some kind of operations centre.
The room was rippled with liquid metal like melted candle wax. Hyperion passengers were melded to the walls and ceiling like flies trapped in a web.
Hyperion crewmen stood sentry round the walls. Drones. Worker bees. Officers in brass-button uniform. Deckhands in striped tunics.
A figure at the centre of the room. A body lying in state. A Russian cosmonaut in a scorched pressure suit, part cooked by thermite but still intact. Canvas hanging in charred strips, under- suit ribbed with cooling tubes. The helmet visor was raised. Metal tendrils snaked from inside the enamel helmet, hung from the table, wound across the floor and fused with the wall.
Nikki parked Punch at the back of the room. He craned to see past Nail. A figure tied to a chair.
Ghost.
They both leaned forward so they could talk. Nail sat between them, sobbing.
'How the hell did you get here, Gee?'
'I came across the ice,' said Ghost. 'I came to help Jane. They caught me in the tunnels. Two of them. Thought they would kill me for sure, but they dragged me down here. It was like they had orders.'
'Are you okay? Are you infected?'
'I'm all right.'
A wall screen pulsed static. A figure was fused to the screen.
'Who's that?'
'I think it's Rye,' said Ghost. 'What's left of her.'
'Thought she was long dead.'
'She was on Hyperion all the time we were living it up. She was down below with the passengers. Guess she survived the fire.'
Nail kept sobbing.
'Nail. Hey, Nail.'
Nail didn't look up.
'Forget him,' said Ghost. 'He's lost it.'
'Have you got your knife?'
'She took it.'
'I can't get my hands free.'
'Jane is around here some place,' said Ghost. 'The best we can do is stall for time.'
Jane checked her watch. The final seconds.
00:00
Turn-around time. If she wanted to save her own skin, she should forget Punch and head for Rampart before it drifted beyond reach. Take a guaranteed ride back home.
She unbuckled the watch and threw it away. Fuck it.
Jane stood at the end of a corridor. She guessed the lower levels of the nuclear waste repository hid some kind of doomsday, continuation-of-government facility built during the cold war. A minor synapse of the Soviet command structure. Perhaps regional control for the submarine fleet.
She passed a communal shower.
She passed a powerhouse. Three rusted diesel generators. The generators appeared dead. She laid a hand on the metal housing. Cold. No vibration. Output dials smashed, needles at zero. So why were the lights on? The ceiling strip-lights pulsed like a slow heartbeat. She wondered if something had infiltrated the ducts and conduits. Perhaps the bunker itself was somehow alive and sentient.
She glanced into a side office. A pin-board map faded sepia. Canada, Norway and Alaska, the rest of the Arctic Circle. The stand-off zone. The theatre of war. Chart coordinates of the Soviet armada, the bomber fleet, patrolling the frontier, waiting for the order to attack.
An infected crewman from Hyperion stood in the corner of the room beneath a mildewed portrait of Lenin straddling the Arctic Ocean like a colossus. The semi-decomposed figure stood sentry like he was waiting for instructions.
Scattered equipment on the floor. New stuff. Tin mugs. Balled socks. Russian Playboy. Jane kicked through the litter. She kept her eyes on the infected crewman in case he made a move. He remained still, lit by intermittent, flickering light.
Jane thought about the infected crewmen she encountered in the upper levels of the complex. They wouldn't have the intelligence or dexterity to improvise a suicide vest. Something was manipulating them, using them as a defence perimeter. Nikki? Had she got them trained like dogs? Sit, heel, beg.
Jane quietly backed out of the room. The rotted sentinel watched her leave but made no move to follow.
Something was aware Jane had entered the lowest levels of the bunker and was content to let her walk deeper into the subterranean complex.
Nikki wandered around the ops centre, hands in her pockets, casual confidence, like she ran the place. No sign of infection.
'What's the deal, Nikki?' demanded Ghost. 'Are we lunch, or what?'
Nikki turned to face him. Mild surprise, like she had forgotten he was there.
'Believe it or not,' she said, 'I'm doing my best to help you.'
She was mild, good-humoured, utterly insane.
'That's nice.'
'Jane will be here any minute,' said Nikki, glancing at a Hyperion officer as if she expected him to provide confirmation. 'I'm anxious to speak to her.'
'We blew the anchor cables, Nikki. Rampart is floating free. It's caught in the current. It's heading south. We can all go home. You can come too. But we have to leave right now. We don't have time to fuck around. It's drifting out of range.'
Nikki shook her head and smiled.
'They bombed the cities. Nuked them. I saw it myself, when I sailed south. I saw the sky lit up. I saw the world on fire. There's nothing beyond the horizon, Rajesh. Europe has been wiped clean. America too, as far as I know. We are the last people on earth, and this is our home.'
'You can't be sure.'
'Embrace it. It's evolution. We are the next stage, the next level. Open your eyes. We are on the cusp of something wonderful.'
Nikki took gloves from her pocket and pulled them on. She stood over the dead cosmonaut. She reached inside the helmet and snapped a rivulet of metal. She examined it.
'So who do you think he was? What happened up there?'
She stood in front of Ghost.
'What do you think it is?' she asked, holding the sliver in front of Ghost's face.
He shied away from the gleaming splinter.
'Where does it come from? Is it man-made? Nanobots run wild? Maybe it's not from earth at all. Maybe it came from somewhere else.' She gestured to Hyperion passengers fused to the wall. 'Do you think they finally understand? Once you surrender to it, once the transformation takes hold, do you think it all becomes clear? What it's like on the other side? Aren't you curious to find out?'
'No.'
'How can you not want to know? This is the dominant life form on the planet now.'
'Doesn't mean shit. It's a virus. Bacteria. It can kill, but I don't hold it in high esteem.'
'This is very different.'
'These Hyperion guys. They follow you like a puppy dog. How does that work?'
Nikki took a radio from her pocket. A Rampart walkie-talkie. She switched it on. A strange, tocking signal. Nikki held the radio to the dead cosmonaut's helmet. The signal got louder, more insistent, then dissolved to feedback.
'They sing to each other. Some kind of high-frequency chatter. They merge their thoughts.'
'I don't see much thought going on.'
Nikki stood behind Nail. She slapped a hand on his bald scalp and pulled back his head. He yelped in pain. She dropped the sliver of metal into his mouth then clamped his jaw closed. He gnashed his teeth. He bucked and thrashed in his chair. He arched his back. She held him a full minute, then released her grip. He spat the metal shard on to the floor.
'You fuck,' he sobbed. 'You fucking fuck.' He retched. He spat. Pathetic attempt to purge infection from his mouth.
Nikki grabbed a swivel chair and positioned it in front of Ghost.
'His name isn't Nail Harper, you know that, right? He's David Tuddenham. A fuck-up. Petty thief. Petty everything. But now all that hurt, all that damage, will evaporate. A lifetime of failure will just melt away.'
'You're nuts,' said Ghost. 'You are one hundred per cent, grade-A batshit.'
'Think,' said Nikki. She got up, and paced up and down like she was lecturing a class. 'Just take a moment and think. This situation, this new state of being, it's weird, but is it necessarily bad? This could be a wonderful opportunity to become something new. That's good, right? Most people spend their whole lives wishing they could be different.'
'You were a student in Brighton, is that right? Brighton University?'
'Sure.'
'What did you study?'
'Biogeography,' said Nikki. 'Ocean science. Ecosystems.'
'Did you enjoy it?'
'Of course. That's why I did it.'
'Think back. Remember. What did you enjoy?'
'Nightlife. Alan and I had a flat on the seafront. It was heaven.'
'Do you remember your first day at university? The day you first arrived. Do you remember how you felt?'
'My parents dropped me with suitcases. I was excited to leave home. Nervous I wouldn't make friends.'
'That girl. The person you used to be. Can you remember her? Can you bring her back just for a moment? What would she say if she saw you now?'
Nikki snapped another nugget of metal from inside the cosmonaut's enamel helmet. She looked at it a long while.
'I'm so sick of being me.'
'I can help you, Nikki. There's a way back from all this.' 'The burden of selfhood,' she sighed. 'Life-long anguish. Straining to support an elaborate artifice every waking moment. Trying to maintain our bullshit personas. Haircuts, clothes. Making our big fucking statements to an indifferent world. We drink, we smoke, we squander fortunes on DVDs, anything to escape ourselves for a few blessed minutes.'
'You don't have to turn Martian just to feel better. That's like shooting yourself in the brain to cure a headache.'
Nikki closed her eyes, placed the globule of metal on her tongue and swallowed. She smiled.
She stood over Nail. She bent and kissed him.
She resumed her seat in front of Ghost.
'I'm so sorry, Nikki.'
'I wanted to kill you. I was going to kill you all. I hated you so damn much. I don't know why. But I want you to join us. I'm not going to force you. Nail? He's a child. I had to decide on his behalf. But I want you folks to volunteer.'
Jane walked through a series of plant rooms. Most of the ceiling lights were smashed. She wanted to save her flashlight batteries. She struck a flare. It burned fierce purple.
Ventilation flues. Dehumidification filters.
The air conditioning was shot. The plenum fans that should have pushed air through the complex were rusted and still. Yet, when she took off a glove and put a hand to the wall-vent, she could feel a breath of wind.
She found the canteen. Metal tables and chairs. A communist mural of heroic agricultural workers holding sickles and scythes, gazing towards a golden dawn. She got tired of searching.
'Punch,' she shouted. 'Where are you, dude?'
Jane stepped into the corridor. She was faced by a dozen Hyperion passengers. They stood the length of the passageway, lit by flickering strip-light.
Jane backed away from the stink of piss and rotting flesh. A dozen ravaged faces. A dozen pairs of jet-black eyes. She expected the foul creatures to attack. They stood quite still, as if awaiting instructions.
They shrank back into darkened doorways. A clear invitation for Jane to proceed.
Nikki approached the situation board, a flickering, back-lit map of the western hemisphere. A figure was fused to the glass by metal filaments.
'She's here,' murmured Rye, slowly lifting her head. Metal tendrils from her eye sockets. She was plugged in to the walls, plugged in to the collective conscious, monitoring the inhabitants of the bunker with strange new senses. 'She's outside the door.'
Nikki turned to face the entrance.
Jane looked around the ops centre. Ghost, Punch and Nail lashed to chairs. Bodies melded to the walls and ceiling. Jane looked up. An old woman spread-eagled on the ceiling directly above her head. The woman gently squirmed, like she was trying to work out how she came to be pinned to the roof.
Nikki at the centre of it all, hands in her pockets, smiling a welcoming smile.
Jane glanced at Ghost and Punch. Quick inspection for injury or infection.
'Good to see you, Jane,' said Ghost.
'You guys all right?'
'Punch is all right. I'm fine. Don't think Nail will be coming home.'
Nail sobbed. The big man snivelled and drooled snot.
'I'm so glad you came,' said Nikki.
'That's sweet.'
Jane edged around the room. She held the flare like she was warding off a vampire. Spitting, fizzing purple flame. Wax dripped over her gloved hand.
She dug in her pocket with her left hand and took out her lock-knife. She flicked open the blade with her thumb and handed it to Ghost. He cut his wrists free then released his ankles. He quickly shook and stretched to restore circulation.
'I want to talk to you,' said Nikki. 'Just talk.'
'Sure,' said Jane, super-calm, placating a lunatic. 'Fire away.'
'I want you to stay with us. Europe is a radioactive cinder. There's nothing for you back home. Just death and ruins. But there's a place for you here, a place to belong. Call Sian. She can stay too.'
'Sure she'll appreciate the sentiment.'
Ghost cut Punch free and helped him to his feet. He dropped the knife in Nail's lap.
'Hey. Nail. Do yourself a favour. Slit your throat while you have the chance.'
'Look around you, Nikki,' said Jane. 'Take a moment and look. Why would anyone spend a single second in this fucking abattoir? There are some diesel drums in the plant room. Seriously. Torch the place.'
Nail cut himself lose. He moved on Nikki, gripping the lock- knife like he was ready to shiv her in the gut. She stepped back. Two rotting Hyperion officers shuffled forward to block his path. Nail ran from the room.
Jane, Ghost and Punch edged towards the door.
'Why be scared?' asked Nikki. 'What do you have to lose? Your body will change, but so what? It's not like any of us danced for the Royal Ballet. You've been fat all your life. You got thin, but you still bear the marks of obesity. Wide bones. Splayed feet. What's so great about being you? What are you holding out for? I'm trying to help. I'm trying to do the biggest favour of your life.'
Nikki stepped forward, arms outstretched in a pleading gesture.
'Join us. Join us, Jane.'
Jane threw the hammer. A spinning blur. The hammer smacked Nikki's forehead. She was knocked from her feet.
The phalanx of Hyperion crewmen began to shuffle forward, antibodies preparing to repel an intruder.
Jane took the jar of kerosene from her pocket and dashed it on the floor. She threw the flare and shielded her face from the eruption of flame.
She tossed Ghost her radio.
'Run,' she said. 'I'll be right behind you.'
Ghost grabbed an extinguisher from the wall, like he was ready to stand and fight.
'Don't be a fucking idiot,' said Jane. 'Take Punch. Get a head start. Go on. Run.'
She picked up an office chair and held it, ready to fend off attack.
Nikki got to her feet, hand pressed to her bleeding forehead. Hammer imprint between her eyes.
Nikki examined the blood in her palm. Woozy smile. She faced Jane through a wall of fire, watched her back towards the doorway.
'I know you better than anyone, Jane. I can see through you like a fucking X-ray. You hate yourself, every molecule. I know what that's like. You've been lonely your whole life. Every waking moment screaming out for some kind of contact, some kind of warmth. But you're not alone. That bleak, psychic terrain. I'm right there with you. I'm your soulmate, Jane. Yin-yang. You and me. Not those guys.'
'See you in the next life, Nikki.'
'Wait. Listen to me. There's no shame in wanting to belong. You and the rest of the human race. Everyone desperate to escape the confines of their skull, cramming themselves into cinemas, football stadiums, church pews, all yearning for some kind of collective experience. It's a life sentence, Jane. A life in solitary. But we don't have to be out in the cold any more. This is our chance. We can come home. You think it's all back in Europe. Contentment. But you've been living that way for years. Tell me I'm wrong. Dreaming happiness is somewhere else, somewhere over the horizon. But you're home, Jane. It's right here. Everything we ever wanted. We can finally belong.'
'You know what?' said Jane. 'You're wrong. I like being me.'
She turned and ran.
'You'll be alone,' shouted Nikki. 'You'll be alone your whole damn life.'
The Race
Punch climbed the ladder. He left the light and warmth of Level Zero and ascended to the freezing dark of the main tunnels. He struggled to grip the rungs. His wrists and ankles were bleeding.
'Are you all right?' called Ghost from the top of the shaft.
'Grinning from ear to fucking ear.'
Ghost hauled Punch from the shaft. He helped Punch to his feet.
'Can you walk?'
'Yeah.'
'Can you run?'
'I'll try.'
Ghost struck a flare.
'If we don't make it to Rampart before it reaches open sea we are dead men.'
Punch put his arm round Ghost's waist. They hurried down the tunnel. A steady slope to the surface.
They glimpsed a Hyperion passenger standing in an alcove. Fancy dress. A guy in a dinner suit and bull mask. The emaciated creature watched them pass. It slowly turned its head like a CCTV camera recording their progress.
'Is it following us?' asked Punch as he limped along.
Ghost looked over his shoulder. 'No. It's just standing there.'
'Christ, I can't wait to be out of this place. I just want to breathe clean air.'
'Damn right,' said Ghost.
They kept jogging.
'You know what?' said Punch.
Ghost was about to reply when Nail lunged from the shadows and knocked them to the ground. He sat on Ghost's chest and squeezed his throat.
Nail's lips were bruised and swollen. He looked like he was wearing black lipstick. He sank his teeth into Ghost's cheek and tore away a flap of flesh. Ghost yelled in pain. He jammed the flare into Nail's eye socket. Nail screamed. He threw himself clear and ran.
'Are you all right?' asked Punch.
'He got me,' said Ghost, trying to staunch the flow of blood. 'Fucker got me.'
'You'll be all right.'
'He got me. I'm fucked.'
'You don't know that.'
'Don't touch me. Don't get blood on you.'
'We'll get you back to Rampart. We'll patch you up.'
Punch hauled Ghost to his feet.
'Put your arm round my shoulder.'
Punch helped Ghost stumble towards the bunker exit.
'We should wait for Jane,' said Ghost.
'She's buying us time. Let's not waste it.'
They reached the mouth of the bunker. Ghost slumped against the wall. Punch pulled the tarpaulin from a snowmobile. He sat on the bike, turned the ignition and gunned the engine.
'Jane?' Ghost shouted into the tunnel. 'Jane? Are you coming?'
'She'll take the other bike,' said Punch. 'Come on. Let's not add to her problems.'
Ghost struggled to mount the bike. He rode pillion.
It was dark outside. They couldn't see further than the head- beam of the Skidoo. The bike bucked and swerved over jagged rock. They cruised the rocky shoreline and looked for a route on to the ice.
'There.' Ghost pointed. A path led down to the frozen sea. Punch swung the bike down the steep ramp and drove on to the ice.
'Hold on,' shouted Punch. He revved and headed south at full speed.
Ghost let the wind freeze his face. The bite wound stopped bleeding and soon he could feel no pain.
'I can't see the rig,' shouted Punch over his shoulder.
Ghost fumbled for his radio.
'Sian,' he shouted, struggling to be heard over wind noise. 'Hit the floodlights.'
Sian sat in the darkened cab. Night had fallen. She knew she should switch on the refinery floodlights but delayed the moment. She didn't want to see the approaching ocean. Some time in the next hour Rampart would break from the ice-field and float into open sea. From that moment she would be irrevocably alone. Adrift for weeks, possibly months. If she passed land she would have to row ashore in a lifeboat and explore the ruins of Europe on her own.
Her radio crackled. A voice. She couldn't make out words. Just a brief snatch of wind noise. Jane, Ghost and Punch must be trying to make it back to the rig.
She ran from the cab to a switch room on deck. She threw breakers. The Rampart superstructure suddenly lit celestial white by halogen floodlights.
Sian returned to the cab. The ice in front of the refinery was lit by arc lights. She could see the Arctic Ocean up ahead.
A snowmobile raced across the polar crust and pulled up in front of the refinery. Sian wiped condensation to get a better view. Two figures climbed from the bike, both wearing blue Rampart-issue survival coats. Two of her friends had made it back to the rig.
A sudden pang of guilt: if she could make a deal with Fate, she would happily trade Jane or Ghost to get Punch back alive.
The refinery ploughed through the Arctic crust with a roar like steady thunder. Each of the massive buoyant legs bulldozed a mountain of ice rubble before it.
Punch and Ghost faced the approaching avalanche and waited for Sian to lower the hook.
'We'll have to grab the chain at the same time,' said Punch, shouting to be heard over the rumble of shattering ice.
'I'm not coming with you,' said Ghost. He backed away. 'It's been a privilege. I always liked you, Punch. Always thought you were one of the good guys.'
'What are you doing?'
'Look after Sian. Enjoy each other. Find a decent place and build a life.' Ghost turned and ran.
Punch called after him.
'Ghost. Come on, Gee, we need you, man.'
Punch wanted to run after Ghost, but the refinery was nearly upon him. The crane hook descended out of blinding arc light.
'Ghost,' he called, one last time, but he knew he couldn't be heard over the jet-roar of ripping ice.
Punch was so close to the shattering crust he had to shield his eyes from snow and sea-spray. He saw the snowmobile smashed flat by a slab of ice. He stepped aboard the massive hook and hugged the chain.
Punch gave a signal-wave. He was slowly lifted upward and enveloped in light.
Ghost watched Rampart pass by and float away. A steel city heading south.
He thought about Punch and Sian safe aboard the rig.
He realised all he was about to lose. He wouldn't laugh, sip coffee or feel rain on his face ever again.
He took a long, shuddering breath.
We've all got it coming, he reminded himself.
He turned his back on the heat and light of the refinery. He walked north across the frozen sea. He pulled back his hood so he could look at the stars.
Departure
Jane ran through the bunker. She found a discarded flare smouldering on the tunnel floor. She couldn't be far behind Ghost and Punch.
She reached the bunker entrance. One of the snowmobiles was gone. She pulled the tarpaulin from the second Skidoo and straddled the bike. She reached for the ignition. An empty slot. Nikki or Nail must have the key. I'm going to die, she thought, just because some fool put the key in their pocket instead of leaving it in the ignition.
She stood at the bunker entrance and looked south. She saw a gleam in the far distance like a bright star. The arc lights of the refinery. She tried to judge distance. Rampart was over fifteen kilometres away.
She climbed down the rocky shoreline to the frozen sea. She checked her crampons were securely buckled to her boots. She threw away her flashlight.
'All right,' she muttered. 'You can do this.'
She ran, quickly accelerating from a trot to a sprint, and headed for the distant light.
She ran in total darkness, eyes fixed on the beacon lights of the rig. Pretend you are jogging a circuit of C deck, she told herself. Stay calm. Control your breathing. Get into a rhythm.
She muttered the lyrics of 'All Along the Watchtower' as she ran.
She drew closer to the rig. She saw shattering ice. Sweet relief. The refinery had yet to reach the ocean.
Jane looked beyond Rampart. The moon reflected in rippling water. The refinery had reached the edge of the polar ice-field and was about to break into open sea.
Jane ran alongside the rig. She passed the south legs. She sprinted in front of the refinery and collapsed, crippled by exhaustion, on the narrow strip of ice that separated Rampart from the ocean.
Jane dug in her pockets. She pulled out a couple of flares.
She stood, lit the flares and waved them back and forth above her head. She squinted into dazzling arc light. If Sian had left the cab, if she didn't see Jane standing ahead of the refinery, Jane would be crushed and submerged.
Jane let the flares fall at her feet. She stood, blinded by searchlights, deafened by the roar as the oncoming refinery punched through the polar crust. She closed her eyes. She was enveloped in ice-dust and sea-spray.
Sian sat in the crane cab. Punch crouched beside her.
'There,' shouted Punch. He scrubbed away condensation. They saw a solitary figure standing on the ice. Jane. Two purple flares burning at her feet. 'Drop the hook.'
Jane opened her eyes. The massive steel hook descended out of dazzling light. She stepped forward to meet it.
Jane was hit by a snowmobile and sent spinning across the ice. She sat up. She wondered if her hip were broken. She looked around. The snowmobile skidded to a halt and turned. The bike from the bunker. Nail must have had the key.
Jane struggled to her feet. She unzipped her parka. Nail drove at her. She jumped to one side and threw her coat beneath the bike. The caterpillar tread chewed her coat and jammed. The bike flipped. Nail was thrown across the ice. He got to his feet.
They both ran for the hook. Jane got there first. She grabbed the chain. Nail seized her throat and they fell to the ground. He sat on Jane's chest and began to throttle. His lips were black and turning to metal. His right eye socket was burned out.
Contest of strength. Jane pushed his face away with a gloved hand. She gripped his leg, tried to tip him from her chest. Something in the utility pocket of his trousers. Jane's knife. She pressed fingers into his remaining eye. He roared in pain. He gripped her right arm and tried to snap it. She had the knife in her left hand. She flicked open the blade and stabbed him in the belly.
Nail convulsed. She threw him aside. She looked up. Sian had raised the hook. It hung fifty metres above their heads.
Nail lay on his back. He saw the hook high above him and realised what was about to happen. He screamed. His cry merged with the roar of breaking ice.
Sian hit Release. Gears disengaged. The chain spun free. Jane rolled clear as the half-tonne hook slammed down like a fist. It punched clean through the ice leaving nothing of Nail but a fine pink blood-mist.
Sian engaged the gears and raised the chain. The hook rose from the depths, splitting ice, dripping seawater. Jane stepped on to the hook, and was lifted upward into the light.
Sian lowered Jane on to a walkway. Jane stepped from the hook. She stumbled and fell.
Sian and Punch climbed from the cab and ran to her. They helped her up.
'Are you all right?' asked Punch.
'I hurt my hip,' said Jane. 'I think I'm okay.' She looked around. 'Where's Ghost?'
Jane stood at the north railing and watched the Arctic ice slowly recede. A bleak landscape lit spectral white by moonlight. Jane spoke into her radio. 'Ghost? Can you hear me?'
'Jane? Where are you?' A weak signal. Ghost, somewhere out on the ice, alone in the dark.
'I made it. I'm on the rig.'
'You're all right?'
'We're fine.'
'Look after those kids, yeah? That's your mission. Keep them safe. Get them home.'
'We're leaving now. We've cleared the ice. The current is taking us south. I'm so sorry, Gee. There's nothing I can do.'
'These past few weeks. You and me. I wouldn't have missed them for the world.'
'I love you, Rajesh.'
Ghost's reply was lost in white-noise crackle as his radio passed out of range.
Jane saw the pin-prick of a distress flare fired in the far distance. The star-shell burned intense red for a full minute then died away. Ghost's final salute.
Jane lay on her bunk and cried. Always dealt the losing hand.
You'll be alone. You'll be alone your whole damn life.
Maybe she made the wrong choice. Maybe she should have joined Nikki's weird commune. Become a member of the herd. Or maybe her old, fat self had been right all along. Why live? Why struggle? Why not jump from the refinery and end it all?
She stared at the ceiling and tried to think of a reason to keep breathing.
Keep them safe. Get them home.
Jane got up. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She showered and found fresh clothes. She limped to the canteen. She looked for Punch and Sian. She saw them through a porthole. They were standing on the helipad. She joined them outside. Punch had a black box in his hand. He examined the gauge. 'Geiger counter,' he explained. 'They used to locate blockages in the treater by flushing isotopes through the pipes.'
'What's the reading?'
'Eighty. Standard background. I'll take a fresh reading every day. Not there's much we can do if we hit a radiation hot-spot. It's not like we can turn round and head the other way.'
'How's the fuel holding out?'
'We should be able to keep the lights on for a few weeks.'
'Food?'
'Some. Not much.'
'We'll make it,' said Jane. 'It'll be tough, but we'll make it.'
Jane made her way to the observation bubble. She settled herself in a chair and massaged her injured leg.
She powered up the radio and scanned the wavebands. Nothing but the pops and whistles of unmanned transmission equipment, military and civilian, singing to the ionosphere.
'This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. The broadcasters of your area in voluntary cooperation with federal, state and local authorities have developed this system to keep you informed in the event of an emergency. If this had been an actual emergency the Attention Signal you just heard would have been followed by official information, news or instructions. This concludes the test of the Emergency Broadcast System. '
Jane picked up the microphone.
'This is Kasker Rampart hailing any vessel, over.'
No reply.
'Mayday, mayday. This is Kasker Rampart. Can anyone hear me, over?'
No reply.
'Mayday, mayday. This is Jane Blanc aboard Con Amalgam refinery Kasker Rampart. Is anyone out there?'