1. Thule

With a scream Ash thrust himself back into the seat, slapping Rumsfeld's motors with an aftward swipe of palm. On the lander's hips gray engine pods wheeled and spat plasma, incandescent fire twisting the acceleration that had dragged him to the deck through his chest. Pressed backward against the releases of his neglected harness, Rick counted seconds as outside charred basalt began to angle by. With each tick the nose rose, the horizon leveling mid—windscreen. With the ship back under control he exhaled, realizing he'd cut it close. Too close. Too many zero g-berths the last few months...too many fat air worlds.

Behind him the fireball of Alors dipped below an amber horizon and darkness encompassed the cockpit. A crescent moon climbed over a scrawl of approaching ridgeline, veiled by an upblown sheet of ice crystals. Toggling off the alarms, Rick's eyes adjusted to the whites and greys of a ghostly terrain. A jolt of turbulence caught the lander as it crossed onto the icecap, spilling the bag of jerky from the console beside him. Reaching to retrieve it, Rick found the remaining strips of beef mired with the grime on the deck. He turned his eyes back to the glacier streaming by.

"HCV Rumsfeld, HCV Rumsfeld..." The comm panel crackled, coffee-stained, thick with the Arabic-tainted French of Parasol. "Bonsoir. We have you a little low but can still bring you in. Call guidance, if you please." Ash acknowledged with a grumble, wrinkles drawing about grey eyes. Miles away floodlights gleamed from a stand of cylindrical towers and drilling platforms, lonely derricks whose red beacons reflected across the oncoming ice. At his approach one of the towers' bays parted, loosing a shear of light high above the waste. On the surrounding gantries he saw pressure-suited technicians stop mid work, craning to catch a glimpse of the new arrival. Inching forward through the portal, Ash dropped Rumsfeld onto the hangar's black tarmac with a thud. The vessel's landing struts compressed between faded yellow lines.

As the motors spun down figures approached in a motley pastiche of vacc gear, doffing helmets as the cavernous, pie-slice hangar's pressure stabilized at tolerable levels. Around him Rumsfeld creaked and popped. Putting his pause aside, Ash threw a swath of switches and reached into a cavity behind his couch...extracted the brown of a beaten leather Assault jacket. Here and there telltales flashed yellow and white. On the Dynamics panel one remained defiantly red. With clenched jaw he made for the hatch.

#

Champbeau was waiting as Rumsfeld's forward clamshell met the deck, clad in a beige jacket and faller. Predictably he was smiling...that over eager anticipation Ash had never reciprocated. As he descended the ramp dilapidated maintenance bots passed him going the other way, climbing the the weathered no-slip of Rumsfeld's nose hatch in the company of a scraggly-haired handler. Below the portly Frenchman offered his hand. "Bonjour, Richard. It is good to see you again. How long has it been now, nine months?"

"Yeah..." Ash answered, noting the Administrator's girth undiminished. He drew a red and white pack from his faller's shoulder pocket. "You could've had your baby by now."

Champbeau scratched arm through a thin gray sleeve. "Always you insist on biting the hand that feeds you."

Rick tapped a Marlboro out, glancing to bearded technicians beneath an adjacent jumble of gantries as he lit it. "After that ass raping your boss gave me last time, you're lucky you could get me back out here at all."

"Mmmm, unfortunate, yes, but you know how Jules is with his contracts." Champbeau scanned the cluttered berthing bay with a dubious eye, cheeks and unkempt sideburns for the moment still. "Do not let that reflect upon his esteem for you...this time the old man requested you by name. You are the first non-company vessel to make the station in months. For your troubles he says he will pay you double. I assure you, he does not do this for everyone."

Ash cocked a dark eyebrow, thinking immediately of his core. With a sideways glance he wondered who else might be listening. "Double? What could be so pressing for the old geezer to fork over that kind of payola?"

Champbeau searched the passing knots of dockworkers before continuing. "I wish only that I knew. Jules keeps his own counsel on these matters. I simply hire the help."

Looking back toward the interior of Rumsfeld's cargo bay, Ash found its hollowing well underway. Canisters and shipping containers were streaming by on a caravan of bots. The technician who'd moments before gone aboard had returned, dataplate in hand, running his fingers through a shock of greasy black. "Monsieur, I believe we shall have you serviced in half an hour. Might I obtain your signature?" Ash noted the man's name...Neupriess. A pallid face framed the eyes of a senstim addict.

Ash scribbled gibberish on the plate and handed it back. Neupriess regarded him disparagingly but accepted his cat scratch, disappearing up a dingy glass lift shaft along the cavernous bay's wall. "I see Arkan's recruiting the very best these days."

Champbeau chuckled amid the din of the servicing machinery. "It is difficult, you know? Who wants to work at a place like this?" The Frenchman began to walk in the same direction as Neupriess, dodging here and there a crate, a line of conduit or inattentive maintenance man. "So, perhaps you are hungry? Jules has asked us to meet him for dinner. I believe he wishes to talk about our arrangement."

"Arrangement?" Ash repeated as he scratched the days old stubble of his face. "I thought everything was set?"

"For the most part." Champbeau crossed beefy arms. "There are, however, some details yet to be worked out."

Beyond canyons of shipping containers and pierced metal plank the pair transited pressure doors, emerging into a dark corridor of tile and dingy walls. Nearby a team of laborers cast eyes their way, turning from a run of sucon straps dangling from the overhead. As Ash and Champbeau approached, a capsule arrived at an outer lift bank. Beyond the tram's glass ice shimmered in the blue sheen of Thule's companion. "I heard from Jervaine that your arrival was a little non-standard. He thought from the gravwave we might lose you."

"I had it under control." Ash huffed, in no mood to discuss his aberrant lift calculations. "Standard combat arrival in case someone was watching."

"And who would care to monitor us here?" Champbeau said. They accelerated upward along the tower's exterior. "Such a forsaken place. Barely an atmosphere...nothing alive. I know they are smart men on Asphir, but I do not see how they could terraform this world, what with all the ice locked here on the dark side."

"Terraform?"

"A scheme al-Ayyub's band of tinkerers."

"Any when to that delusion?"

"They came through here with their plans to respin the world perhaps two years ago. I suspect now that with the turmoil down arm Asphir has bigger priorities for its Riyals. Besides, with us being so far out, who would come? Terraforming is expensive and someone must pay the bills. Even were they to do so, it would take decades. Alas, I fear that if ever again the light of Alors were to touch this ice, I should be dead and buried."

High above the glassy plain their lift capsule slowed, doors opening to a familiar passage. White floor panels lent the corridor's length a sterile air, discordant with the cherubic relief carved into the oaken doors at its end. At Champbeau's approach they parted.

Arkan's loft was dark as they entered, Spartan save for a square conversation pit sunken into black carpet. Surrounded by a panorama that looked out upon the glacial plains, the old man sat within a desk of ebony. He continued to scribble longhand upon a sheaf of scrip, before him the holo of a strange object glowing upon blotter top. Registering their presence, he flicked it off. "Good afternoon, Monsieur Ash. I trust your trip was uneventful?"

"I'm here." Ash responded, deciding the Frenchman's voice to be even more slurred than normal. He despised pleasantries, particularly when he knew the man uttering them considered his errand boys expendable.

"So you are." Arkan removed a pair of shades and slipped them into his pocket, the exaggerated blink of his eyes telling of mentally linked communications. "I hope you do not mind, but alas, Hakkim informs me he is a bit late with our dinner." He rose and gestured toward the conversation pit. "Please, have a seat. Marcel, the documents, please?"

Indignation animated Champbeau's face. "But of course."

It was tough being a lackey, Rick mused as Champbeau removed his person. Casually the cheat took a seat of his own...extracted a cigar from a thin silver case. Clipping its end, the old man lit it with a tap on the center table's metallic rim. From the box he drew another and offered it to Ash. Rick acquiesed, stabbing the spent Marlborogh stub into the spotless glass of the table's ashray. He bit the cigar's tip off and sent it after.

"I suppose you know I have not asked you here simply for dinner and a smoke." Arkan began, eyes distant as he sank into cushions of Salafistan leather. "I wish you to do something in great confidence for me, Rick. I am willing, of course, to pay handsomely for your troubles." From the dome above an air handler pulled their smoke into vortices.

"Mind elaborating?"

Arkan puffed and met his gaze, bearded face inscruitable as ever. "Once we have an agreement. Until then there is no sense in regailing you with unnecessary detail. One thing, and you must know this before anything more...your transit will be as a minimum to the Governor's estate, quite probably on to Parasol."

Ash blanched. "Parasol?! The way Rummy's limping, I'd toast the rest ofmy core for sure. Even Asphir is going to be dicey. Why?"

"In return for his beneficence in financing our operations, Governor Aulande wishes personally to inspect our findings. I intend to oblige him."

"And Parasol?"

Arkan smiled. "First things first. As surely you know, Asphir operates an effective Quarantine, one more principled than those of other worlds. In order to avoid drawing undue attention to what might be considered questionable affairs, the Governor desires you deliver this package clandestinely. In return for your services, I am prepared to compensate you at twice our previous rate. I shall of course make up for loss of time, should your trip be extended." Chimes played across the chamber. Arkan smirked and rose, waiting for Ash before taking the steps to the transparent dining dome. "I hope you do not mind the wait. Hakkim is among the finest chefs out here in the Fingers. Allah knows I pay him enough."

Two Polynesians bracketed the open portal as the men mounted the stair, swarthy faces unreadable as their master's. Beneath the dome's clear glass an enticing feast was laid out, centered upon a twenty foot dining table.

"Tuscany pheasant, Rick, as well as other sundries. Thankfully you have replenished our supplies, for this was the last. It has been some time since we dined upon such authentic fare." As they settled in at the table's head, Rick soon found Hakkim's effort as good as Arkan's boast. He couldn't help but notice his host's indifference to his own plate. Upon his return Champbeau relievedly discovered a place set for him, making up for his bosses' abstinence. Sweet cakes and sorbet rounded out the service.

Sipping the last of his wine, the old man's gaze bent toward the cryogenic horizon. Absently he set his glass down. "The documents, Marcel?" Continuing to chew, Champbeau reached for a clipscreen and thin sheaf ready upon the table. "Your task, Rick, should be simple, but first I must ask you to consent to non-disclosure. Lacking this we may proceed no further."

"Non-disclosure?" Ash considered them both. "From you? When has anything concerning this place ever been for disclosure?" With a tarnished dinner fork Champbeau fiddled with his debrided foul.

"This is not for any court of law." Arkan continued. "Rumors have already reached his Excellency, Monsieur Geranis, of our findings here. Seeing as this is a secret project, he was not pleased. This record is at his pleasure...so that he may know who we are treating with. Surely this is preferable to a bullet?"

Ash held the scrip in his hand...let it drop upon the table. With a huff he sunk back into his seat cushion. "I think you know me better than to think I'd squeal."

"I do." Arkan's empty gaze had returned to the featureless vista. "It was, after all, I who suggested you to his men." Without looking Arkan drew his napkin...dabbed his lips. "My first choice for a deal you cannot refuse."

"Okay. I'll sign, but before I look at your contract I want you to be aware my fee just increased. And...I want half up front."

Arkan's lips pursed. "I have already agreed to pay you double, Rick. Surely that is enough."

"I wouldn't have brought it up if it were, but if you don't like my terms, I'll pass on your NDA and head back to Asphir right now. I'm sure the Governor can wait the month...maybe two it would take to get another runner back out here." Beside them Champbeau faded back.

"How much?" Arkan asked.

Ash scratched a number out on the man's dataplate...slid it to him as Champbeau craned to see. Arkan chuckled, blanked the sheet and slid it back. "You are quite daring, Rick. I suppose I have shown my hand too early. I will pay."

Ash puzzled, tracing with his eyes the gaunt lines of Arkan's face, the pepper of gray of hair and goatee. He seemed more haggard from the last time they'd met. "The money doesn't mean shit to you, does it?"

"Of course it does, Rick. Finances are important." The draw in Arkan's speech now held a sing-song quality.

"The thug I knew would've had me fileted for that move."

"He might still. May I ask why you choose to gamble so?"

"Rummy needs a new core. This'll get it for me. Then I can take your junk downarm if need be."

Arkan gave a singular nod. "Mmmmm. The non-disclosure, then?" Where previously a price had been written, Arkan's sheaf now recorded the matter they'd discussed. Champbeau supplied a pen. Thinking he'd regret it, Rick signed his soul away. Champbeau exhaled and collected the document.

Arkan rose and clasped his hands behind him, turning away from Ash to once more survey the desolate expanse. "My men found the first indications of something under the ice years ago...something besides the ores and hydrocarbons the Danes had been pulling up, that is. Forty years and they'd found little more than fissionables. Oddly enough everyone had seemed quite content with that state of affairs. It takes, I suppose, a man of ambition to delve more deeply. There are voids there, Rick, below the ice and down in the deep crust, below the dead volcanic plumes my predecessors had been so enamored of. Those, by far, are the most interesting.

Our first shaft went down about the time you were here last, and within a month of detecting those first...anomalies...we were forty kilometers in...well below the crust and into what had once been this world's mantle. Our engineers decided to send men down the shafts to conduct a more comprehensive survey, down into the broken lava tubes. We lost a team to a tunnel collapse beneath one of the voids, yet there was a silver lining to that cloud. In the recovery of their...corpses...our exploratory dropsondes happened upon something. We discovered an artifact...a crystalline object, one that we believe, for reasons I prefer not to elaborate upon, might be a sort of...Rosetta stone. With such a find I ordered an immediate lockdown, pending the arrival of the regular packet from Asphir. When it put in, I dispatched our survey team's recordings along with my personal agent to inform his Excellency. It was that request that brought you here. This then is what you shall be transporting to Asphir...our Rosetta Stone. Knowing that is enough, and allows you to comprehend how truly priceless it is, as well as the lengths I shall go to ensure its safe delivery to our patron. I anticipate the fulfillment of our arrangement." The old man paused before motioning to a domestic with an upraised finger. "The agent I spoke of...if you do not mind, I would like him to travel with you to ensure the unfettered delivery of our consignment. If, as I suspect, travel further down arm becomes a necessity, Monsieur Gundassa will fulfill the additional security requirement. You do remember my bodyguard, do you not?" From the doorway a shadow darkened the chamber, eclipsing the setting moon. Arkan's men shied from his presence.

"Uh, can't I just do this alone?"

"Unfortunately, I must answer no. As my envoy, Monsieur Gundassa is uniquely qualified to supervise our transaction. I believe you have met before, Aldacore?"

"In passing." The behemoth answered, approaching to join them beside the table. Seven feet tall, he was black as night and breathtakingly bald. Dressed in the immaculately tailored black of a Rouen coat and matching tie, his eyes were hidden behind silver-mirrored shades. A telltale bulge in his jacket marked him as a businessman of Argonne.

With pursed lips Ash muttered a silent curse. "I should have asked for more."

Arkan grinned. "Indeed. Perhaps now you should review the contract in its entirety?"

In a blink Ash did, fading briefly as the data flooded his comprehension. Sensing the moment, Champbeau pressed another sheaf of scrip before him. Again Ash's stylus hovered, hesitating with a sideward glance toward Gundassa. He scrawled his name a final time.

"Excellent." Arkan said, turning to face his guests as Champbeau collected the slip. "It is done." Slowly he walked to the table and his abandoned glass. One of the domos marched forward...pulled the bottle of Mandeaux from its bucket of shaved ice. "Now that our affairs are concluded, might I interest you in another glass of wine?" Refilled, he held its red high. "I do like to indulge myself...after I have eaten."