39: Strike

Pleistocene Park, Siberia-

"Thanks…" he said, "for yelling at Jumbo, back there."

Alan had calmed himself and regained control of the hover sled. Although shaken, the boy was attempting to appear nonchalant (for her sake, TinTin suspected).

Using her wrist comm, she took her eyes from their path for a queasy instant and called Fermat.

"Everyone okay back there, TinTin?" Came the younger boy's voice, along with a jumbled, streaming image of snow and rock. Quite wisely, Fermat was attending first to his driving.

"Yes, I suppose. It is just that we, er… encountered a mammoth herd, and several of them appeared injured. And I wished to know if you have perhaps heard from Monsieur Andropov?"

There was a short mumble of off-comm conversation, then,

"Okay, hang on, TinTin… Dr. Aginbroad is trying his radio… And here's the bus. We'll get back to you."

A burst of static followed. TinTin grew more uneasy, which caused two further things to happen; her mental shields grew stronger, abruptly cutting her vulnerable mind away from its dangerous surroundings, and her arms tightened about Alan's waist.

The first consequence 'blinded' her, but Alan was pretty pleased with the second. No matter what else was going on, he finally seemed to be making progress with TinTin.

Leaning into a wild turn, he cut around a stand of pitifully nude willows, then killed the engine. His hover sled lost altitude but not momentum, gliding forward to half-bury itself in a snow bank. They'd found the zoologist. TinTin was off the sled before it hit the ground, floundering through high drifts toward an up-ended snow mobile and a dark, crumpled figure.

All at once, Alan was all business. Placing a hand on his holstered pistol (which he'd never yet had to fire) the teenaged boy wriggled off the sled and threw his parka hood back for a better look around. He saw nothing but snow, a vault of pure sky, a low sun and whisper-bare trees casting long, blue shadows.

A few dark birds had gathered in the willow branches to shift and croak and watch. Others flapped up, like gawking spectators at a car wreck.

Cautiously, he made his way over to the girl, trying to see everything at once, and jumpy as a fawn on a windy day.

"Mr. Andropov…?" he asked, after clearing his throat.

TinTin nodded, looking much as she had beside the bulkhead, that time on Matt's station. There, she'd had some kind of weird fit. Here, she crouched beside the still form of a man they'd been talking to less than two hours before.

Andropov lay abandoned in the snow, with his head oddly twisted, about five feet from the crashed snowmobile. An accident, maybe, except that there were booted footprints nearby. Pretty deep, they turned north, then disappeared in a patch of rock and recently melted snow. Lots of scrubby trees and blowing snow to hide in… Worried, Alan felt the snowmobile's hood. Still warm, and no sign at all of what made it flip, like that.

"T…?" he ventured, reaching down to haul the girl to her feet. He didn't want to panic her, or anything, but… "Something's up. I'm gonna call in for help, and then we'd better find that bus, quick."

TinTin nodded slowly, looking somehow distant and numb… like it didn't much matter what happened next. But, she took stuff pretty hard, on account of being a chick, and all. Patting her arm, he tried raising Scott. Nothing. Bad comm, or really busy; your choice. He did reach Virgil, who seemed to be coughing up a lung, or something. Next trying Hackenbacker, he wound up on hold. Great. Take a number, huh?

Back at the island base, his father took news of the 'accident' and whacked-out mammoths with a grim nod.

"I agree that it looks suspicious, Son." Jeff told him, "and I'll send one of your brothers as quickly as possible. In the meantime, be careful. Get those people out, and join them on the flight to Moscow if one of us doesn't get there first. It may be awhile. Scott's encountered trouble, as well."

His father looked really, really tired. But he was old, and wasn't getting much rest, lately.

"I'll be in touch, Son. You three proceed with caution, and if the situation sours, don't wait for my word, fall back. Understood?"

Alan nodded. His father tended to throw around that 'military speak' whenever he got stressed. That, and astronaut talk.

"It's handled, Dad," he boasted, more to make the old man feel better than because he really believed it. "Trust me."

Then he smiled and signed off, out in a big empty steppe with a shocked girl and a dead guy, feeling small and alone.

TinTin had found a red drop cloth in the sled's saddlebag storage compartment. She placed this over Andropov's body and weighted it down with stones and broken branches. Then she said a quiet Catholic prayer. Alan didn't get into that stuff… a guy had to stand on his own two feet, y' know… but he didn't interrupt, either. Obviously, it meant something to her.

"C'mon, T," he said, when she'd finished. "We got to find that bus. I'll call Fermat and tell the other guy what happened, if you can't."

She nodded silently, still pretty out of it. Still pretty, period. Even with her eyes red and her nose swelling up, she looked like something out of the anime movies, or a magazine. Then it happened again, that weirdness of hers. All at once, TinTin stared at the dark birds in the willow trees, and they all just left. In a croaking cloud, losing feathers and droppings in their haste to get away, the scavengers took flight. Spooky.

Keeping his mouth shut, Alan dug the sled free, and then got her back aboard. Next, he made that call, which was sort of hard. Aginbroad looked as stunned as TinTin had, but Alan didn't know what to say besides…

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'll help you get him back home, when we're done with the buses, I promise."

…And like that. He was deeply relieved when the call ended, and he could get back to dealing with live people… situations he could actually help out with. This kind of thing wasn't covered in simulation.

He got the sled up and going again, letting speed and power and screaming wind chase away some of the stuff he didn't want to feel. Maybe later he and Gordon could hang out for awhile, talk things over. You know… guy stuff.

And he fixated harder than ever on saving Matt, who he just couldn't visualize as lost. Not a possibility; not when Alan had smart friends, high-tech gear and a plan.

Just like before, he did more zipping and banking than absolutely necessary, because speed (and a girl's tight hug) felt good. You couldn't drive forever, though. Sooner or later, the ride was over. You reached the bus, and sprang the trap.