Fifteen
Captain Miller of the Peary, along with his First Mate Frank Browne, watched as the longboat struck out for the meteor. It had been a long journey, and Miller was glad the end was in sight. There had been things that had taken place that he didn't agree with at all, and he couldn't wait for it all to be over. He planned on taking his money, selling his ship to the Hearst-Faber company, and getting the hell away from it all. There were just some things you didn't do when you were a sailor, and from what he knew – and he knew very little in the grand scheme of things – the Hearst-Faber company had broken all the rules of the sea.
They'd intercepted a distress call a few days ago. He'd been on the verge of turning the Peary around when the call had come through that it was a ruse directed towards the Aurora.
That stuck in his craw. He'd laid awake that night, worrying over this. It was bad luck. It was tempting fate. You just didn't do that, not when you were at sea. Distress signals depended on all sailors understanding the simple rule that you helped each other, regardless of nationality, religious affiliation, political affiliation, and old grudges. No sailor would ignore a distress signal, because they knew it could very well be them in distress at any time. And you certainly didn't send a fake one.
Captain Miller liked to think that he was a real sailor. He'd spent most of his life on the sea – he was almost sixty and he'd been working on ships for over forty years – and during that time he'd never broken the Code. It wasn't a real Code – there were no written rules or laws covering it – but it was Code nonetheless, and once a sailor broke the Code he would be blacklisted. He would never get another job on a ship. If he was the Captain, he would never get a crew to work for him. His name would be mud, and rightly so.
Over the last few weeks Captain Miller had watched as his own reputation – hard won by over forty years of dedicated service and upholding of the Code – had been eroded by the actions of others. Once they got back to land, and the truth of the Hearst-Faber machinations were brought to light, he would be blacklisted. He would be the one looked down on and scorned by his fellows. That was the problem with letting landlubbers plan a voyage: they thought the world was run by their rules, but on the water a whole new law came into affect. The sea was the judge and justice was delivered by the whole of the fraternity. It was a quiet justice, but Captain Miller knew his life at sea was over.
Four decades of work gone for the sake of money.
"Looks like it's ours," Frank said, breaking the silence.
"What's that noise?" Miller asked. A new sound had entered his sphere of notice; a sort of low humming that was growing louder with each passing second. He looked around, but there was nothing else on the water bar their ship, the longboat and the meteor. There weren't even any icebergs this close to the meteor: they'd all melted, causing a headache for ecologists all over the world. Although this time they couldn't blame it on global warming. It was more like cosmic warming.
"Up there," Frank growled. "It's an aircraft, Captain."
Miller wore a pair of binoculars around his neck. He used them now to focus on the small yellow plane that had appeared in the clear, blue sky. "It's the seaplane from the Aurora, damn it!" He let the binoculars go and watched the plane with his bare eyes. "Screw it," he said at last. "By the time they've landed and launched their dinghy, our men will be on the meteor and flying our flag."
The plane passed overhead. For some reason, it didn't try to land. It simply circled over the meteor, as though they were searching for something.
"What are they doing?" Frank asked, curious.
Miller shook his head. "God knows. They're not trying to land, are they?"
"No-oo," Frank said slowly. "I don't think so… What's that?" He pointed up. A small black dot had appeared on the wing of the plane. They watched silently as something dropped from the plane and started to fall towards the meteor. As it got closer a parachute blossomed behind it, and they realised someone had jumped.
"God damn it!" Miller smacked his fist against the ship's rail. "They're parachuting onto the meteor! They're going to get there first!" It was almost admirable: the Peary had been two steps ahead of the Aurora the whole time, but now, at the last second, they were being pipped to the post by sheer grit and dogged determination. He couldn't stop himself from marvelling at the size of their balls: they just wanted it more, he supposed.
He watched as the parachute floated gently down towards the meteor. The longboat, he noticed, had redoubled its efforts and were making a game try to beat the jumper before he landed. Everything was moving in a sort of dreamy, slow-motion sort of way, and he had a startling moment of clarity: he didn't care.
He didn't give a damn any more.
He was vaguely aware of movement beside him. He blinked and looked around, and saw Frank aiming a high-powered rifle at the parachutist. He grabbed the gun and pulled it away before the Mate had a chance to loose off a shot. "What the hell is the matter with you!" he cried. "Have you gone insane? Is this what we've become?"
"He's going to get there before our boys!" Frank shouted.
"So what if he does? Jesus, Frank, this whole thing stinks."
x
High above them, and completely unaware of what was taking place on the ship or how close he'd come to getting shot, Tintin had a problem. He was starting to drift on the air currents, and was heading straight towards the edge of the meteor. As he got closer to the ground he realised that he was going to keep going down, past the huge, listing side of the meteor and straight into the ocean. He desperately flailed with the flag, trying to hook it to anything – any depression or rock – and pull himself back towards solid ground. He almost managed it too, but at the last minute the wind gave a solid gust and he floated too far over the water to hook the edge of the stone.
He looked up, watching the high lip of the meteor as it started to get further away, and realised that the longboat was only a few meters from the shore of the giant rock. There was no way he was going to do it: they had lost.
He jolted suddenly and painfully, the straps of the parachute digging in to his chest, and realised that the parachute had snagged itself on the lip of the meteor. If he was quick, there was still a chance. It was a million to one, but it might just work.
Hand over hand, he climbed quickly up the ropes and the silky material of the parachute, taking huge handfuls of the fabric in his fists to make sure his hand didn't slip. Walking his legs up the side of the meteor, he reached the top and clambered over. By now, the longboat was almost at the meteor: two more strokes and they would be there. He kept an eye on them as he tried to open the flag, but his hands were frozen.
One more stroke.
He gave up and chewed the cord that wrapped the flag with his teeth, worrying at the knot like Snowy.
The longboat hit the meteor. The chap in the prow with the flag was pitched headfirst onto the rocky ground.
Tintin planted the flag.
Time held its breath. Tintin held his breath.
The crew of the longboat started to curse: they had lost.
He whooped in delight and punched the air. If it had been a badly-made film, it would have frozen at that point, so the audience could be left with a tingly, good feeling in their stomachs. All that happened was that one of the men in the longboat gave him the finger and shouted a bad word at him. He didn't care though. He just grinned and waved back, and watched in satisfaction as they turned around and headed back to the Peary, beaten at the eleventh hour by a teenage boy.
It was a good day.
x
In the seaplane, Captain King called in to the Aurora. The scientists, the research students, and most of the crew were crammed into the tiny comms room waiting to hear what had happened. When the tinny voice crackled over the receiver ("He did it! Victory! Our flag is flying over the meteorite!") they exploded into cheers and whoops and started to hug each other. Captain Haddock wiped a tear from his eye. "The balls on that kid!" he said admiringly. "They must be made of solid stone!"
"I'll keep you informed," Captain King continued, "but I have to land."
There was a strange noise in the background, like a banshee crying. "What's going on?" the Captain asked curiously.
"Snowy's going mad. That's one annoying dog."
"Tell me about it," the Captain agreed. "Wouldn't you hate to have to look after him for longer than five minutes? Eh? Right, land and Professor Phostle will have instructions for you when he's finished drinking all the wine, I'm sure."
"Wine?"
"We ran out of champagne about ten minutes ago. We're all quite drunk right now."
x
Captain King landed, and Tintin left the flag where it was and headed down the slope to where the water lapped gently against the stones. As the plane coasted along, the cockpit slid open and Snowy scrambled out of the back seat and onto the wings. "He's coming to join you," Captain King shouted. "He won't stay with me any longer."
"Who's my big boy?" Tintin crooned. "Come on, Snowy!"
With a happy woof, Snowy leaped into the water. As soon as he hit it he started to yelp loudly. It was the same noise he made when someone trod on his paw, except it was long drawn out and slightly higher pitched: the sound dogs made when they were genuinely hurt and not just looking for sympathy. "My poor baby!" Tintin dashed towards the shore as Snowy splashed through the water. The dog wasn't quite swimming, more propelling himself forward out of desperation. Tintin splashed into the water and realised at once what was wrong.
"Ow! Ooow! Oh God that hurts!" The water was boiling. Not quite as much as a kettle, for instance, but hotter than dish water. He could feel it through his weather-proofed slickers and thick boots. He quickly grabbed Snowy and lifted the dog out of the water and ran back to the shore, his legs pumping madly. "The water's boiling!" he shouted back to Captain King, who was watching this in surprise and growing anxiety.
"I'm not surprised," King yelled back. "It's hot enough to melt the icebergs."
"We should probably stick with the dinghy, then."
"Yeah, definitely. I'll just get it and we can… Hang on!" He waved the radio mouth-piece at Tintin. "The Captain's on the line!"
"You there, Ace? Are you receiving me?"
"Yes, Captain, go ahead."
"We've broken something in the engine room. We've had to slow down a fair bit."
"How slow is slow?" King asked warily.
"Er, we're working on getting it fixed, but to be honest it looks like it's going to take a few days to reach you."
"You're kidding!"
"'Fraid not. If we manage to fix it, we'll be there quicker, but it's going to be a big job. To be honest, it's best if we don't even try until we can shut down the engines. Otherwise, we'll be doing patch jobs and we still can't go full speed."
"Right. Ok. Thanks for the heads up, Captain." King hung up and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Tintin!" he shouted. "We've got a problem: the Aurora has developed engine problems and has had to reduce speed."
"Anything serious?"
"Well, it's going to take a few days for them to get here."
"Days!" Tintin's mouth dropped open. "You're kidding!"
"Nope. Look, we can't stay here: we don't have any supplies. We have to go back and rejoin her. Anyway, our mission is accomplished. Are you coming?"
Tintin shook his head. "If we both leave now, there's nothing to stop the Peary from stealing samples of the rocks and minerals," he replied. "Someone has to stay and guard the meteor."
"So what do we do?"
"I'll have to stay," Tintin said firmly. "You go and get supplies, and I'll stay here to guard the island."
King thought it over. "Ok," he said at last. "Then I'll leave this with you." He rummaged around behind the passenger seat of the plane and returned with a box. He clambered out onto the wing and got as close to the island as he could before deftly heaving it towards Tintin. Mindful of the boiling water, Tintin leaned forward and caught the box. It was made of tin and not very heavy. "It's the emergency rations," King explained. "They'll do until I get back tomorrow with more. Are you sure you want to stay here?"
"Perfectly," Tintin said. "And thanks for this." He raised the box slightly.
"There's a bottle of water in there," King said. "Good luck, kid. I'll see you in the morning."
"Thanks. Good bye!" Tintin waved as King got back into the plane and started the engine. The cockpit slid closed and Tintin sat down heavily on a rock and watched as the plane turned and skated away over the waves. It built up speed and took off, gaining height until it was a speck of black on the horizon. "Well, there he goes," he murmured. At his feet, Snowy sat down and started to whine.
x
There were plenty of ways to pass the time on an island of bare rock that was floating in the middle of the sea. Not if you were on your own, mind you, but when you had a dog that enjoyed playing tug of war and other games it was actually quite fun. Tintin pulled his hood over his head and covered his face, tucking himself into a ball. He made growling noises and Snowy attempted to dig his master free.
That kept them occupied for about an hour. When Tintin was finally covered in plenty of thin scratches from Snowy's paws it was time to stop, and still the sun hadn't set. So he sat back down on a rock and pushed the sleeve of his jacket at Snowy. The dog resisted for at least thirty seconds. Then, with a playful growl, he took a hold of the hem and started to tug, and they played tug-of-war until the sun started to dip down the sky and the shadows lengthened.
"Time for food," Tintin declared. He carefully extracted his sleeve from Snowy's jaw – it was slightly torn and wet through with dribble, but that was a hazard of owning a dog – and opened the tin box of supplies.
There really wasn't much in there: a handful of biscuits, an apple, and the bottle of water. Snowy, sensing that food was about to make an appearance, sat down neatly in front of Tintin and waited for his share.
"Starvation," Tintin said glumly. "Huh. Like Philopus the Prophet and his gloomy predictions of hunger and death." He affected a high-toned accent that was actually quite close to the querulous voice of the insane prophet. "And lo!" he exclaimed. "The judgement does come upon us! Behold the judgement!" He shook his head. "Mad old fool. I almost feel sorry for him. It must be awful to lose your mind. Ugh. That spider." He shuddered as he remembered his dream; of the giant spider coming towards him with sword-quick movements. "And the judgment was a spider," he muttered. With a sigh, he unwrapped the biscuits.
A large, black spider scuttled out of the napkin paper and dropped to the ground. With a shout, Tintin jumped up, upsetting the tin box, and tried to stamp on it. Snowy, meanwhile, started to bark loudly and chase after the insect, which was soon lost among the rocks. Annoyed at himself for his overreaction, Tintin called the dog back and ordered him to be quiet. "Leave it," he scolded. "There's no point: it's gone Snowy. All gone." He held his hands up to show that there was nothing there. For some reason, this always seemed to convince Snowy that there was nothing, even when Tintin was clearly holding a toy, or the spare sock he used to tease the dog.
He picked up the biscuits – they had fallen in their paper so they weren't too damaged to eat – and tried to figure out which ones the spider could have touched, or laid eggs on. Logically, it had to be the two outside ones, so he wiped them down and fed those to Snowy. He wasn't afraid of spiders, not by a long shot, but he really didn't like the idea of loads of little baby spiders erupting from his nose the next time he sneezed. He settled himself back on his rock and tucked into his biscuits, leaving the other four for the morning. At least the apple would fill him, he reasoned, and he wouldn't be hungry when Captain King came back with proper provisions.
"The hell with the spiders," he said through a mouthful of crumbs. "They're not spoiling my dinner." At his feet, Snowy crunched his way through a biscuit and wagged his tail absently. "And neither are any prophets of doom," Tintin continued.
The sombre sound of a bell made him sit up straight. It was coming from behind him, but he didn't want to turn around on the off chance that Death was standing there, tolling his bell. At this point, he didn't think it would be the cat-loving, blue-eyed Death of Discworld. He turned slowly, his eyes wide in apprehension, and realised it was just the bell on the Peary. He shook his head. "I'm such a tool," he muttered. "I suppose it's their suppertime too."
Snowy finished his food, hoovered up the crumbs like the most efficient Dyson ever invented, and sat up and begged for more.
"All gone," Tintin said, holding up his hands. "See? Just an apple. You don't like them."
Snowy sniffed at the apple and turned away in disgust. He soon wandered off, nose to the ground, snuffling around the strange island. Unsure of his surroundings, he made sure to stay close to Tintin. Inside his little doggy head he knew this was because he had to protect his master, but inside his little doggy heart it was because Tintin was familiar, and he didn't like being in an unfamiliar place by himself. Any time he was away from Tintin Bad Things happened, so the only way to make sure they don't happen was to stay nearby.
Tintin took a bite out of the apple and chewed it slowly. He was still hungry. It was a nice apple though: sweet and crunchy. I like apples, he thought aimlessly to himself. He glanced down before he took another bite, and grimaced.
There was a bug inside! Oh, no, no, noooo! That's disgusting! He spat out everything in his mouth and peered at the insect. It was more like a maggot. Eeewwww! Luckily, it wasn't missing any of its length, so he hadn't eaten any of it. He made a noise ("Bleargh!") and tossed it over his shoulder. A short yelp alerted him to the fact that it had hit Snowy on the head.
He was bored now. He hugged his knees to his chest and looked around. The only lights he could see were the ones on the Peary. It was comforting, somehow: it was a reminder that he wasn't actually alone; that there were people close by in case something happened. He didn't bother to remind himself that the Peary probably wouldn't help if something happened to him, but at least they were still there.
The sun slipped below the horizon and the stars came out. They twinkled brightly all across the midnight canvas of the sky. He watched them until he started to shiver slightly. Surprisingly, it wasn't that cold considering how close he was to the Pole. If he kept the furry hood of his coat up, he could use the parachute as a blanket. He fetched it from where he'd left it, piled in an untidy heap near the flag, and dragged it down closer to the shore. He didn't know why, but for some reason he wanted to keep the lights of the Peary close by. It seemed important, but he couldn't say why for sure. The lights were almost familiar. If he squinted they blurred, and there seemed to be more of them. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost imagine they were the lights of a city, close by and near at hand. For a few seconds he wasn't in an ocean of wilderness.
He laid some of the parachute on the ground so he could have some cushioning against the hard rock underneath him, and soon he was curled up under the rest of the heavy material. Snowy cuddled up close to him and, watching the stars and the lights of the boat, they slowly fell asleep together.