“We have to find them in fifty days or less,” Grace said to MacRobert.
“How?”
“I don’t know. But in fifty-two days, if they’re all alive, they’ll run out of food. We can’t let them starve to death, Mac. We can’t.”
“They can fish,” Mac said. “The rafts have fishing gear.” He grimaced. “If the weather lets them fish. If the fish are there.”
“Water?”
“They have desalinators. Hand-pumped.”
“We need to locate them. Hicks has authorized one more search. They could cut off some of the distance to the search area by flying over Miksland. High altitude, to avoid that communications problem.” Grace cocked her head at him. “If we knew what it was, maybe we could fix it. ISC might have someone—”
“Government’s not going to like involving them, and if crews think flying over part of Miksland is especially dangerous, Hicks isn’t going to push them.”
Grace glared; MacRobert’s return look exuded patience. She sighed. “Mac, sometimes you are annoying.”
“The truth sucks.” His expression offered no hope.
“Yes. It does. Let’s hope the next flight shows something.”
“You know they’ll call off the search,” Admiral Driskill said. “She’s bound to be dead. We should inform our governments that you’re taking over.”
Dan Pettygrew, interim commander of SDF, felt the knot in his belly tighten. “I’m not ready to assume that,” he said. “We’ve been told there’ll be one more search mission, and that the reason for ending the search after that is distance and weather. They could well still be alive.”
From their expressions, none of the other admirals agreed.
“Pordre thinks she may be. He thinks the communications problem is a deliberate event, and thus indicates someone may know they’re alive and be frustrating attempts to find them.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Admiral Hetherson said. “No one would do something like that.”
“Oh, they would if they could, but I doubt it’s possible.” Admiral Driskill leaned back. “I wonder if they’ve contacted ISC to ask about it.”
“Have you?”
“No. I’m sure someone at ISC is aware of the problem, given that Admiral Vatta is—was—somewhat involved—”
Pettygrew wanted to wipe the smirk off Driskill’s face, and others, but held his temper. “I will inform the governments when I myself am satisfied that either she is dead, or her absence is impairing our ability to respond to threats. Neither is the case now.”
Pursed lips, sideways glances—but they didn’t argue. Good.
“And now for the quarterly budget review,” Pettygrew said, tapping his stylus on the agenda.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
During the eighth day, the wind lessened again, but snow continued to fall. Frozen condensation frosted the inside of the canopy, and every watch had to poke open the ventilation flaps. Consultation with the other raft revealed that most of the rations from Goose had not been salvaged.
The ninth day brought a clear sky and good visibility. Ky ordered the canopy on her raft opened enough that she could see the coast again in both directions. The same barren wall extended behind them, but straight across it was already lower, obviously lower. Ahead, the cliff wall disappeared into the sea. The current pulled them on; soon they would be even with the rocks low enough to see over. She could not see what lay beyond, but if there was an eddy current heading north, this was the place to look.
“Wake up!” she said loudly. “Kurin, lower our canopy completely. Master Sergeant, lower the canopy in your raft. It’s time to start paddling.” In her own raft, those offwatch stirred, looked up sleepily. Those awake looked around. Kurin grinned and reached for a paddle.
“It’s too cold!” Commander Bentik said from the other raft as its canopy retracted. “It’s freezing.”
“We don’t want the wind’s push now, and we’ll be paddling,” Ky said. She had already assigned the first teams of paddlers from those with experience in small boats. “We’re heading across this current, hoping to find an eddy that will carry us around that point and on north. These rafts won’t be easy to steer, but if we find the right current we should be able to do it.”
At first, the paddlers seemed to make no difference in the rafts’ movement, and as they passed the point of rocks, she could begin to see what lay on the other side: a bay, like a chunk bitten out of this end of Miksland, with a slope—steep, but not a cliff—up to the high plateau. Beyond it, another line of cliffs marked this end of the continent, with rising ground beyond.
After something over an hour of paddling, another current caught them, moving them north, though not nearly as fast as the main ocean current had moved them east.
“We could go all the way north,” Marek said. “The current might carry us all the way past Miksland into the shipping lanes. Toward warmer water. I think we should try that.”
“I’m worried about the food supply,” Ky said. “And the cold. Doesn’t the sea freeze down here in winter?”
“I don’t know how much of it,” McLenard said. “How far north, I mean, but I’ve heard it freezes as far as this.”
“These rafts won’t stand up to sea ice,” Kurin said. “We could get stuck in it when it’s too thin to walk on, but thick enough to crush them.”
“Warmer to the north,” Marek said again. “Probably more bays up there, less likely to freeze.”
“I take your point, Master Sergeant,” Ky said, “but as short as we are of food, and with these rafts—we’re going into this bay while it’s good weather and we can see what we’re doing.”
They came nearer, nearer, the paddlers switching out now for a fresh crew. Once out of the eddy current, it was easier paddling between the arms of the bay. Waves were smaller, mere ripples on the surface. Ky could see the shore on both sides and ahead clearly.
“It’s just rock,” Jen said, from the other raft. “No trees, no driftwood—nothing to build shelters with.” Ky said nothing.
“We could build a hut with rocks,” McLenard said. “Stuff mud in the cracks.”
“We’re closer to this side.” Marek nodded to the north. “Head for that?”
“No,” Ky said. “Keep going, all the way in. It should be shallower there, maybe enough to walk the rafts ashore. We need lookouts to watch for rocks beneath.”
The rafts moved with agonizing slowness toward the shore. Gradually the bottom came into view, tumbled rocks and then seaweed, shellfish clinging to the rocks, several fish. Ky was heartened. With the loss of supplies, they needed every extra calorie they could find, and she saw no sign of plant life around the bay.
When the rafts finally touched bottom on shingle, everyone sat silent for a moment.
Marek started to climb over the side into the water. “Not you,” Ky said. “Your suit’s not sound. We want to preserve the rafts for shelter and future need, so we don’t want to drag them loaded over the rocks. Only those with whole suits.”
She rolled over the side herself, confident in her suit’s integrity, into knee-deep icy water. Her first lurching steps on the slick, rounded cobble reminded her that days at sea made for shaky legs. She pulled on the lines between the two rafts, moving them only a few centimeters, but soon others were there to help. Finally, only Marek and Jen were still aboard a raft. He helped Jen over the side, and she splashed ashore, almost falling.
“We need some protection under the rafts,” Ky said. “These rocks will wear through them. We’ll use the uninflated spare raft for one, and its canopy for the other.”