The boat hung on a chain-hoist. Nikki pressed Down and jumped aboard the boat as it descended into the dark.
The boat touched down on the ice beneath the refinery. She unhooked the chains.
A couple of wheeled pallets roped to the underside of the yacht. The boat weighed the same as a van, but the ice was slick as glass.
Nikki buckled crampons to her boots and threw herself against the boat. Once the boat began to move it built momentum. She pushed the vessel, a step at a time, to the water’s edge. She jumped aboard as brittle-crisp ice cracked beneath the weight of the boat and it settled into the sea. She pulled rope hand over hand and raised the sails.
Metallic motor noise. A flashlight beam suddenly trained in her face from above. Jane descending in the platform elevator. Nikki recoiled from the dazzling glare like she’d been slapped.
‘Slinking away, is that the plan?’ shouted Jane. The platform touched down.
‘I didn’t want to make a fuss.’
Nikki shielded her eyes and tried to squint beyond the blinding light. She tried to see if Jane were carrying a shotgun.
‘I like what you did with your hair,’ said Jane. ‘You look like a boiled egg.’
Nikki didn’t say anything. She waited to see what Jane would do.
‘Here’s the deal. You can take the boat. You can take the food. You can take whatever maritime charts you’ve stolen. But you have to take a radio, as well. You owe us that much. We need to hear how far you get. We need to hear what is waiting beyond the horizon.’
Nikki was hit on the chest by a big radio in a canvas bag. She instinctively caught the strap before the radio fell in the water.
‘So how about it?’
‘All right,’ said Nikki. ‘Call me any time you like. We’ll chat, do lunch.’
‘I’m serious. You were dying out there on the ice, remember? You were dead meat. We brought you back. We saved your life. You owe us a few minutes of your time.’
‘Okay. Fuck it.’
‘It’ll be lonely out there. Few days alone in the dark. You might be grateful of a voice.’
The boat began to drift away from the ice.
Twenty metres. Thirty metres. Nikki moving beyond Jane’s reach.
A hundred metres. Two hundred metres. Out of shotgun range.
Nikki was home free. Nail might commandeer the zodiac and try to chase her down, but he would struggle to find her. No running lamps. Too small for a radar fix.
Nikki looked back. Rampart dwindled behind her, a receding constellation of room lights. A massive, skeletal silhouette blotting out the stars.
Crackle as the craft bumped ice plates aside.
She turned her back on the refinery and looked towards the southern horizon, the point where a fabulous dust of the Milky Way met the impenetrable blackness of the sea. A heart-fluttering mix of excitement and fear. She locked the tiller in position with bungee line. She fitted a thermal mask to her face and pulled up her hood. She hunkered down in the cockpit ready for the long haul.
Nail lay in an opiate stupor. The world-obliterating white pain of his snapped ulna had been dulled to an ache by Demerol. He slipped in and out of consciousness for a couple of hours.
He woke. The drugs had worn off. The pain in his arm made his eyes water, made his teeth gnash.
He got to his feet and stumbled down cold corridors to the pump hall. He kicked the storeroom door wide. The floor hatch was open. The boat was gone.
‘Fucking bitch,’ he yelled.
Jane stood at the hatch controls. She pressed Close. The hydraulic rams retracted, pulling the floor hatch shut. It sealed with a heavy, metallic thud, cutting off wind noise.
‘I don’t know why you are acting all surprised and betrayed,’ said Jane. ‘She was aching to fuck you over. Anyone could see it. Personally, I would have hidden the fuse for the hatch controls. Replaced it with a dud. Make sure she couldn’t take an unauthorised joyride while I wasn’t around. You know, deep down, on a fundamental level, you are pretty stupid.’
‘Fucking bitch,’ murmured Nail.
Jane joined Sian on the floodlit helipad.
‘Feeling a little under-appreciated?’ asked Sian.
‘Ghost did a fine job with the power.’
‘It’ll keep them happy for five minutes. Then it will dawn on them. They are still here. Still stuck. Still waiting for someone to get them home. They’ll be knocking on your door soon enough.’
‘And what do I tell them?’
‘That we’ve got a ship. It’s beached. It’s got a big rip in the hull. But we’ll get it moving, sooner or later.’
‘I think the current occupants might object. Look over there, out on the island.’ Moonlit figures gathered at the water’s edge. ‘They’ve come from the ship. A couple of weeks from now the ice-bridge will be complete. The sea from here to the island will be frozen solid. They’ll be able to walk right to our door. You think things got better just because the lights are on? We are now officially under siege.’
The Specimen
‘So are you back in hero mode?’ asked Punch.
Jane was mopping her room. A water pipe had split, spraying water across her bed.
‘I try to help people out, if I can. Mainly to kill time. If the TV actually worked I’m not sure I would give a shit.’
‘You might want to check on Rye.’
‘Any reason?’
‘No. But it’s that dog-whistle thing. Sometimes people don’t have to say or do anything weird. They just sit there, quietly sipping tea, all the while putting out an ultrasonic scream like they are dying inside.’
‘I’ll swing by. Not much I can do until she asks for help.’
Nobody knew much about Rye. She stayed in her room most of the time. There was a photograph tacked above her bunk. A baby boy. The picture looked old. Plenty of creases, plenty of pin holes.
Jane sat in Rawlins’s office and checked Rye’s personnel file. She quit general practice and took a job on a rig three years later. No explanation for the three-year hiatus.
Jane headed for Rye’s room. She would fake a migraine. Ask for painkillers.
The door was ajar. Rye sat on the bed. She had stripped down to underwear. She dug a knife into her thigh, scratched her name with the tip of the blade. She drew little beads of blood.
Jane coughed to announce her presence.
‘Before you ask,’ said Rye, ‘no, I don’t want to talk about it.’
The crew held a toga party. They turned up the heat until the accommodation block was sweltering hot.
Ghost led a raid on Hyperion. They battled their way to the Ocean Bar and loaded a cart with booze. Smash and grab. Jane told Ghost it was a stupid idea, risking his life for a few bottles.
‘It’s vital,’ he said. ‘If the guys don’t let off some steam they’ll go nuts.’
They dressed in bed sheets. They switched on the jukebox and selected Random Play. Punch was bartender. He mixed margaritas. Jane licked salt from the rim of her glass.
‘Salut.’
Jane enjoyed the party. A few months ago, when she was super-obese, she would have stayed in her room. She couldn’t wear a toga. The sheets weren’t big enough.
Punch laid out canapés. Tube-cheese squeezed on to Ritz crackers. Sausage rolls.
A couple of guys took off their togas and danced in shorts.
Ghost passed round a couple of joints. He won a press-up contest with Gus and Mal.
Sian sat behind a table to stop guys staring at her legs.
Rye joined the party. She didn’t wear a toga. She sat near the door and watched the action. She sipped tequila from a paper cup. Jane brought her a plate of food.