Colony by Benjamin Cross (ready player one ebook .TXT) 📗

that there is also a killer on the loose. Latest reports indicate that he weighs approximately 1,500 pounds and stands approximately three metres tall. His name is Ulmus. Ulmus Maritimus. But you will know him better as… the polar bear.”

A murmur of excitement passed around the audience.

Volkov continued, “This is the largest land carnivore our planet has to offer. He is hungry and he has made his home here. His sense of smell is so well developed that he has already sensed your arrival. Whenever you venture out to look for your rocks or to take your samples, you will be accompanied by an armed patrol. Especially you, Doctor Lebedev,” he pinioned her with his gaze, “as you will be seeking him out directly, I presume.”

Doctor Lebedev replied to him in Russian and Volkov answered back. The exchange was short, and, though he didn’t understand a word, Callum could tell that it was a long way from amicable.

With a snort of irritation, Volkov ended the conversation and brought his attention back to the rest of the group. “One last thing. We have been told to expect unusual solar flare activity over the next few weeks. This is nothing to worry about, but our satellite communication systems may be affected. I am told that any interruption will be infrequent and minimal, but you should be prepared for some short-term disruption to internet and radio communications.”

“Will there be any warning?” Callum asked. “Only, I’ve promised my son—”

“I repeat, Doctor Ross. Any interruption will be infrequent and minimal. There is unfortunately no way to predict if or when this might occur.” Volkov checked his watch. “Now, I see that it is almost time for your tour of the island, so I will say nothing further. If you could collect your emergency supplies and reassemble by the helipads at the stern, the guides will be waiting to introduce you to Harmsworth.”

“Great,” Peterson said, springing to his feet. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

“In the air,” Doctor Lee corrected him.

5

By the time the group had changed into their outdoor gear and reassembled at the stern, the Kamovs were fired up and waiting. Beyond the nose of the nearest aircraft, Callum could see Lungkaju, shades and headset already dwarfing his face, priming the controls. Lambie, another of the indigenous guides, was busy with the controls of the other craft.

Driven by the wind, the group divided itself quickly into two and boarded.

The main cabin had a high ceiling and four rows of detachable seating. Callum followed the first few people on board and sat next to the window on the forward-facing second row. Beside him sat Doctor Lebedev. In front of him, also beside the window, sat Dan Peterson. Callum could hear the other two members of the team, Doctors Lee and Semyonov, already embroiled in a fresh campaign of academic sniping in the rows behind.

With the door secured, the helicopter lurched up off the deck and hummed its way out over the water. Within moments they were approaching Harmsworth’s southern shore, and Lungkaju’s voice boomed out over the PA: “I will fly around the whole island so that you can see all of him.” He then repeated himself in Russian, before banking the helicopter and beginning to pass over the bay. “Valerian Cove,” he announced.

Callum watched as the parallel helicopter shadows crossed the expanse of shingle side by side and then manoeuvred into file. Lungkaju in front, they were following the rugged coastline west. Close to shore the ice was fragmented and thin; in places it was absent. Where the surf broke free it clawed against the beach, flecking the light grey pebbles with slush.

“The ice will melt quickly now,” Lungkaju said. “In a few weeks it will mostly be gone.”

“Death throes of the ice floes,” Peterson remarked.

Further westwards the shingle gave way and the relief rose up to form a series of bluffs. Stumps and stacks of exposed rock clustered just off shore, forcing their way up through the residual sheets.

“Harp seal colony,” Peterson said, pointing a gloved finger towards the foot of the cliffs.

Callum could see several clots of white fur between the rock pools. The seals’ black eyes and huddled pug snouts turned upwards as one to investigate the sound of the helicopter, while several of the more cautious members heaved themselves to the edge of the rocks and slipped away into the safety of the water.

As Callum looked on, Doctor Lebedev leant past him towards the window. In her eagerness to catch a glimpse of the seals, her nose squashed up against the glass and she almost swiped Callum as she brought her hand forward to try and protect her eyes from the sun’s glare.

“They look healthy,” she said.

“I bet they don’t look so healthy once all the building work starts,” Peterson replied, with a smirk. He made the sound of a pneumatic drill and held his hands up to grasp the imaginary handles.

Doctor Lebedev turned to Callum and muttered something in Russian. Her face was close enough that he could see the fine grain of her make-up and make out the few pale freckles dotted around her eyes and nose. To his surprise he found that he could also understand her.

“Mu’dak!” she had said. Arsehole!

For Callum, the days of being able to hold any but the most basic of conversations in Russian were long gone. The years since his last visit had chipped away at his vocabulary until all that remained were the most basic of phrases and a colourful lexicon of curse words, which still came surprisingly naturally.

“Da, mu’dak,” he replied. Yes, arsehole.

She stared at him, uncertain whether he was just mimicking her. Then her eyes brightened and she laughed.

Callum laughed too.

“Suka!” she said, holding his gaze.

“B’lyad!” he replied.

“Khui!”

“Piz’da!”

“What are you guys on about?” Peterson broke in. “What the hell’s so funny?”

Callum’s eyes searched the vital green of Doctor Lebedev’s, just inches away.

She mouthed something that he didn’t quite catch, but which he took to mean, Please don’t tell