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

Callum had worked in Siberia enough times to know that vodka was practically a dietary staple for many indigenous peoples, part and parcel of a different cultural mind-set. But then none of his previous Siberian acquaintances had ever been flying him a thousand miles in a turbo-charged helicopter before. He nodded at the flask. “When you’re flying?”

Lungkaju belched out a laugh. “Do not worry, Doctor Ross. I have flown many times. Many, many times. You are in very safe hands.”

Not feeling overly reassured, Callum finally accepted the flask and took a gulp. The burn of the neat vodka was as unpleasant as he remembered.

“So how long is it going to take us?” he asked, handing back the flask.

“Four hours,” Lungkaju replied. He took another swig. “We will be on the Albanov in time for dinner.”

Lungkaju was Nganasan, the most northerly of the indigenous Samoyedic clans in Russia. Callum had co-directed an excavation on the banks of Lake Taymyr seven years before, so he already knew a thing or two about the culture. This delighted Lungkaju so much that he awoke a snoring Fenris to tell him the news.

“Doctor Callum Ross has been to Lake Taymyr, Fenris! That is very brilliant because our family are from Lake Taymyr!”

Evidently not sharing his master’s excitement, Fenris looked around, nonplussed, before replacing his massive head in-between his paws and falling back to sleep.

They passed the next hour in conversation about Callum’s job as an archaeologist, the other specialists already waiting on the Albanov and the project ahead of them. Attention then turned to Lungkaju and his involvement. At this he frowned, straining to remember something crucial. At last he exclaimed, “Statistic! I am what you call a statistic. The company must give a small number of jobs to Nganasan and our neighbours or they get into trouble with the government. I am useful to them because I can fly and because I speak different languages.”

“You seem very well educated,” Callum said.

“Because I am lucky,” he replied. “And old. Did you know that I am fifty years old?”

Callum had figured late thirties, maybe even younger. But now he knew the truth, a few tell-tale creases did seem to emerge on the pilot’s cheek, crumpled as it was by his trademark grin.

Lungkaju set them down on the Anna Ioannovna as scheduled. Callum stretched his legs for a couple of minutes, but the icy wind soon drove him back inside the cabin. He waited as Lungkaju directed the fuel crew and Fenris relieved himself furtively against the back of the fuel car.

The vessel was enormous, easily a football pitch in length, with a large bronze-coloured deckhouse and its own helicopter perched alongside the Kamov on the helipad.

“The Albanov is bigger,” Lungkaju boasted, as he re-entered the cabin and initiated the engines. “Very soon we will be there, Doctor Ross, and you will see. Soon your journey will be over.”

Inside his pocket, Callum’s fingers closed around the quartz pebble. He watched out of the window as the helicopter accelerated and the endless grey ocean disappeared into the horizon. “I wish I could believe that,” he replied.

Chapter 2 Icebreaker

1

“Well, if it isn’t Indiana McJones!”

Callum did his best to smile as the American man with adolescent sideburns and horn-rimmed spectacles skipped towards him across the dining room. His hair was jet black and he wore a thick, gold chain around his neck.

“Dan Peterson,” he said, hand outstretched. “It’s good to meet you at last.”

“Callum Ross.”

“Of course you are. Come on over and let me introduce you to everyone. We’ve been expecting you.” He turned and strutted off back between the tables.

The main dining room on the Albanov icebreaker was on the eighth floor of the deckhouse. Panoramic windows were set within the outward-facing walls, overlooking the southern end of the island and taking in the rugged coastline. From the helicopter, the inland tundra had looked as if it had been churned up by a massive plough. Much of it was still covered in snow and it looked as beautiful as it did inhospitable. It also looked a hell of a lot larger than Callum had expected. In the distance, a massive ice-cap squatted over the southern half of the range, the northern half emerging as a tangle of peaks, which stumbled on out of sight.

Lungkaju had set them down on the Albanov late afternoon. He’d been right about the size of the vessel. It was enormous, much larger than the Anna Ioannovna, easily the largest ship Callum had ever been on. No sooner had they stepped foot on board, than he and his equipment had been subjected to half an hour of stringent security checks. Despite his protests that it was sleep and not food that he really needed, he had then been whisked straight up to the dining room to play meet-and-greet with the rest of the team. He fought and failed to stifle a yawn. Then he forced a smile and followed after Peterson.

The table Peterson made for was one of thirty or forty, all lavishly set. It was surreal. Having spent the afternoon heading ever further from civilisation, dinner in the equivalent of a five-star restaurant was the last thing Callum had expected. The people awaiting him at the table were well dressed, as if attending a conference at a plush hotel rather than embarking on fieldwork within spitting distance of the North Pole.

Peterson gestured Callum towards the remaining laid place at the head of the table. As he manoeuvred himself into the appointed seat, a portly, older-looking man with bushy white hair spoke out in a Russian accent. “It is a beautiful view, is it not, Doctor Ross?”

“It’s like something out of Tolkien,” Callum replied.

“You are probably wondering why the glacier sits only to the south?”

Callum had not been wondering that at all and the directness of the question took him by surprise. Should he have been wondering that? Was it something the others had all immediately wondered? What he had actually