Permafrost(36)

“I know only that there was only one body found, a man, dead at the pilot’s controls. Beyond that . . . nothing. If you are in contact with Tatiana, she must close this circle.” He hefted the axe. “That is her responsibility. But I must be equally sure of mine. The Admiral Nerva runs on a pressurised-water reactor. It’s standard for maritime nuclear systems, but quite vulnerable to a loss of pressure in the cooling circuit. That is what I intend to make happen. Ordinarily, the support crews would be able to avert any catastrophe, but since they have responded to the evacuation drill . . .”

“You’ll need to be close to the reactor.”

Cho nodded. “Very. And you should leave now, while you may. Take this axe: I will fetch another one on my way to the reactor room, and you may need it out there on the ice.”

“You said they only ever found one body.”

“That is correct.”

While the Brothers smouldered and flashed I looked beyond their room, to the metal walls of the carrier, imagining the white wastes beyond the cordon of Permafrost, the endless frozen tracts over which I’d flown on my way from Kogalym, back before all this. Back when, for all its cruelty, for all its hopelessness, the world still made a kind of sense.

“Then it’s possible that she’s still out there.”

*

I must have been one of the last out of the Admiral Nerva. I didn’t go directly down to the ice, but instead crossed over to the Vaymyr and then followed the last stragglers of the evacuation order as they made their way outside. I went down six decks to the ice level, catching up with a small group of technicians who were heading for the same weather door as me, and then I was in her head again.

She was next to the plane, leaning against the side of the cabin while she gathered her strength. I was in her, looking down. The seed case was jammed in the ground, upright between her boots.

Tatiana? I’m glad you got out.

So am I. Head hurts like a bitch, and I’m not sure the stitches haven’t come undone.

Beyond that, are you able to walk?

Just about. Why don’t I stay with the wreckage? Someone will come here eventually, won’t they?

Yes, and when they find the seeds they’ll take them straight back to the Finnish seed vault where Antti found them in the first place. We can’t let that happen. You have to move, distance yourself from the wreck. Are you injured?

I thought I was all right, bruised my thigh a little, but now my side’s starting to hurt really badly.

Your right side?

You’re feeling it as well?

No, you’re feeling me. There was a struggle upstream, in Director Cho’s office. His gun went off and . . . well, it got me. It wasn’t Cho’s fault. I don’t even think he realised what had happened. Just a glancing shot, through the flesh.

Fine, never mind me—are you going to be all right?

Yes—I’m no worse off than you. There’s an evacuation going on, a mass exodus onto the ice. We’re trying to decouple Permafrost from its own future, to stop any interference from further upstream. But there’s something you have to do first, to make sure this doesn’t unravel even further. Cho needs a message.

Then send him one.

No—you’re the one responsible. Inside the aircraft, one of the altimeters must be broken. Find some paper, anything, and scribble a note to Director Leo Cho of World Health. All he needs is three words and a set of coordinates.

I should move, before I black out again.

Yes—but not before you’ve done this. You know where we came down. Record the coordinates from the GPS device, the exact final position, and send them to Cho, along with three words.

Tatiana moved around to the copilot’s side and yanked open the door, buckled by the impact. She leaned in, averting her vision from the dead man in the other seat, sparing both of us that unpleasantness. With numb fingers she unclipped the GPS module from above the console. It had survived the crash, I was relieved to see, its display still glowing, range and time to destination still wavering as it recalculated our course, idiotically confused by our lack of movement.

I have the numbers. Just need to write them down. Has to be a pen somewhere in this thing . . .

Try Antti’s jacket. I think I saw him slip a pen in there when he came back from the office at the airstrip.

She leaned in, wincing as the ghost pain from my injury pushed its way to her brain, and I winced in return as echoes of that phantom found their way back to me.

Got it. Got a scrap of paper, too. The altimeter’s smashed—got Antti’s blood all over it. Is that where you want me to put this message?

Tatiana dropped the GPS device. It clattered to the floor of the cockpit, its display going instantly blank. She picked it up, tried to shake some life back into it. But the device was dead.

Tatiana clipped the device back onto its mounting. She had a scrap of paper open now, Antti’s pen poised above it. She had no gloves on, her fingers already shaking.

I lost it. I lost the damned coordinates.

No—you saw them a few seconds ago. I trust that you remember them. Just write down what you saw.

The pen danced nearer the paper. She began to inscribe the digits of latitude and longitude, but had only committed our most general position before she hesitated.

I’m not sure what comes next.

Write it down. You remember what you saw.