Beyond the Ice Limit

35

GIDEON CREW STOOD with Glinn and Manuel Garza at the foredeck rail. They were speaking in low tones. Their conversation was about the nature of the Baobab, but as usual it seemed to wander into wild speculations and crazy theories. It frustrated Gideon that, even now, they had so little hard evidence on the thing. They didn’t know even the basics: was it a machine or a life-form, or some bizarre combination of the two? Was it intelligent—or just a dumb plant? This lack of information was becoming a serious problem on board ship, because the resulting vacuum was being filled with rumor and speculation.

At least the remarkable weather was still holding, the ocean as calm as a millpond. Every day brought them closer to summer, and the calving of the icebergs seemed to be accelerating in the advancing spring weather. As Gideon looked out, he counted six stately bergs dotting the sea. The rising sun hung low, casting a golden pathway over the water. The calmness of the scene belied the turbulent atmosphere on the ship.

“Excuse me, gentlemen?”

Gideon turned to see Dr. Patrick Brambell approaching, looking neat as a pin, but with such a concerned expression on his normally placid face that Gideon grew instantly alarmed.

“Dr. Brambell?” said Glinn.

Brambell came up with tentative steps, hands clasped together. “I’ve completed the autopsy,” he said. “Of Lispenard,” he added, unnecessarily.

Gideon felt a tightness in his chest. He had viciously suppressed all thoughts of Alex, which otherwise seemed to erupt regularly out of nowhere and stagger his peace of mind. But this he had to hear. He waited.

“Well?” Glinn asked when Brambell didn’t go on.

“The brain is missing,” said Brambell.

“What do you mean, missing?”

“Absolutely missing. Not a trace of it, not a trace.” The words came tumbling out, his Irish brogue heavier than usual. “It appears to have been removed at the brain stem, severed as if with a scalpel, and with evidence of the application of searing heat. I did a quick section and bioassay, and found that the proteins at the site of the removal had denatured—proof of heat.”

Gideon stared at him. “Removed? Not crushed?”

Brambell ran a hand across his bald head. “It appears the brain was removed before the skull was crushed—otherwise there would have been traces of it on the inside of the skull, neural matter forced into the fractures. But no—there’s no trace of gray or white matter anywhere in the remains. Not even microscopic traces. The Baobab seems to have…well…”

His face collapsed into confusion.

“Eaten it?” Garza completed the sentence.

Listening, Gideon heard himself tense up.

“That’s what I thought at first. But if it was going to be absorbed as nourishment, why remove it intact? And I have no doubt it was removed. What happened to it after that, I don’t have a clue—eaten, absorbed, whatever.”

“Scanned?” Gideon heard himself ask.

Garza turned sharply. “What do you mean by that?”

“Her brain was removed intact,” Gideon said. “Why? Maybe the creature wanted to interrogate it, download its contents—that would be a good reason to take the brain out undamaged.”

“Improbable,” said Garza. “To say the least.”

“Think about Alex’s final message. Let me touch your face. She was in contact with something. She spoke—or, at least, her brain did.”

“If your theory is true,” said Garza, “how did she speak? She had no mouth—her body was crushed.”

Gideon winced inwardly. Don’t remind me. He tried to stay focused, to think through the problem logically. “Her brain, removed intact, spoke through the creature. Let me touch your face. Her brain was in contact with something, but her brain was confused, disoriented. I mean, it had just been removed from her body.”

Garza’s face displayed broad irritation. He shook his head. “Good God, if this isn’t pure science fiction.”

There was a long silence. Glinn, as usual, took everything in while displaying an impassive face. Maybe Garza’s right, Gideon thought: maybe it is science fiction. It sounded pretty ridiculous in retrospect. But he wasn’t going to give Garza the satisfaction of admitting it.

“And there’s another little thing,” Brambell said after a moment.

Glinn raised his eyebrows.

“It seems someone swiped part of the specimen from exo lab. The four lab assistants kept a log of all sections removed, but there’s a large piece missing—and no one seems to know where it went. Did any of you by any chance take a piece without logging it?”

Garza turned an accusatory stare on Gideon.

“Not me,” said Gideon. Garza was proving to be a bigger pain in the ass than usual this morning.

“None of us would have done anything that irresponsible,” said Glinn crisply.

“Well,” said Brambell, “the lab might have made a mistake in its initial measurement of the tentacle. Or maybe they forgot to log a removal.” He cleared his throat. “Or perhaps the whole thing is a smokescreen to conceal unprofessional behavior. I say this because those four gentlemen had a party last night in the lab—when I passed the lab just now on the way here I found the remains of a bash, the four of them fluthered and washing the barroom floor, so to speak.”

“You mean, passed out?” Garza asked.

“That is precisely what I mean. The only one conscious was Frayne—if you can call it conscious—and it was he who told me of the missing piece of tentacle.”

“Where are they now?”

“Speak of the devil.” And Brambell turned as Frayne himself approached. His lab coat was stained with purple, and he stank of wine. He looked like hell. Frayne didn’t strike Gideon as the partying type—but there he was, obviously hung over.

Glinn stepped aside as Garza turned on the man. “What the hell’s this?” he demanded.

Frayne began explaining, in a bumbling sort of way, that they’d had a bit of a sangria party, but nothing outrageous—

Garza cut him off with a gesture. “What about the missing specimen?”

At this, Frayne launched into a complex, rambling explanation, claiming it had happened long before the party, wasn’t their fault, they kept impeccable records, someone had probably stolen it for a souvenir, and anyway they really hadn’t drunk all that much…

“You know the rules,” said Garza. “No drinking once the ship came on station. I’m docking you a week’s pay. And because you’re the chief assistant, I want you to report to the brig for twelve hours—and to get some sleep.”

“Brig?” The man looked devastated. “You mean, jail?”

“Yes. Brig. Jail. I’ll have a security detail meet you there.”

“But—”

Garza stared hard at him until the man wilted and slunk off. Then he turned to Glinn. “This sort of lapse in discipline is like poison on board ship. I hope you agree with me.”

A faint incline of the head indicated Glinn’s agreement. And then, after consulting his watch, he turned to Gideon. “We’d best wrap this up,” he said. “You and I are needed in Prothero’s lab.”