The Ice Fortress (Frozen World Book 2) Page 10

  “What most people don’t understand, and what many researchers are just now beginning to comprehend, is that Neanderthals weren’t less intelligent than Homo Sapiens. They could talk. They were skilled toolmakers. They were perfectly capable of learning. And they were strong and agile, with excellent vision, great lung capacity, and admirable musculature. Physically, Homo Sapiens could not compare with Neanderthals, certainly not in a rough subarctic climate.”

  “I have read about this,” Scott said, “that Neanderthals were less advanced in their tools and culture not because they were less intelligent, but because their social skills weren’t quite up to scratch. Their network of common knowledge and skill exchange was not cast as widely as of the Homo Sapiens. That’s one of the most recent theories.”

  Pechersky nodded gravely. “That’s nearer the truth. Social connections are as important to Neanderthals as they are to Homo Sapiens, but they are less capable of large group interaction. Small groups, small tribes were more common in Ice Age Europe – it would be difficult to find food for large concentrations of people. Neanderthals are more set in their ways, and more individualistic, if you will. Especially the men. Women by their nature had to work together more often.”

  “So you are telling us Neanderthals still exist?” Petri spoke, his voice incredulous.

  “Yes. They always have. But there was always a distinction between these two branches of the human race. And the Neanderthals’ love of the remote, their unwillingness to mix with the others, made them outcasts. People always knew something was different about those few scattered villages, though they couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Finally, the last remainders of the population were driven to the Trepanovo area and settled there, calling themselves Mece or Meci. The word is probably a relic from some proto-Uralic language. It’s hard to tell. I don’t remember anything other than Russian spoken in Trepanovo.”

  “Alright…” Scott took a deep breath. “This sounds sensational, but… is there any scientific evidence of this?”

  “Of course. When interest in anthropology first began, sometime in the 19th century, Russian scientists began to pay more attention to the Mece. This intensified when the Bolsheviks took over. It was terrible. Many of the village people were taken away to institutions, to be researched and measured and be the subjects of various tests. Most of them never came back. Those who did were broken for the rest of their lives. Finally, with the end of Stalin’s era, came more enlightenment and protection for the people. They were given Trepanovo and its surrounding woods and rivers as their domain, but they were to be kept a secret… a Russian secret. It was fine by the Mece. Many of them were used to derogatory treatment, and did not like to advertise their belonging to ‘primitive ape-men’, as they were then considered. The younger ones, the ones with more flexibility, did their best to blend in. They grew out long hair and beards to hide their typical facial features. They mixed with the general population – some of the Mece men brought ‘foreign’ women to Trepanovo. The influx of new blood did us good, ultimately… the population became more vigorous, the children healthier, and some of the stigmas against us were lifted.”

  Scott didn’t know what to think. It all sounded beyond belief… but then, what about the Anai? I wouldn’t have believed that either, unless I had facts staring me in the face.

  “So you don’t claim to be pure Neanderthals?” he asked, trying to keep disbelief out of his voice. They were, after all, on Pechersky’s turf now, and the last thing he wanted was to enrage this great hulk of a man.

  “Some of us are not. I have foreign blood mixed in. The Soviet government tried to control that, by the way. They wanted to create so-called hybrids arbitrarily, deciding which of our men will marry women from outside the Trepanovo area, and which women. But that was too much. They were forced to contend themselves with observation. They could research our genetics, but not control them.

  “The love of land, space, and rural, thinly populated areas is in our blood. Most of the Mece fail to thrive in towns. Still, some of us have traveled outside Trepanovo to gain an education. I was lucky – my talent in boxing gave me money, fame and connections, and paved my way to the parliament, where I could work on behalf of my people. But my influence isn’t enough to keep the government from annexing Trepanovo to its lands. It’s an emergency situation, they say, so private land claims are not respected,” he concluded bitterly. “What I could do, however, was establish this station. I did it because I heard of the wondrous warm valley – at first I hoped we might settle there. Now, of course, I know there isn’t enough room. We don’t mean to drive the Anai out. We are not your enemies.”

  “I appreciate you telling me that.”

  “But I am hopeful there is another place, warm enough to live in year-round, to found a settlement. We will have to say goodbye to Trepanovo. Like it or not, we will be driven away. But there must be another place in the world for us.”

  For the first time, Scott permitted himself to look at the man sitting opposite him with something like sympathy. “I’m sorry for you, I really am,” he said, “but the idea of finding such a place in Antarctica is far-fetched. You could, however, appeal to whoever is responsible for national minority rights worldwide, reveal your people for what they really are. That will gain you the status of a minority, and the protection that comes with it… if what you are telling is true, of course.”

  “I have documents to prove that what I tell is true. I am willing to undergo genetic tests, too. And look at that,” Pechersky reached into a drawer and pulled out an album, battered and thick with photographs. “Most of the inhabitants of Trepanovo are in here – old and young, men, women and children. Look at them.”

  Scott flipped the album open. His eyes moved over the photographs of people. All were fair skinned, with eyes of blue or green or grey, and many were fair-haired. The abundance of body hair in men was prominent where arms, legs or chests were bare. The women were more daintily build, but very stocky, though none was fat. The children appeared extremely robust. And though there was some diversity in the features, all had the same receding foreheads and chins, prominent noses and brow-ridges, and deep-set eyes. Still, had Scott met any such individual at random, the word ‘Neanderthal’ probably would not have popped up in his mind – most likely because the people of Trepanovo were attired in modern clothing, wore modern haircuts, and many were cleanly shaved. What did you expect, though? Stone hammers and ragged dirty animal pelts?

  Scott took a deep breath, making a decision. “Sergey, I choose to believe you. I believe you aren’t lying to me. But I still don’t see how I could help you. Now, if you had minority status…”

  “It wouldn’t help us much. The Russian government only respects the rights of minorities when it suits them. Trepanovo was already supposed to be off limits, but that does us no good right now. Now, if we could find some land here… the wilderness would suit many of the Mece. We are capable of learning technology, but simple life is what we like best. I am asking you, Scott, because you have access to the Anai – let us pass through your valley. Help us hunt down the pterosaurs. They are standing between your people and peaceful life. You won’t be sorry if they are gone, will you?”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t enter into any commitments, Scott,” said Petri. Scott turned to him with a jolt. He was so engrossed by Pechersky’s story that he had nearly forgotten it wasn’t just the two of them in the room.

  “No, of course not,” he said. “I’m not the one to make decisions. I will need to speak about this to my wife, Tahan, and to the elders. But there is also my duty as a scientist and an external employee of McMurdo. The Antarctic Committee wants to protect these reptiles. The ecological balance in and around the Anai Valley is very delicate. Whatever we do, we must do it carefully.”

  Pechersky nodded. “You will think about what I said, though?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for coming and giving me your time. You too,�
� he nodded at Petri. “I hope I can trust you both to keep our conversation private?”

  “Of course,” Scott assured him. As if anyone would believe me if I tried to tell.

  Chapter 8

  Scott’s amazement at what he had learned at the Russian research station lasted all the way until he was back at McMurdo, but once he boarded a helicopter back to AN-85, his mind returned to more pressing concerns. Is all well at the village? How is Tahan getting on?

  He was relieved, however, at the quiet and orderly appearance of the settlement. The villagers were going about their seasonal chores, tending to their fields and their animals, cutting and drying grass for mats and fiber, gathering berries and fishing. Many nodded to him as he passed, or offered a brief greeting.

  Omrek, long spear in hand and a bow over his back, came over. “It’s good to have you back, Scott.”

  “Is there another hunting party coming up?”

  “No. I’m on guard duty. I have this,” Omrek showed him a little whistle made out of ivory. “I’m supposed to blow it if I hear or see anything suspicious.”

  “Good idea,” Scott nodded.

  “It was Ne Tarveg’s thought. I’ve made a whistle for you as well.”

  “Thanks, Omrek. I’m ready to go on guard duty too, I’ll just pass through home and talk to Tahan for a few moments. I know I ought to pull my weight more.”

  “There’s no hurry – you go and rest, and make up your time later. We need our guards fresh and alert. I just persuaded Ne Tarveg to go home and get some sleep. He has been awake…” Omrek scrunched his forehead, recalling the time measurement units he had learned at McMurdo. “Almost fifty hours without shutting an eye, I think.”

  “How is he doing?” Scott asked as they walked in the direction of his and Tahan’s home.

  Omrek shook his head. “You know how Ne Tarveg is. Nobody would dare to ask him directly. But what happened… it left us all shaken. Nobody will ever be able to replace Ne Riorag. He was invaluable on the Council of Elders.”

  They approached the stone hut, and even before Scott had time to clap his hands, announcing his arrival, the entrance flap was pulled aside and Egan ran out, jumping and dancing around them in his excitement. “I heard you coming, Ata!” he called, using the affectionate Anai word for father. “Hello, Uncle. Can I have this?” he reached for the whistle.

  “No,” Omrek laughed, pulling it back, “not unless we want to have the whole settlement in uproar. These whistles are to warn people if monsters are coming, Egan. I told you that already.”

  Egan’s eyes were large and round. “Are they coming?”

  “Not if we can help it,” Omrek said, mussing up the boy’s hair affectionately.

  Tahan walked out of the hut, balancing Niri on her hip. “I heard your voice,” she said, smiling at her husband, “but was tied up finishing one last row of my weaving.”

  “You started weaving early this year,” Scott observed, leaning in and kissing her.

  “Yes. I hope to make more clothes from fiber, though it does take time… I don’t know what we are going to wear during the winter, though, if the hunters can’t get more sealskins. There are barely any left to cure.”

  “I suppose that, if things get really lean, the people at Scott’s station can send us winter clothes,” Omrek suggested.

  Tahan gave him a disapproving look. “This is not our way, brother. And besides, we don’t want to depend on anyone else.”

  “I know, but it’s still better than going naked.”

  “It won’t happen. We won’t let those beasts stop our lives. We will take the needed precautions, and send another hunting party along.”

  Omrek nodded. “That’s up to you and the Council of Elders, of course. Certainly we can’t go through a whole season without hunting. I just hope no lives are risked unnecessarily.” He covered his mouth with his hand, stifling a yawn. “Well, I’ll leave you now and go back to guard duty. Come on over once you’ve rested a bit, Scott. Get some sleep if need be.”

  Omrek turned around and walked away, and the family was left alone. Scott picked up Niri from Tahan’s arms and tickled her fat little legs. The baby squirmed and giggled. “She looks just like you when she laughs,” Scott said tenderly, putting an arm around his wife.

  “She has your chin and forehead, I think. It will be easier to see as she grows,” Tahan said, peering into the little face. “Egan, why don’t you pull out some spoons? We’ll be sitting down to eat in a moment. How was your journey?” she asked as Egan grabbed a footstool, climbed it and stood on tiptoe to reach a shelf.

  “It was… interesting. Do you remember those men we met here in the valley?”

  “Those… foreigners? The ones that speak a strange language?”

  “Yes. Well, I visited their station.”

  Tahan looked surprised. “Why?”

  Scott launched into an explanation. He had once discussed the evolution theory with Tahan, but it wasn’t easy to explain what Neanderthals were in a few phrases. He did his best. Tahan was frowning.

  “So these people are… of a different kind?”

  “Yes, if what Pechersky told me is true.”

  “This sounds so odd. Omrek is right… there is so much we don’t know about your world.”

  “There is so much that I don’t know either,” Scott pointed out.

  “If it is true… if these men are not enemies, but simply have a plight of their own, I feel for them. And if there is another place fit to live anywhere near, I certainly wouldn’t mind them having it.”

  “Yes,” Scott said, “but this might not be so simple. Do we let them in here? Do we agree to help them, though they don’t have an access permit from the Antarctic Committee?”

  “Does the Committee get to decide who comes in and who does not? The valley is ours. It has always been. Or am I mistaken?”

  Scott sighed. “Yes, Tahan, but it’s not so clear-cut. The Russians seem to be at loggerheads with the Committee and the staff at McMurdo. I’m not sure we want to take sides.”

  She looked straight at him. She looked tired and a little desperate. “Maybe I’m missing something here. I just want our people to be safe.”

  Scott held her. “I know.”

  He would have dearly loved to lay his head down and sleep, but he was ashamed of himself for not having done any guard duty yet, when all the others have done so much. So he ate sparingly, washed his face with cold water, took up the spear and bow he had received as a wedding gift, and went on to look for Omrek. It was, however, Ne Tarveg whom he encountered prowling along the edge of the river.

  “Greetings,” Scott said, “I’ve come to take part of the guard duty.”

  Ne Tarveg gave a curt nod. “Good, Ki Arahak. You ought to have more training, though. I’ve had all the men practice with the bow and throw-spears, and I have devised better arrows. See here,” he pulled one straight, light arrow out of its quiver and held it out to Scott. “Look at the arrow-head,” he said proudly.

  Scott gingerly ran a finger along the edge of the arrow-head. It was very narrow and sharp, so sharp, indeed, that it was hard to believe it was made of stone. Very impressive.

  “That’s some very fine craftsmanship,” he said, and Ne Tarveg nodded again, calmly acknowledging the praise. “How long does it take to make one arrow-head like that?”

  “A lot longer than the arrow-heads we use for hunting. These have a longer range and a stronger hit. Of course,” Ne Tarveg hesitated, “whatever we do, our bows can’t compare to the weapons of your people from beyond the sea, Ki Arahak – those that shoot lightning and fire.”

  “Guns?” Scott raised his eyebrows. “Are you sorry we don’t have any, Ne Tarveg? I didn’t think you approve of foreign ways.”

  “I do not. Neither did my father. But sometimes, you have to do what you must to survive. I will make some of these arrow-heads for you… not before you train, though. No point giving you the best weaponry if you can’t shoot a lazy seal from a
ten-step range.”

  Scott swallowed the insult. “Why don’t you go and rest a while, Ne Tarveg? You look like you need that. I’ll take your watch.”

  The big surly man shook his head. “I’m not tired enough to sleep just yet,” he said, “but I’d appreciate a second. Come with me. I’m going to check the other side of the settlement. Some of the men have been raising up shelters – if an attack happens, anything is better than being exposed to the monsters’ teeth and claws.”

  Scott was surprised. Ne Tarveg was not the kind of man to appreciate company. Still, he saw no reason to refuse, and they turned their backs on the river and set out together, some way off the edge of the settled area.

  “What does Ki Tahan think?” Ne Tarveg asked unexpectedly.

  “About what?” Scott was taken unawares.

  “About what we should do, naturally. Should we just sit here and wait for the monsters to come for us? Should we try to seek them out, destroy their lair, drive them away for good? It’s risky, but it might be our best chance.”

  “I don’t think Tahan is thinking about anything other than defense.”

  “Shame,” Ne Tarveg shook his head. “She is too careful. She is chieftainness. If she leads, people will follow.”

  “To their death?” Scott asked. A tense silence lingered between the two men.

  “You might try to speak to her in favor of an attack,” Ne Tarveg finally said. “I would have, had I been her husband.”

  “But you’re not,” Scott said, perhaps rather too sharply. Though there was no enmity between him and Ne Tarveg these days, it was impossible to forget that once they strove to gain the heart of the same woman.

  “No,” Ne Tarveg said curtly, “I am not.” He squinted ahead, through the vapors rising from the cracks in the ground ahead. “Does it just seem to me, or is someone coming down the trail to the valley?”

  Scott looked carefully. “Ah, yes. That would be Annette and her colleagues. She said they would be visiting again soon.”