Pushing Ice Read Online Free PDF Page B

otherwise it’s murder. I could get into serious trouble for that.”
    “And we wouldn’t want that.”
    “But maybe we don’t have to freeze you,” Axford said. “Maybe there’s still a way to get you back in time.”
    Chisholm nodded shrewdly, like someone who had just got the punch line of a joke. “Janus, right?”
    “My professional recommendation,” Axford said, “is that you vote for the mission. I’ve spoken to Bella; when we’ve completed the Janus rendezvous, we’ll return home on the fastest possible trajectory. We may even be able to meet the shuttle halfway. Even if we can’t, I still think we can get you home in seven or eight weeks.”
    “Is that soon enough?”
    “When we get back home,” Axford said, “everyone will want a piece of us. And when they find out there’s a sick man aboard, every nation on the planet will be fighting for the privilege of treating you.”
    Chisholm closed his eyes and slumped back against his pillow. Barely audible above the machines, Mingus had moved on to “Open Letter to Duke.” For a moment the two of them listened to the music, as if somewhere within it there might be an answer neither of them had so far imagined, an option that involved neither freezing nor a risky encounter with something alien.
    “They’ve never brought anyone back, have they?”
    “They’re getting better all the time. They’re up to mammals now. They did a rabbit last year.”

    * * *

    As the car slid along Rockhopper’s spine, Bella unzipped her jacket and removed the flexy that had been recharging itself from her body heat. A deft flick of her wrist stiffened the sheet of leathery plastic. The ShipNet menu formed in its iridophores, tinged with a blue-green cast where some of the flexy’s living cells were beginning to die.
    Bella navigated to her private area and retrieved the latest message from Powell Cagan.
    He sat in a living room, its surfaces gleaming with reflected moonlight. Bella heard the faint roar of what she first took to be road traffic, but then realised must be ocean breakers. She thought she recognised the room. One of the framed prints on the wall — a reproduction of one of Cagan’s favourite Nu Metal album covers — looked familiar to her. Across twenty-five years she could almost place the villa and the island.
    Cagan never changed much. His white hair was still spiked and gelled in the manner of his youth. He wore a black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, with a pale sweater draped over his shoulders, sleeves tied together across his chest. He was nearing his eightieth birthday, but he could have passed for a retired tennis pro in his late fifties, holding down a good game and a good med programme.
    “Hello, Bella,” he said. “Excuse the interruption, but it appears we’ll need to move faster than we expected. The Chinese are further ahead than we thought.” He held up a hardcopy of China Daily . The paper cast a pallid glow across his desk. “They’re talking about their own unilateral expedition. They say they’ve got a crew together and that they’re ready for engine start-up. More than likely it’ll blow up in their faces, but we have to be ready in case it doesn’t. I’ve spoken to Inga and — although she clearly can’t go on the record about this — she agrees with me.”
    He said “Inga” with such affected casualness that it took Bella a moment to realise that he meant Inga de Jong, the Secretary-General of the United Economic Entities.
    He shifted in his chair as the roar of surf rose like static. “A lot of water has passed under our mutual bridges, but I’ve never doubted your strengths. If — when — you have that ‘yes’ vote, you can move on it immediately. There’s no need to wait for my confirmation before you begin the chase.” His excellent teeth flashed silver in the moonlit room. “Good luck, Bella. For old times’ sake, all right?”
    She smiled at that: not because it pleased her, but because she