Ice Diaries (25 page)

Ginger put down his spanner and wiped
his hands on his jeans. Bright eyes in a weathered face regarded us.
“Hi.” He turned Franz Ferdinand down so we didn’t
have to shout.

“This is Morgan and Tori. They’ve
come to see the view and the turbines.”

Ginger laughed, showing a gap in his
teeth. “The view’ll be back around five thirty tomorrow
morning. Unless there’s another whiteout.” He glanced at
the window. “Which seems likely. I’ve done nothing but
clear snow from the turbines this week. When it builds up on the
blades the mechanical brakes come on. I’ve got to go up there
now. D’you want a drink?” Ginger gestured to a table
crammed with bottles and cans. “You do the honours, Serena.”

While she poured us drinks, Ginger
zipped himself into an ancient ski suit. “Talk among
yourselves. I’d better get the blades moving again or the
power’ll go down.”

Morgan said, “Mind if we take a
look?”

“Nope, you’re welcome.”

I said, “You’re going up
there in the dark? In this weather?”

Ginger grinned. “If I paid any
attention to the weather, we’d never have any power.”

We put on our jackets. As Ginger led us
into the corridor, we heard the faint whine of an approaching lift. I
stiffened, heart pounding, and Morgan flattened himself at the side
of the lift, ready to pounce. Ginger’s eyebrows went up. The
lift doors opened. A woman wearing an apron and carrying a tray got
out. When the lift doors had closed, Morgan rejoined me.

“Hi Ginge.”

Ginger slipped the woman some greenies,
and she thanked him and went past us into his flat.

“She’s collecting the
dishes,” said Ginger, answering our unspoken question. “Who
were you expecting?”

I don’t think Morgan would have
answered, but Serena said, “Mike. He wants to shoot Morgan.”

“Well, he can’t shoot him
up here. It’d make a mess, and the bullet might hit something
important. I’ll turn the lift off when Sue’s gone down.”

We followed him along the corridor. I
had the impression he’d just tipped Sue rather than paid her.
My guess was the people in charge knew how much they depended on
Ginger to keep Strata lit and warm; he was probably able to name his
own terms. They sent him his meals up, and no doubt collected his
rubbish, cleaned for him and paid him too. Maybe he was a greenie
millionaire.

Ginger led us through a white door with
black fingerprints down one edge, bearing a sign that said NO ENTRY.
Bare light bulbs lit the way. We went up a utilitarian metal
staircase, and through another door that said
No unauthorized
entry Roof access only
. Ginger flicked a switch. Fluorescent
tubes hummed into life, illuminating a wide and messy space, littered
with cables and crates. Huge girders spanned the ceiling and angled
the walls. The floor had sections of paving slabs among pebbles,
which Ginger said were ballast to damp down the vibrations from the
turbines. He opened a couple of the metal cases on the walls and
checked readings, adjusting dials and clicking switches. He was in
his element here; this was his kingdom. Horizontal along one side was
a massive black metal thing, like a robot’s leg.

“What on earth’s that?”

“The telescopic arm. They used it
for building maintenance. I got it out once just to try it. Look at
this.”

He pressed a button and moved a lever.
A warning beep went off. With a hum, the whole horizontal section of
the wall behind the telescopic arm began to move slowly inwards,
disappearing into the wall above. Snow blew in and fell on the floor.

Surprise made me laugh. “It’s
like something out of a Bond movie!”

The moving wall ascended smoothly out
of sight, leaving a sort of terrace area open to the night. We picked
our way between girders and pipes and bits of machinery and metal
boxes to the edge and looked over. The penthouses’ sloping
windows formed a triangular ski slope, ending in mid-air. I imagined
slithering helplessly down that slope, knowing a sheer drop of over a
hundred metres awaited me. Looking up, we could see the enormous
ellipses of the turbine tunnels, the middle one nearly close enough
to touch.

“The rig swings right out with a
cradle on the end. Fun. I’ve offered Serena a go. Dunno why she
won’t come.”

“Huh.” Serena pulled a
face. “He knows I get vertigo if my heels are too high.”

We stood a while, chatting and trying
to make out other buildings in the distance, but of course nothing
was visible except snow and darkness. After a few minutes Ginger
moved the lever to lower the wall. He checked a lit green display
above some switches, and opened the door of one of the big metal
boxes on the wall. Inside was a confusion of electronic bits and
pieces. He flipped a switch on and off three times and glanced at his
watch, then at Morgan.

“I’m going to turn off the
lifts now. Why does he want to kill you?”

“Because he’s a nutter.”

“It’s a long story,”
Serena said. “I’ll tell you later.”

He opened another box and clicked a
switch. “That’s the lifts off.”

I felt relieved. Now if Mike did come
through the door, his hands would shake too much to hold a gun; he’d
be too knackered after climbing thirty-odd storeys to do anything
except collapse in a heap. There was, however, the growing problem
that the longer we were up here, the likelier he’d be to work
out where we were and what to do about it.

We climbed narrow metal treads, more
like a fixed ladder than stairs, to the next level. An extraordinary
space right beneath the turbines, the underside of the tunnels
housing them resembling dinosaurs’ ribcages. I pointed this out
to Morgan, and he said the ribs would be running the other way, and I
said he was being pedantic. Loads of cables ran along banks of
control boxes. There was a big generator and several smaller ones.
Car batteries, thirty or more, stood in rows to one side, with wires
trailing from them. Ginger must be brilliant, if he understood how
all this worked.

I wandered around. There wasn’t
much there except a scaffold tower and a step ladder. I noticed
snow-covered square windows above us, with spotlights the size of
small dustbins. “What are the spots for?”

“They shine coloured lights on
the turbines. Used to be just for fun. I use them when I clear the
snow off in the dark.” Ginger grinned. “And all night
once a year, on my birthday.” He flipped a row of switches in
turn, and a dazzling pink light shone from the spots.

Ginger climbed a fixed ladder beneath
the lowest part of the right turbine housing. He opened a drop-down
metal hatch bearing a notice:

ACCESS HATCH

RESTRICTED ACCESS

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

and a heap of snow fell in. A steady
drift of flakes followed. Once through the hatch, he got me to pass
him the broom and brush lying at the foot of the ladder. Immediately
above I could see another ladder with snow on every rung, attached to
the column supporting the turbine. Ginger stepped sideways out of my
view, and Morgan followed him. I went up the ladder and stuck my head
through to look out on to the gently curving surface. Picture driving
snow; a nine-metre diameter white tube, cut at an angle; the turbine
blades lined up with the vertical circular opening, and everything
softened by a thick layer of snow. It was like being inside a snow
globe. Ginger brushed snow from one curved side over the edge,
revealing three windows. As he did this, the space filled with a wash
of pink light from the spots. Ginger handed the broom to Morgan and
asked him to do the other side, then knocked the snow off the ladder
rungs and climbed to the top. He was a metre away from a circle of
nothingness with no railing or barrier of any kind and a sheer drop.
Wind blew thick snow about, which swirled in the spotlights’
beam like cherry blossom. Morgan looked around and turned to me.

“Are you coming up, Tori? It’s
amazing.”

Heights aren’t my favourite
thing. I’d have needed a very good reason to go up there. “I’ll
stay here and watch.”

Ginger balanced beneath the central hub
of the turbine which resembled an enormous bullet, hanging on to a
rung with one hand. Leaning out with the brush, he swept pink snow
off the hub and the bases of the knife-like blades. Snow settled on
his shoulders and the parts which he had already cleared. Morgan
brushed snow from the foot of the turbine’s column, then
cleaned the blades within his reach, wandering around calm as
anything, walking to the edge to look over, making me palpitate. I
told myself not to be silly; just because he was high up, there was
no more reason for him to lose his footing than on the ground. I
didn’t tell him to be careful; he was a grown man and I wasn’t
his mother. I fretted privately instead. Ginger got me to pass up a
hairdryer on a long extension lead to melt the ice round the base of
the blades. As soon as they came down, Ginger switched that turbine
on – it made a hum which, though very quiet, filled the room –
and crossed to a short ladder to access the central turbine. It’s
lower than the other two, so its trapdoor is on one side, not
immediately beneath the turbine column like the others. I didn’t
watch this time, but went back to the penthouse with Serena. We made
ourselves comfortable and talked; down there you could just feel
rather than hear the hum of the turbine. I finished my peanuts.

“Will anybody mind if we have to
stay at Strata overnight?”

“You have to get permission from
Randall. He’ll be okay about it, he won’t turn you out in
this weather. He’ll let you use one of the flats on the
sixteenth floor.”

“That’s where Mike is?”

“Yes …”

Better to camp out in a flat without
asking permission, though it would be freezing. We could huddle
together under several duvets. We’d be all right. Serena saw
the reservation in my face. “Why don’t you ask Ginger if
you can stay here? He’s got three bedrooms, and it’s
fabulously warm because he has the underfloor heating on all the
time.”

“Would he let us?”

“I’ll ask him for you.”

Half an hour later Morgan and Ginger
came in, covered in snow, shaking it off their clothes. Morgan said,
“It’s got worse out there. We’ll have to stay
overnight.”

Ginger walked over to where I was
sitting on the sofa. “Here, take these.” He picked up a
fistful of greenies from the bowl and dropped them into my hands. “He
was mildly helpful. When he wasn’t getting under my feet.”

“I said you didn’t have to
pay me.”

Ginger said, still addressing me,
“Dunno how he thinks you’re going to eat with no money.”

“Thank you.”
Ooh, we can
buy sandwiches …

“Second thoughts, hang on.”
Ginger reached out and plucked one greenie back. “He swept the
brush over the edge.”

“Huh. Could have happened to
anyone.”

“By the way, as you’re
stuck here for the night, you’re welcome to use my spare
bedroom. Might save you bumping into Mike.”

We took him up on this offer. I put my
loot into a zipped pocket for safe keeping. Serena stayed for a
drink, then said, “Suppose I’d better go and find Mike,
he’ll be wondering where I am. I’d much rather hang out
here.” She stubbed out her cigarette, fished a perfume spray
out of her bag and sprayed her hair. “He’ll still smell
the smoke. Nose like a sniffer dog. Ah well.” She sighed and
got to her feet. “See you, guys.”

She left, slowly and reluctantly. I
wondered if Mike was aware of how little she liked him. It seemed to
me their relationship was living on borrowed time; she knew this and
was hardly bothering any more. The rest of us sat around after she’d
gone, feet up, drinking and joking, but something was niggling me.
I’d noticed on the way in there was a hole on the flat’s
front door where the lock had been.

“Does …” I hesitated.
“Is there any way you can lock the apartment?”

“Nah – I don’t even
shut the door. Saves going to let people in. It’s like a small
village here – everyone knows everyone else, they’re not
going to steal stuff. Bicker and gossip, yes, steal, no. Anyone who
does knows if he’s caught Randall will chuck him out.” I
must have looked anxious, because he said, “I’ve got a
couple of bolts somewhere I’ll put on the door.” He
smiled. “I don’t want Morgan splatted all over my carpets
any more than you do. He wouldn’t be able to clear the snow for
me tomorrow and give me a lie-in.”

He went and ferreted about in the
workshop till he found two large black bolts in a box full of bits.
He screwed them to the door and frame with long screws, while we sat
on the floor watching and talking to him. I asked how he came to be
here.

“I lived round the corner. (Pass
me that screwdriver.) Before the helicopters came, I’d set up a
few of the flats with generators, just to keep people from freezing
till they were taken off. I was going to go on the last helicopter
out. Unfortunately, it never came back for that last trip.”

“What about the man who runs
Strata?”

“Randall Pack. He turned up and
got things organized. It’s what he does, he’s good at it.
He ran some alternative internet site you’ve probably heard of
if I could remember the name. Tomorrow first thing I’ll go and
see him and tell him about Mike and his gun. He’ll get it
sorted.”

I felt cautious relief; Morgan’s
expression was guarded, but he didn’t object. I said, “That
sounds great, but … you don’t think now would be better
rather than waiting till the morning?”

Ginger glanced at his watch and shook
his head. “The House Committee meets tonight.” That must
have been where he was going when we saw him by the lifts. “They’re
once a month, those meetings, and always go on for hours with loads
of people with items listed on the agenda, stuff they’re
passionate about, and they’ll be well away now. He wouldn’t
thank me for interrupting.” Ginger reached for another beer.
“We’re a funny mixture of democracy and dictatorship,
with Randall as a sort of benign despot. Not everyone likes his
style, but they stay because there’s nowhere better to go.
Strata’s got power, a currency, a miniature market garden, a
restaurant, a lot going on. We got a dentist a couple of months ago,
and we’ve had a doctor since the early days. Rather a good
one.”