Field Ice

“Field ice.”
“Never seen it before. Does it mean we won’t break the record?”
“Don’t know old man, but I expect it means we’re probably further north than we should be, or maybe the floes are drifting further south this year.”
“Looks bloody cold in the moonlight. Do you think we’ll go around, or plough through it?”
“Ten to one we’ll smash right through. I’ve heard we’re already going as fast as the engines will take us, so no time to turn and find a way past. Trouble is this stuff will be just the start. God knows what we’ll encounter in the next few hours. The real problem is that our captain rarely confides in me.”

The laughter of the two junior officers rang out, but sounded hollow and unconvincing. They left the guard-rail, sauntered past the first class cabins, and continued in the direction of the crews’ quarters.

Their conversation had been overheard by a tall powerfully built man who approaching the rail pulled the collar of his full-length brown overcoat up around his chin. His wide floppy hat and high-heeled riding boots resembled the archetypal North American cowboy. He smiled, as if having some inner secret, but seemed content to watch the ice floes drift past.

A young woman appeared, and gazed over the guard-rail, stopping barely an arms length from him. Dressed in a similar coat to the man, but with a fur collar and matching fur-lined hat, she seemed oblivious of the icy blast that poured off the frozen sea.
“Wouldn’t like to fall into that!”
“I beg your pardon?” said the woman, her stare every bit as icy as the wind, showing the interruption of her thoughts was unwelcome.
“Looks very cold. Sorry, I should have introduced myself… I’m Bitterne, Lord Bitterne… friends call me Radley.”
“I don’t believe that counts as a proper introduction, and I don’t talk to strange men, Lord Bitterne.”
Radley ignored this rebuff, and pulling out a lit Cuban cigar from within his coat sleeve, inhaled with the ease and confidence of a man used to getting his own way.
“I’ve noticed you at dinner these past nights, and you really don’t appear to be short of admirers.”
“That is not quite the same thing, Lord Bitterne.”
“Radley!”
“If you insist… Radley!”
Radley sucked on the cigar, and savoured the taste of this expensive pastime before turning once more to his attractive companion.
“Only another day before we reach our destination.”
“Perhaps!”
“Yes, you could be right, perhaps we will slow down.”
“I doubt it, I very much doubt it.” She shivered, as if having a premonition. “It’s cold out here, I’m going to my cabin.”
“May I escort you?”
“If you must.”
“Yes, I know I must, and you dear lady must not be frightened of me. You’ll find I’m really quite nice when you get to know me better.”
“Should I know you better?”
“Undoubtedly.” Radley flicked the end of his cigar as if attempting to extinguish the smouldering leaf, then with a silent curse hurled it into the sea. “I didn’t catch your name?”
“I did not mention it, as well you know, but if you’ve observed me so often you will be aware that I’m Christina Milovich.”
“The Russian Lady! I thought there was just the hint of an accent.”
“My father was White Russian, my mother Italian.” Christina paused, and her attitude to Radley began to change. “I’ve been meaning to cross into Eastern Europe for some time.” She pursed her lips, and the frown disappeared to be replaced by an agreeable smile, suggesting she was looking forward to this forthcoming visit.
“You should,” said Radley, “St. Petersburg is very pleasant this time of year. The Czar has his winter palace there, and I can assure you that it’s truly magnificent inside.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“The field ice down there, it’s only for show really.”
“How so?”
“It looks pretty, but it’s deceptive, it’s all on the surface. Beyond the horizon is a frozen death that awaits all of us. It has hidden depths harbouring objects that will cause our ultimate destruction.”
Christina crossed her arms and shivered again.
“You sound awfully certain, but perhaps it could be our salvation.” Without explaining further she marched slightly ahead of her escort. “This is my cabin. Thank you for your attendance, I expect we will meet again.”
“Surely you don’t intend to leave me out here?”
Christina sighed, unlocked the cabin door, and motioned for Radley to enter.
“Do you have a maid?” said Radley removing his coat and hat, and then dumping it in an unceremonious manner onto the end of the four-poster bed.
“Yes I have, but tonight I can look after myself.”
“I wonder?”

The pale moonlight shining through the porthole illuminated the prone figure of Christina. Radley traced in the air with his forefinger the shape of her naked body, and then leaning over kissed her cheek.
“Why did you do that?”
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I won’t sleep tonight, it’s too exciting.”
“Thank you!”
“I was referring to what happens next.”
Radley lay back and focused upon a corner of the four-poster.
“You know?”
“Oh Radley! Of course I know, I’m a Player too, surely you must have realised that?”
“It did cross my mind.”
“Good! Now we can be more honest with each other.” Christina slid to the end of the bed and crossed over to a full length mirror. “Do you like me?”
“I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
“That’s not very original, but thank you anyway,” she paused as if considering her next statement. “You’re not the first, you know?”
“I gather that.”
“What I mean is, you’re not the first on this voyage. In fact, you are number seven.”
“That’s impressive for only a handful of days.”
“Four crew members, and two rich passengers. All Characters of course, not Players.”
“Three rich passengers now!”
“If you say so. You’re not really a lord, are you?”
“I’m afraid not, but I am fairly well off.”
“I wish I was, but I’m really here as part of my therapy.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Not now, let’s…” Christina dived onto the counterpane. “I love doing that. It’s so good to be free, to leap through the air like a bird, or dive like a fish. What’s the time?”
Radley grabbed his pocket watch from the antique wooden bedside table.
“Eleven forty-five.”
“Any minute now then!”
A shudder rippled through the cabin and it reminded Radley of an earthquake aftershock.
“That wasn’t very exciting,” said Christina, planting a kiss on his forehead.
“That’s why the majority of passengers and crew ignored it.”
“Now that is scary.”
She kissed him harshly upon the lips, and dug her long slender fingers into his shoulders.
“Is Christina your real name?”
“Yes it is, I always use it regardless of the scenario.”
“Have you taken part in many?”
“Not many, but I will do.”
Radley brushed his hands through her long chestnut hair and kissed her several times upon the neck.
“Have you any further ones planned?”
“Just one at the moment,” said Christina, pulling Radley closer. “On the eleventh of next month I’ll be in Rome. I’m the unfaithful wife of a first century senator. I think Caligula or Nero is Emperor.”
“Sounds a bit dangerous to me.”
“You can’t get hurt.”
“True, not physically anyway.”
“I’ll be staying at the house of Claudius if you decide to join. Now… we’ve only about half an hour or so before the steward asks as to don our lifejackets so let’s not waste it.”

“Are you awake sir?”
“Yes thanks, just a little groggy.”
“Being under for five days does tend to do that.”
The assistant opened the cabinet door and helped Radley into a well-padded chair.
“I’ll fetch your clothes, and personal possessions.”
“Thank you, and my walking stick please.”
“Yes sir, and sir, would you like me to help you dress?”
“That would be helpful, my old bones feel a bit stiff even with self-massaging couches, and all those hook-ups.” With great care Radley began to button his shirt, and unfold the matching tie. “I know you’re not supposed to give out details, but do you have a Player called Christina booked in for the eleventh of next month?”
“Ah! The Roman Games Extravaganza. Seven days and nights of virtual reality, fun, frolics, and some say debauchery in Nero’s capital city. It’s not historically accurate, but our customers rarely complain. It’s very popular. Would you like a place, there’s only a handful left?”
“And Christina?”
“My booking screen shows a lady by that name in the role of a senator’s wife.”
“Then,” said Radley. “Can you help me with me shoes? Thanks! Then, I’ll book now.”
“Your Player?”
“A Centurion would suit me.”
“There! All done! We already have your credit details.”
“One more thing before I depart. I know you can’t give out details, but I’m curious about Christina’s real age. I’m eighty-nine, and can only just walk using my stick, yet she’s only seen me as a thirty-something. I know we’ll probably never meet in reality, but I can’t stop wondering about her.”
“It’s against the rules to give you her address, or anything personal,” said the assistant, helping Radley to his feet and handing him the walking stick, “but I’m sure age can’t matter much. The young lady in question is only eighteen.”
“Are you sure? I thought she’d more likely to be eighty than eighteen.”
“Eighteen is correct. It is the minimum age allowed, due to the adult nature and realism that one encounters. Do you wish to retain the booking?”
“Yes, I did say I’d meet her. I suppose we will both be about thirty so it won’t really make a difference.”
“No sir, no difference at all. I’m sure you and the lady will enjoy your week in Rome.”

Radley hobbled into the corridor, and while attempting to straighten his stooped back bid farewell to the assistant.
“Shall I get you an electric wheelchair sir? It’s a long walk to the elevator.”
“Thank you, but no. My knees could do with the exercise.”

A score of Players meandered past, some laughing and joking, while others were in a more sombre mood.
“Wasn’t it spectacular!”
“I can’t help thinking about all of those poor people in the water.”
“They were only Characters, not real men and women.”
“It was real enough to make me cry. Those brave musicians playing right up until the very end, it was so moving, I just sobbed my heart out.”

The Players piled into the elevators, and after the doors closed only the sound of Radley’s walking stick could be heard tapping along the corridor. A distant whirring of an electric motor augmented the sound, followed by rubber tyres rolling over the plastic coated floor.
“Thanks for bringing a chair,” said Radley turning around very slowly to avoid twisting his knees. “I guess I’m not as agile as I’d wish.”
“Neither am I,” said a computerised female voice.
“Christina?”
Radley stared at the crippled girl, her frail body racked by an incurable motor neurone disease appeared to be moulded into the customised wheelchair. He lowered his eyes, content to stare at the floor.
“You’re a little older than I’d expected, Radley.”
“And you, a good deal younger,” he replied, forcing his body upright so he could stare into her sad blue eyes.
“Will I see you in Rome at the House of Claudius… Centurion?”
Radley bowed his head once more to avoid Christina seeing the tears that flowed down his wrinkled cheeks.
“I live only to serve you, lady.”
Christina moved her pale skeletal fingers onto the command stick.
“Until we meet again, dearest Radley.”

The chair and its precious cargo sped towards the distant elevator. Radley wiped his eyes with the back of a wrinkled hand and waited until the corridor was empty once more.