Partridge igloo

Victor Tarasoff-Slishin

Partridge igloo

From the Author

Dear Friends and Comrades!

I present to you the science fiction story "Partridge igloo" written in the world-renowned tradition of Soviet science fiction. Its original draft is by Anatoly Nikolaevich Tarasov (1939-2012), an intelligent, erudite, and literary gifted Soviet citizen.

I have significantly refined my father's original draft and made it appealing to readers of all ages. Now, an inquisitive boy can imagine himself a surveyor in the harsh Arctic, and a high school girl, the mistress of a magical house. Meanwhile, a world-wise pensioner reading on a bench will agree that the world of the chronicled past was different, intriguing, and beautiful! People from the peoples of the Far North will also appreciate the work's national flavor.

The narrative also possesses a hidden moral and ideological meaning, so if any readers suddenly notice that the Gods of the Upper World are guided by a socially motivated, communal way of life, I won't argue... In developing the image of the alien ship, I decided to proceed from the assumption that its technical perfection is based on the achievements of a highly moral autocratic society. Similar to what existed in Great Power Tartary and, to some extent, in the USSR. Therefore, Gelyun's feelings suggest a nostalgia for bygone times, fear of the present, and hope for the future. Much like what a displaced Citizen of the USSR experiences today.

Now about the evil spirit Khargi, the most sinister character in the story! I resurrected him from Evenki folklore for several reasons. Firstly, to imbue the alien supercomputer with unpredictable logic, dangerous to living beings, as a warning to humanity. Secondly, to show the reader the cunning tactics used by pro-government social parasites who are deliberately killing the Russian Slavic ethnic group. Thirdly, to learn to identify manipulation and not feed the egregors of the occupying religion and the anti-people government.

Thus, the reader can not only complete the present work but also learn to enrich the universe with bright images. Finally, I would like to inform you that all obscure expressions and terms in the narrative are highlighted in bold italics, and their meanings are explained in the italicized links section of the same name. I wish everyone well and a pleasant reading!

Chapter 1. An Unexpected Acquaintance

This wonderful tale was born during a polar night in the far north of the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic, but instead of gaining recognition, providence decreed that it would lead to an inglorious existence. Therefore, I had to accept the assertion of senior worker Mavletdin Mavletdinovich Badretdinov that I spent the two days I no longer remember sitting in a Kuropatkin tent.

In mid-autumn of 1982, my topographic team from the Taimyr Geophysical Expedition was temporarily transferred to the Ikon Seismic Party. Their base was located in the Norilsk tundra, at the confluence of the Mikchangda-Ondodom and Chopko rivers. We were airlifted there from Dudinka by helicopter. We quickly settled into the hut, started the tractor, and, in accordance with the current order, headed northeast, towards Volochanka.

Every day we laid seismic cables, compacted the winter road, set up geodetic stakes, hung profiles, and surveyed the area. Following us was the Ikon seismic team, which used directed underground blasts and specialized receiving equipment to locate oil and gas domes in the rock strata for industrial development.

The polar night is a three-month period of twilight and darkness that is psychophysically depressing. Therefore, everyone has to strain to overcome this lethargy: workers, tractor drivers, and especially the surveyors, who depend on light. Nevertheless, from late December to mid-February, we made full use of the daylight hours to meet the state plan on schedule.

On December 23rd, during lunch, the -40°C frost retreated and a warm southwesterly wind blew. So I had to give two orders: "We'll continue working hard, but we'll see how things go. The pressure drop is severe!"

The guys filed out. I didn't hesitate either. I quickly filled out my log, got dressed, and headed out to the profile, where a backpack with small items, a theodolite on a tripod, and wide skis dug into the crust awaited me. Engineer Lukashenko climbed into the tractor, and the frost-covered train moved off, rocking the impressive drum, which hung on a crossbar and L-shaped supports bolted to the rear wall of the central control unit and the sides of the outer locker.

In two or three days, our preparatory team will reach the edge of the only mixed forest in the north and move through it slowly, clearing fallen trees and rolling out a winter road. So, a day or two in reserve wouldn't hurt. Especially since the Ikon seismologists weren't far behind and were already preparing to deploy.

The tractor moved along a gentle valley, past flat, weathered hills strewn with small pebbles and boulders. Badretdinov was unwinding the drum, and surveyor Durov, squinting weakly against the biting headwind, was laying the seismic cable. Sobolenko was third, driving the geophone tips into the crust and attaching their flexible wires to the cable terminals. We'd been sacrificing breaks for warming up and drinking tea for several days, so the team moved quickly forward.

After I'd written down the values of the third point of the theodolite traverse in my notebook and turned away from my measurements, my eyes somehow pierced the whitish swirls and made out the dark square of the departed column. At the seventh picket, despite the innovative efforts of Mavletdin Badretdinov, who had bought up all the four-volt light bulbs in the hardware stores before leaving Dudinka and now dutifully lit them on surveying poles every morning, hooking them up to frost-resistant batteries, my efforts were rudely interrupted by a wicked snowstorm!

I cursed in frustration: "Damn weather, I can't see a thing through the theodolite! Time to pack up and catch up with the guys. I hope I don't end up in a partridge's igloo again!"

In the past, I'd had to wait out a hurricane under snowdrifts—sitting in pitch darkness, shivering from the cold and dank dampness, fighting sleep and trying to clear my breathing hole.

Dark pebbles mixed with granular snow swirled around me, and then the entire valley howled menacingly. I sheathed the theodolite but left the tripod erected, intending to complete the measurements later without referencing. I pocketed the observation notebook and rushed to catch up with the team, muttering in frustration: "I've been trudging along the profile for over an hour, and still haven't got any data for calculations!" The guys are already three kilometers away... They must have finished their run ahead of me and are having tea by the small lake located near the campsite marked on the map.

Taimyr snow is varied... It can be sticky, powdery, and loose, but most often it's been shoveled by numerous winds and hardened in the cold into a hard, rough crust. That's why everyone in the expedition teams skis without poles. For example, I find it very convenient to carry a theodolite on my back with a tripod, but if I'm carrying a heavy backpack, it's better to disassemble it and carry it in my free hands. Workers, on the other hand, carry long poles on their backs and other tools in their hands.

I was walking along a narrowing valley, following a tractor track. A sharp headwind forced me to cover my face with a mitten and periodically rub my nose and cheeks to avoid frostbite. Suddenly, at the very edge of my hearing, I heard a cry: "Ah-ah-ah!". I stopped abruptly.

A moment later, either a cry or a quiet groan, like the cry of a small child, was repeated. It came from somewhere to my right, probably over the hill, and then faded. Spitting over my left shoulder, I muttered quietly: "What is this? A false northern noise or a real call for help?".

Without hesitation, I began searching. I climbed a gentle curve to the top of the hill, avoided a pile of boulders, and instinctively rolled down into a ravine… and suddenly, I bumped into a young girl from a nomadic tribe, lying on the hard snow with her right leg outstretched. Upon closer inspection, I discovered she was dressed in the fashionable Taimyr style, wearing an extravagantly fitted, beaded down fur coat, a smoky kerker, and long untai boots made of smooth fur.

Fearlessly staring and sniffling, the girl removed her mitten and began wiping large tears from her cheeks. I leaned over and quietly asked, “What happened? How did you get here?”

To my relief, the slightly snub-nosed, slanted-eyed stranger spoke in Russian, “I was skating here!” Then the deer tripped, and I fell into a ravine... I want to get up, but my leg won't obey me, it hurts so much! It's good you're here, help me up.

Lifting the girl by the arms, I said incredulously, "So you came here on a wild reindeer? There's not a single human settlement for fifty kilometers around here! Where are your parents? A camp?"

However, noticing that she couldn't put weight on her right foot, I decided to put the matter on hold and took action, politely informing her with paternal courtesy, "I'll have to pick you up, carry you to the Central Health Center, and have you examined thoroughly. If it turns out you have a fracture, we'll have to call a rescue helicopter. You'll be treated at the Dudinka hospital."

Glancing sideways at the suspicious lump under her right ankle boot, I scooped her up and set off. As we rounded the hill and followed the tractor tracks, the girl demanded excitedly, "No, no, omolgi! I don't need your rattling cart! Take me over there, to the rocky knoll!"

Glancing in the indicated direction, I cursed in displeasure, "Why the hell?! There's nothing there, just bare rocks!". Nevertheless, the stubborn girl objected, "There's everything there! A big yurt, a shaman, and food!"

The blizzard intensified. There was no time for argument, so I demanded, "Do you want to go to that rocky knoll? Fine, let's go! But here's the deal: if there's no yurt there, I'll carry you to the expedition ravine and radio for a helicopter!". The girl nodded silently.

Lifting my skis higher and stepping quickly, I ran toward the bristling hill, toward which my stubborn, almost weightless burden gazed hopefully. About ten minutes later, I reached the foot of the hill, set my skis apart, and, using a spade-like step, climbed up. Unfortunately, its flat summit, carved by ancient glaciers, was bare except for a few rocks and shapeless boulders propping up a low, dark gray sky! Out of breath after the climb, I asked discontentedly, "So where's your country resort?!"

Instead of answering, the girl pointed to a three-meter boulder and asked, "Put me down next to her."

I put her down, but I clasped my hands tightly around her waist, as the gusts of wind had intensified and could now knock even me, a grown man, down. Standing motionless on her good leg, my companion touched the rough stone. At that moment, something astonishing happened, making me question my own sanity! A horizontal crack appeared in the middle of the boulder, dividing the monolith into two halves. Then its upper half flew off to the right and hung silently in the air, while the lower half disappeared in a cloud of white smoke.

Before I could recover, the girl said reproachfully, “Don’t just stand there, get up!”. Stunned, I thought, “Why? Where?!”. Nevertheless, I obediently removed my skis, stood on the boulder, and froze in trepidation. “Stand still and don’t be afraid!” the girl said, looking me in the eye and adding, “Even though the mighty Omolgi knows no fear!”. I didn't answer, knowing full well that the feeling of fear does not depend on the size of the animal or person. The fog quickly rose and enveloped us completely. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes...

As I exhaled, I felt a warm breeze. I opened my eyes curiously and froze tensely, finding myself in a cylindrical room. The girl said soothingly: "We've already descended and will soon be in the large yurt. This is the entrance hall... Go forward and stop near the multicolored circle."

I counted nine steps and approached the opposite wall, where a rainbow circle pulsated. My companion touched it with her finger. Then the solid barrier began to waver and transform into an arched passage! I boldly stepped forward and found myself in the next room...

The dim lighting obscured the spacious hall's size. However, looking closely at the multicolored flashes on the walls, I intuitively realized it was a tall, wide cylinder. Pointing her finger at the invitingly flaring segment of the vast circle, the girl begged, "Carry me there! We're in a large yurt, Omolgi. My shaman lives behind the yellow wall."

Chapter 2. The Stone Yurt

I approached the flaring wall and lowered the girl down. She begged, "It hurts to move, Omolgi! Undress me. You're supposed to enter a shaman's yurt naked, that's the rule."

Without further questions, I freed her from her kukhlyanka and, tugging at her heel, pulled off her left untaika. That was where things stalled. Even the most gentle touch to her right leg elicited a painful groan from her. I had to pull a penknife from my pocket and, without a trace of regret, cut the sturdy skins. After that, I was finally able to free her legs from the baggy kerker.

That's when, in the suddenly bright light of the hall, the teenage girl I imagined transformed into a grown woman in a deep blue, form-fitting jumpsuit! Which, without seams or fasteners, flattered her slim waist, curvy hips, and full breasts...

Overcoming my embarrassment, I hesitantly asked: "Should I cut the jumpsuit too?". Frowning, the girl answered seriously: "No, no need, I'll handle the monolith myself!" And, pulling the latch down from the collar along her right breast and thigh, she confidently exposed her slender body. I nervously thought: "What should I do? Look?! Damn it, no underwear!"

Having some experience in military field medicine, I turned my attention to the injured leg and discovered that the shin bones were broken. Not just broken, but torn soft tissue and protruded. It's not a pretty sight, but importantly, the major arteries are intact. The treatment will likely take six to seven weeks, and the same amount of time will be needed for rehabilitation. I didn't believe in home-grown healers and shamans, so I offered sincerely: "Let's heal your wounds ourselves. I can set the bones and apply splints..."

I didn't finish, because the girl reached for the wall and interrupted me, insistently asking: "Wait here, Omolgi! The shaman will heal me quickly..."

I nodded absently and began to watch the wall transform. Under the weight of the person leaning against her, it first sagged and parted, then closed again and became transparent. It was as if someone invisible, having begun a ceremonial performance, obligingly raised the curtain!

It was warm in the deserted hall. I felt hot, so I undressed. I took off my quilted jacket and hat, my wet felt boots, my warm pants, and, fiddling with the seismologists' gift—a geological hammer that had fallen from my backpack harness—I sat down on the floor.

Meanwhile, the stranger's body hung horizontally, and myriads of emerald pearls swirled around her, emitting violet streams from a common center of mass that intertwined around her right leg to form an energy belt. The final chord of this sparkling extravaganza was the girl's raven-black hair... At first, it slowly flowed around her neck and shoulders, then electrified and straightened, turning into a shining ball!

...The ominous boulder flew aside, and I fell into a dark well. A terrifying, precipitous fall began! I fell, frantically clinging to the smooth walls, but I couldn't stop...

Due to the emotional overload, I dozed off and plunged into a nightmare, but I woke up instantly, feeling a movement of air. The same, yet subtly transformed, girl entered the hall, striding from the hip. Approaching me without embarrassment, she said intriguingly: "Wise Omolgi! Look at my silky skin, my healed leg, and admit honestly that the city hospital doesn't have such a skilled shaman!"