“One of the biggest races they had back in those days developed from a dogsled relay that took emergency serum from a big city to a little town called Nome far away,” she told him. “People admired the stamina and skill it took to do it, and so they made a race out of it. Whole towns sponsored dogs and their drivers, and people all over the world knew about it. Another race they had ran along the route the mail sled used to take. It spanned two countries, and drivers from all over brought their teams to compete. In both races, they still took a little mail with them to deliver at the end.”
“Why did they need to send the mail by dogsled?” Diego asked. “That’s silly when they could use computers.”
“Some places they didn’t have computers, sometimes,” she shouted back. “And sometimes folks just liked to prove they could do things in the old ways and still survive like their ancestors did. They were learning to be tough like them, you know?” She grinned, a very white grin in her sun-darkened face. “Tough like us.”
He grinned back, but he thought privately it was a little backward to do things the hard way instead of learning new skills. But then, he was now doing things the old hard way and he was learning new skills.
They camped that night and he listened to his father talking about rocks and stuff for a while, over rations that were much the same as what he ate on the ship. Then Lavelle slipped him a stick that smelled strong, but very spicy and interesting.
“Eat it,” she said. “It’s good. Smoked salmon. I caught it and smoked it myself.”
He nibbled on it and she sang him a peculiar song about catching that particular fish. She said the song was her own song, though the tune was to an old Irish song her Grandmother O’Toole had taught her, “The Star of the County Down.”
The chorus went:
“From SpaceBase down to Kilcoole town On out to Tanana Bay The wild fish swims but I caught him And he’s our food today.”
He fell asleep quickly in the heated shelter. The next morning when he woke up, looking forward to maybe driving the dogs again, soft powdery snow was sifting down from the sky. He knew, scientifically, that the snow was part of this world’s ecosystem, but at the same time it seemed strange that he had spent so much time above this planet and had never been on it before. His father explained that snow was white rather than clear because it was a dense accumulation of light-reflecting frozen water crystals, but Lavelle showed him that each flake was a different, beautifully ornate design. He had to ride in the sled because Lavelle said they were nearing rougher country, and she had to be vigilant for the place the expedition was seeking. She promised to let him drive again on the way back.
He spent a lot of time lying in the sled, catching flakes on his mitten and trying to memorize the shapes before they melted.
“Maybe tonight at camp I’ll make you some snow ice cream,” Lavelle said, bending over him so that her breath blew icily into his face. “I’ve got some seal oil and dried berries with me, and a III lie sugar.”
“Seal oil?” he asked.
“Yeah. Gives you instant energy on the trail. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
He pulled a face, and she pushed his ruff down over his eyes.
But the storm picked up as they moved, and twice the Petaybean guy, who seemed to be Lavelle’s husband, asked Diego’s d”l her and the other men if they wanted to camp, but they said to keep on, that their instruments were showing them the way. The snow no longer fell in single, beautiful flakes but in clumpy sheets, HO hard that it was all Diego could do to see the tails of the dogs In front of him, never mind the other sleds. All around him the world was white, and the sled moved more and more slowly, while Siggy, as Lavelle called the Petaybean guy, tried to break trail, keep track of the sleds, and persuade everyone to stop.