Icebound

I have attended what I believe was our first attempt at government.

It went splendidly badly.

This may be unfair. We did not riot, duel, or crown Biscotte, so by certain historical standards the meeting was an unqualified success. Still, we began by asking what ought to be done next and somehow arrived at the much more troublesome question of who has the right to decide what ought to be done next.

I played my instrument for a while as everyone gathered beneath the overhang. This proved useful, as one can play rather badly and appear occupied while listening shamelessly to everyone around oneself. I did put it away once the talking began in earnest. There was far too much to remember.

Our difficulties seem to divide themselves into several rather rude categories.

First: do we remain here? No one truly answered that.

Lady Catherine made perhaps the most sensible point: we simply do not know enough yet to choose. There is little use declaring that we must leave when nobody knows where we ought to go instead.

Mister ⁠Eisenhaus seems of much the same mind, though he approaches the matter like a professor confronted with an examination paper someone has neglected to print. He wants facts.

Where are we? What plants grow here? What animals? Why is there an iron signal tower in the middle of this frozen nowhere?

I witnessed this tower myself from afar: a peculiar assortment of great metal horns or sirens whose purpose no one seems entirely certain of. 

Mister Eisenhaus continued: Could the local flora tell us what landmass we occupy? I confess my own botanical classifications are generally limited to edible-looking, ghastly-looking, and Biscotte, put that down.

Mister Sterling was more direct. If examining the tower is useful whether we stay or leave, then perhaps we ought simply to examine it. Mister Volkow volunteered, and Tommy offered himself for scouting—as he apparently spends half his life somewhere beyond the camp already.

So here, at least, I think we nearly agreed:

We ought to learn more before making anything permanent.

There is the tower, another structure near the mushroom cave which Father Vallon believes may have been a lighthouse, and of course the missing Captain and crew.

Father Vallon kept returning to that last matter, and I think rightly so.

The missing officers may have carried charts or confidential papers showing where the Perseverance was bound. They also appear to have left with very little in the way of accounted-for supplies. Either they met their end nearby, found help elsewhere, or something occurred which we do not yet understand.

Tommy mentioned a burned campfire found along the western coast.

It was difficult to follow every thread because at several points three perfectly sensible conversations were occurring at once.

Which may, in fact, have been the principal lesson of the evening.

Second: if we remain here for any length of time, what must be improved?

Here everyone agreed rather more than they seemed to.

Mister Kennethson wants proper housing. His argument is difficult to fault: tents hold heat poorly, coal is limited, and we cannot feed the boiler forever simply to warm canvas.

Miss Vivienne agrees that better lodging would be welcome, though I suspect six people sharing a handful of berths has offended her admirable French sense of civilization almost as much as the cold.

Miss O'Donnell wants a greenhouse.

For one wonderful moment she announced this with such conviction that it sounded as though we had all been summoned because Deirdre wished to discuss vegetables.

Her actual argument is rather better. Once we know where we intend to settle, she believes she can make proper use of the soil and help establish a reliable food supply.

Lady Catherine reduced the matter rather neatly:

Defense. Sustainability. Reconnaissance. Envoys.

I wrote that down.

Her point is that we need not choose only one task. We can improve our position, gather information, consider diplomacy, and prepare for longer-term survival without becoming so attached to this camp that we cannot abandon it if necessary.

In other words:

Build a roof, but do not marry said roof.

Then came the coal.

Less than a month, according to the Quartermaster.

The Prussians control a mine. Whether we trade for coal, find another source, take theirs, or simply freeze beside an enormous useless boiler remains undecided.

Mister Eisenhaus observed that without fuel the boiler becomes a forty-two-ton paperweight.

Miss Onatopp eventually cut through a great deal of discussion by asking simply:

Where do we get more coal?

I suspect that question will outlive most of the speeches.

Third: the Prussians. Here we disagreed magnificently.

Mister Kennethson favors sending an envoy. The war is over, he says, and we are hardly equipped to continue it.

Lady Catherine thought peace unlikely but a cease-fire worth exploring.

Miss Vivienne wondered whether some arrangement might grant us access to fuel.

Tommy was doubtful, given that we have already killed a considerable number of them.

Father Vallon was more doubtful still. The mine seems to be part of a larger Prussian supply line rather than an isolated group of stranded soldiers. He fears they may return in force.

The Colour Sergeant likewise seems unwilling to forget that hostile troops are practically over the cliffs.

So on the Prussian question, I believe we reached one quite British conclusion:

They are very much our problem.

Fourth—and this was where the meeting truly became lively—who decides any of the above?

Mister Kennethson strongly favors preserving British authority. Officers should establish the first council, and proper government should continue as best it can.

Mister Volkow and Father Vallon seemed broadly sympathetic.

The Colour Sergeant made it very clear that whatever civilian arrangement emerges, his soldiers remain under military command.

Mister Kelp objected.

Frequently.

Loudly.

Sometimes offensively.

And, most inconveniently, not always wrongly.

His concern seems to be less with whether we have a council than with who that council serves.

When trade was discussed, he wanted to know whose table the goods would end upon.

When housing was proposed, he agreed—provided it was housing for everyone.

When officers selecting council members was suggested, he asked why the people already holding authority should also decide who receives authority next.

This went over about as gracefully as one might expect.

Mister Sterling called it communist talk.

Mister Volkow appeared dangerously close to turning political philosophy into a demonstration involving a frightfully large club.

Still, beneath Derek's remarkable talent for making every reasonable concern sound like an insult, there is a real question:

If we build a new government here, how do we keep it from merely serving the people who already possess influence?

Mister Kennethson fears that without legitimate authority we shall lose order entirely.

Mister Kelp fears that preserving old authority unquestioningly will preserve old inequalities with it.

I suspect they are frightened of opposite versions of the same disaster.

Miss Vivienne suggested something more moderate: representatives of the people working alongside the officers.

Miss O'Donnell suggested that responsibilities ought to correspond somewhat to actual expertise.

The Quartermaster warned that stores cannot simply be managed by everyone voting themselves whatever they fancy.

Miss Hortense, who displayed admirable patience throughout, repeatedly attempted to make everyone speak in turn.

Eventually she suggested that those willing to serve should put forward their names, after which everyone could vote from the volunteers.

I had been quiet through most of this.

Not because I had nothing to say. As always, quite the contrary. My notes presently resemble the aftermath of a very small war.

But I know very little about fortifications, agriculture, signalling apparatus, military logistics, coal supply, or governing frozen colonies, and it seemed rather presumptuous to compete with those who do.

What did bother me was Miss Hortense's point.

We kept trying to decide what ought to happen before agreeing how decisions were to be made.

So I finally asked whether we were—

God help us—

the voting sort of people now.

Apparently we may be.

Mister Clewer eventually ended the affair.

He and the Colour Sergeant will hold council seats. The civilians are to choose three more. Names are to go to Miss Hortense; a vote follows.

Crude, perhaps, but wonderfully understandable after the preceding hour.

And so, despite appearances, we did accomplish something.

We need more information.

We need scouts.

We need to inspect the tower and perhaps the lighthouse, if it can even be reached.

We ought to continue searching for the missing crew.

We need better shelter, but perhaps not so much that we cannot move.

We need food that grows.

We need coal.

We need some answer to the Prussians.

We... Most desperately need a proper bathroom.

But above all, we have discovered that good ideas are not the scarce resource.

We have dozens.

What we lack is a civilized means of deciding which one receives the lumber first.

Perhaps that is what the council is for.

I admit I had imagined government as a considerably grander affair.

There ought at least to be a better carpet.

— V.

P.S. Biscotte behaved with more political restraint than several gentlemen present, despite being threatened with consumption earlier in the evening. I shall count this as a triumph of character.