Arctic Rising by Tobias S. Buckell

fossil fuels for transportation.
    With oil reserves the world over at uncertain levels, geologists claiming a limited supply anywhere outside of the booming Arctic, and oil at increasingly higher prices, the world’s armed forces had been doubling down on non-oil technology for as long as Anika could remember.
    When the call had come in that her UNPG application was accepted, Anika had taken the first bullet train to Beijing from Chengdu and skipped out on her contract.
    From Beijing she’d flown north.
    Over Russia, and then out over the sea. And eventually, the large jet began to descend, toward the gray ocean and occasional plates of stubborn pack ice.
    Anika remembered when she saw Thule: a ragged bowl of, according to the chatty pilot, the last thirty thousand square miles of floating ice in the world.
    A city clung to the remains of the polar ice cap. Initially a sargasso of decommissioned floating drill rigs, tankers, and supercarriers, the metal infection had spread out across the ice when retired ice island experts began blowing snow out on the cap to thicken it, inserting metal poles to help further cool the ice, and moving out onto it.
    Thule was initially an over-polar trade port. And then it became a town. And then a city. All in thirty years.
    Out in the international waters, peopled with immigrants from all over the entire world, it had somehow, despite everyone’s best efforts, turned itself into a country. A petri dish of a country, unrecognized by the UN, and yet, like Somaliland, issuing its own currency, electing its own officials, and carrying on its own trade.
    Thule was exactly the sort of place you ran to when you were in trouble.
    It was also where Anika realized she’d packed wrong for the Arctic. Global warming or not, it still didn’t mean the North Pole was anything even vaguely tropical. She’d purchased her first winter coat at Thule’s airport.
    *   *   *
    Anika turned the corner to The Greenhouse, and stopped. Two policemen stood outside talking to Chernov, who stood with his arms folded.
    There were three cars parked outside, meaning someone was inside. Talking to Vy.
    Anika let out the deep breath she’d been holding. More shit.
    She was going to turn back around the way she’d come, but someone grabbed her by the elbow. “I’m from Violet,” a gravelly voice whispered cheerfully. “No, don’t look over at me, keep walking, there are other eyes looking for you. We don’t want to raise their attention.”
    Anika kept walking forward, and the man to her right fell into step with her. She felt he was somewhat shorter than her, maybe five feet six?
    “I’m going to slip my hand around the small of your back, now, okay?”
    “Sure.” He did so, pulling her close into his hip.
    “Now we’re just a couple out for a walk,” he said. “Stare at the police.”
    “What?”
    “That’s what people do. Slow down.”
    They slowed and stared at the police, who ignored them. After a moment they sped back up, and the man steered her back down the other side of the block.
    Out of sight from The Greenhouse now, he stopped her by a set of steps. He was a wiry man, with crow’s-feet wrinkles around his brown eyes. And from the rounded face and features, Anika’d bet he was at least part Inuit.
    “I’m Jim Kusugak,” he said, confirming her guess as he shook her hand briefly. “I’m an associate of Violet’s. The police are all over The Greenhouse looking for you. Violet’s keeping them busy.”
    She wanted to trust him. But then she thought about everything that had happened up to this point. “How did she know to send you out here to help me?”
    Jim grinned. “Violet has friends everywhere here. She was given a few minutes notice before the police arrived. Enough time for her to call me about her … problem.”
    “Me?”
    “Yes.” Jim reached into a pocket in the duffel bag he had slung by his side and pulled out a very thick envelope. “Violet can’t help you