For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,

the jacket than an inconsequential rip one might easily overlook, was the point of exit, matched by an equally tiny tear in the padding of the upholstered seat behind. At the time, that carried no special significance for me. Heaven knows that I was in no mental frame of mind at the moment, anyway, to figure anything out. I was like an automaton, the movements of which were controlled by something outside me. I felt nothing at the time, not even horror at the hideous thought that the man's neck might well have been cold-bloodedly broken after death to conceal its true cause. The leather strap across the man's chest led to a felt-covered holster under the arm. I took out the little dark snub-nosed automatic, pressed the release switch and shook the magazine out from the base of the grip. It was an eight shot clip, full. I replaced it and shoved the gun into the inside pocket of my parka. There were two inside breast pockets in the jacket. The left-hand one held another clip of ammunition, in a thin leather case. This, too, I pocketed. The right-hand pocket held only passport and wallet. The picture on the passport matched the face, and it was made out in the name of Lieut.-Colonel Robert Harrison. The wallet contained little of interesta couple of letters with an Oxford postmark, obviously from his wife, British and American currency notes and a long cutting that had been torn from the top half of a page of the New York Herald Tribune, with a mid-September date-mark, just over two months previously. For a brief moment I studied this in the light of my torch. There was a small, indistinct picture of a railway smash of some kind, showing carriages on a bridge that ended abruptly over a stretch of water, with boats beneath, and I realised that it was some kind of follow-up story on the shocking train disaster of about that time when a loaded commuters' train at Elizabeth, New Jersey, had plunged out over an opened span of the bridge into the waters of Newark Bay. I was in no mood for reading it then, but I had the obscure, unreasonable idea that it might be in some way important. I folded it carefully, lifted up my parka and thrust the paper into my inside pocket, along with the gun and the spare ammo clip. It was just at that moment that I heard the sharp metallic sound coming from the front of the dark and deserted plane. CHAPTER FIVEMonday 6 P.M.7 P.M. For maybe five seconds, maybe ten, I sat there without moving, as rigid and motionless as the nikon coolpix s60 digital camera dead man by my side, bent right arm frozen in the act of folding the newspaper cutting into my parka pocket. Looking back on it, I can only think that my brain had been half numbed from too long exposure to the cold, that the shock of the discovery of the savagely murdered men had upset me more than I would admit even to myself, and that the morgue-like atmosphere of that chill metal tomb had affected my normally unimaginative mind to a degree quite unprecedented in my experience. Or maybe it was a combination of all three that triggered open the floodgates to the atavistic racial superstitions that lurk deep in the minds of all of us, the nameless dreads that can in a moment destroy the tissue veneer of our civilisation as if it had never been, and send the adrenalin pumping crazily into the bloodstream. However it was, I had only one thought in mind at that moment, no thought, rather, but an unreasoning blood-freezing certainty: that one of the dead pilots or the flight engineer had somehow risen from his seat and was walking back towards me. Even yet I can remember the frenzy of my wild, frantic hope that it wasn't the co-pilot, the man who had been sitting in the right-hand pilot's seat when the telescoping nose of the airliner had folded back on him, mangling him out of all human recognition. Heaven only knows how long I might have sat there, petrified in this superstitious horror, had the sound from the control cabin not repeated itself. But again I heard it, the same metallic scraping sound as someone moved around in the darkness among the tangled wreckage of the flight deck, and as the touch of an electric switch can turn a room from pitch darkness to the brightness of daylight, so this second sound served to recall me, in an instant, from the thrall of superstition and panic to the world of reality and reason, and I dropped swiftly to my knees behind the high padded back of the seat in front of me, for what little shelter it offered. My heart was still pounding, the hairs still stiff on the back of my neck, but I was a going concern again, my mind beginning to race under the impetus invariably provided by the need for self-preservation. And that self-preservation entered very acutely into it I did not for a moment doubt. A person who had killed three times to achieve her ends -1 had no doubt at all as to the identity of the person in the control cabin, only the stewardess had seen me leave for the planeand

"His haukes they flie so eagerly,

coolly. "Why should I?" "Quite right, Mrs Dansby-Gregg, why should you?" Johnny Zagero said approvingly. He looked at her long and consideringly. "You might have got your hands dirty." For the first time the carefully cultivated facade cracked, the smile stiffened mechanically, and her colour deepened. Mrs Dansby-Gregg made no reply, maybe she had none to make. People like Johnny Zagero never got close enough even to the fringes of her money-sheltered world for her to know how to deal with them. "Well, that leaves just the two of you," I said hastily. The large Dixie colonel with the florid face and white hair was sitting next to the thin wispy-haired little Jew. They made an incongruous pair. "Theodore Mahler," the little Jew said quietly. I waited, but he added nothing. A communicative character. "Brewster," the other announced. He made a significant pause. "Senator Hoffman Brewster. Glad to help in any way I can, Dr Mason." "Thank you, Senator. At least I know who you are." Indeed, thanks to his magnificent flair for self-publicity, half the Western world knew who this outspoken, bitterlybut fairlyanti-communist, near isolationist senator from the south-west was. "On a European tour?" "You might say that." He had the politician's gift for investing even the most insignificant words with a statesmanlike consideration. "As Chairman of one of our Appropriation committees, I -well, let's call it a fact-finding tour." "Wife and secretaries gone ahead by humble passenger steamer, I take it," Zagero said mildly. He shook his head. "That was a fearful stink your Congressional investigation boys raised recently about the expenses of US senators abroad." "That was quite unnecessary, young man," Brewster said coldly. "And insulting." "I believe it was," Zagero apologised. "Not really intended as such. Sorry, Senator." He meant it. What a bunch, I thought despairingly, what a crowd to be stuck with in the middle of the Greenland ice-plateau. A business executive, a musical comedy star, a minister of religion, a boxer with an uninhibited if cultured tongue, his zany manager, a London society playgirl and her young German maid, a Senator, a taciturn Jew and a near-hysterical hostessor one apparently so. And a gravely injured pilot who might live or die. But willy-nilly I was stuck with them, stuck with the responsibility of doing my damnedest to get these people to safety, and the prospect appalled me. How on earth was I even to start to go about it, go about it with people with camera digital recorder voices no arctic clothing to ward off the razor-edged winds and inhuman cold, people lacking in all knowledge and experience of arctic travel, even lacking, with two or three exceptions, the endurance and sheer muscular strength to cope with the savagery of the Greenland ice-cap? I couldn't even begin to guess. But whatever else they were lacking in at that moment, it wasn't volubility: the life-giving warmth of the brandy had had the unfortunate side effect of loosening their tongues. Unfortunate, that is, from my point of view: they had a hundred and one questions to ask, and they seemed to think that I should have the answer to all of them. More accurately, they had only half a dozen questions to ask, with a hundred and one variations of these. How was it possible for a pilot to veer so many hundreds of miles off course? Could the compasses have gone wrong? Could the pilot have had a brain-storm? But then surely both co-pilot and second pilot would have known something was wrong? Could the radio have been damaged? It had been a bitterly cold afternoon even when they had left Gander, was it possible that some of the naps and controls had iced up, forcing them off course? But if this were the case, why hadn't someone come to warn them of the possibility of the crash? I answered all of their questions as best I could but these answers were all to the same effect, that I didn't really know anything more about it than they did. "But you said some time ago that you did, perhaps, know one thing more than we did." It was Corazzini who put the question, and he was looking at me shrewdly. "What was that, Dr Mason?" "What? Ah, yes, I remember now." I hadn't forgotten, but the way things were shaping up in my mind I'd had second thoughts about mentioning it, and had time to think up a plausible alternative. "I need hardly tell you that it's nothing that I actually know, Mr Corazzinihow could I, / wasn't in the planejust a reasonably informed guess in the absence of all other solutions. It's based on the scientific observations made here and in other IGY stations in Greenland, some of them over the past eighteen months. "For over a year now, we have been experiencing a period of intense sun-spot activitythat's one of the main interests of the IGY yearthe most intense of this century. As you may know, sun-spots, or, rather, the emission of solar particles from these sun-spots, are directly responsible for the formation of the aurora borealis

Earl Marischal on another,

drainage channel for the katabatic wind that was pouring down off the plateau. Although powerful enough already when we had been abandoned, that wind was now blowing with the force of a full gale, and for the first time on the Greenland ice-plateaualthough we were now, admittedly, down to a level of 1500 feet -1 heard a wind where the deep ululating moaning was completely absent. It howled, instead, howled and shrieked like a hurricane in the upper works and rigging of a ship, and it carried with it a numbing bruising flying wall of snow and ice against which progress would have been utterly impossible. So we went the only way we could, with the lash of the storm ever on our bent and aching backs. And ache our backs did. Only three peopleZagero, Jackstraw and myselfwere able to carry anything more than their own weight: and we had among us three people completely unable to walk. Mahler was still unconscious, still in coma, but I didn't think we would have him with us very much longer: Zagero carried him for hour after endless hour through that white nightmare and for his self-sacrifice he paid the cruellest price of all for when, some hours later, I examined the frozen, useless appendages that had once been his hands, I knew that Johnny Zagero would never step into a boxing ring again. Marie LeGarde had lost consciousness too, and as I staggered along with her in my arms I felt it to be no more than a wasted token gesture: without shelter, and shelter soon, she would never see this night out. Helene, too, had collapsed within an hour of the tractor's disappearance, her slender strength had just given out, and Jackstraw had her over his shoulder. How all three of us, exhausted, starved, numbed almost to death as we were, managed to carry them for so long, even though with so many halts, is beyond my understanding: but Zagero had his strength, Jackstraw his superb fitness and I still the sense of responsibility that carried me on long hours after my legs and arms had given out. Behind us Senator Brewster blundered along in a blind world all of his own, stumbling often, falling occasionally but always pushing himself up and staggering gamely on. And in those few hours Hoffman Brewster, for me, ceased to be a senator and became again my earliest conception of the old Dixie Colonel, not the proud, rather overbearing aristocrat but the embodiment of a bygone southern chivalry, when courtesy and a splendid gallantry in the greatest perils and hardships were so routine as to excite no comment. accessory camera digital jvc Time and time again during that .bitter night be insisted, forcibly insisted, on relieving one of the three of us of our burdens and would stagger along under the load until he reached the point of collapse. Despite his age, he was a powerful man: but he had no longer the heart and the lungs and the circulation to match his muscles, and his distress, as the night wore on, became pitiful to see. The bloodshot eyes were almost closed in exhaustion, his face deep-etched in grey suffering and his breath coming in painful whooping gasps that reached me clearly even above the thin high shriek of the wind. No doubt but that Small wood and Corazzini had left us to die, but they had made one mistake: they had forgotten Balto. Balto; as always, had been running loose when they had left us, and they had either failed to see him or forgotten all about him. But Balto hadn't forgotten us, he must have known something was far wrong, for all the hours we had been prisoners on the tractor sled he had never come within a quarter-mile of us. But as soon as the tractor had dumped and left us, he had come loping in out of the driving snow and settled to the task of leading us down towards the glacier. At least, we hoped he was doing that. Jackstraw declared that he was following the crimp marks of the Citroen's caterpillars, now deep buried under the flying drift and new-fallen snow. Zagero wasn't so sure. Once, twice, a dozen times that night, I heard him muttering the same words: "I hope to hell that hound knows where it's goinV But Balto knew where he was going. Sometime during the nightit might have been any time between midnight and three o'clock in the morninghe stopped suddenly, stretched out his neck and gave his long eerie wolf call. He seemed to listen for an answer, and if he heard anything it was beyond our range: but he seemed satisfied, for he suddenly changed direction and angled off to the left into the blizzard. At Jackstraw's nod, we followed. Three minutes later we came upon the dog-sledge, with two of the dogs curled up beside it, their backs to the wind, their muzzles to their bellies and long brushes of tails over their faces, the drift wailing high around them. They were comfortable enoughso splendid an insulation does a husky's thick coat provide that snow at forty degrees below zero will lie on its back indefinitely without being melted by body heatbut they preferred freedom to comfort, for they were on their feet and

I dined wi my true-love; mother, make my bed soon,

temper are exhausting. Oh, is that truly why youre tired today? Pleasure never tires me. Now lets eat and dress. Ive just been attacked by a case of circumspection. A few minutes later they emerged onto the reception floor with no further delays. An officer immediately leaped to his feet at their arrival, stammering queries about Killashandras rest, apologies for any inconvenience caused by the power failure, and obsequiously requesting Killashandra and Captain Dahl to join the Harbor Master and Elder Torkes in the communications room. Olav Dahl looked tired but there was a merriment in his eyes as he asked if all her needs had been satisfied. She reassured him, then turned to Torkes and affected surprise at his evident fatigue, fussing at him graciously. If the Guildmember is agreeable, I should like to depart immediately, Torkes replied, when the amenities were completed. He eyed her as if he expected her to demur. I left unfinished even unstarted, to be totally candid she said, the task which brought me to Optheria. I am more eager than you can imagine to complete the organs repair and depart. Im sure we will all feel relieved when Im safely homebound. Patently Elder Torkes could not be more in agreement, although he kept throwing skeptical glances at Killashandra as he made his farewells to Olav Dahl. Lars kept in the background. Meanwhile sailors in Council uniform had formed up into a guard of honor all the way from the Residence down to the pier where the cruisers boat awaited its distinguished passengers. Just as she reached the top of the steps, Killashandra looked up at the terraces, at the polly trees, the dwellings, at the old volcano on the Head, at the fishing skiffs serenely clearing the harbor, and she didnt want to leave Angel Island. Someone touched her arm and there was Olav with two garlands in his hand. Indulge me in an island custom, Guildmember. He draped the fragrant blossoms about her neck. Killashandra had just recognized the blooms as those with which Lars had handfasted her, when she saw Olav bestow one on his son. Discharge your duties assiduously to the protection of the Guildmembers person, my son, and return to us only when you have seen her safely to the shuttle port! Before Killashandra could say anything in acknowledgment, Olav had stepped back. So, she could only smile her gratitude for his vote of confidence and proceed to the waiting boat. Impatiently she brushed aside the tears in her eyes cyber-shot digital camera dsc-w90 b before anyone could notice, and took a seat under the awning amidships. She was not surprised when Lars did not elect to join her for she could well imagine that he had been equally astonished by Olavs farewell. She sat staring at the squat bulk of the cruiser, and liked it less the nearer she got to it. Nor did her opinion change during the three-day voyage back to the City. The Captain, a dour man named Festinel, was waiting at the top of the gangplank and escorted her himself to her cabin, explaining that her bodyguard would be quartered in the next cubicle, within hearing distance. She did not groan but saw this trip would be a repetition of the Trundomoux voyage. Well, she had survived that, too. Lars came along the companionway at that point and was greeted almost effusively by Captain Festinel. During the evening meal, it was apparent from Festinels deference to Lars that the man had been impressed by the islanders seamanship, or rather, the false account of his rescue of Killashandra from the dangerously positioned islet of exile. Killashandra added only her physical presence to the officers mess. She was tired. She could feel muted crystal resonance in her body, though it was insufficient to raise the hair on those nearby. She was pleasant when addressed but limited her answers, contenting herself with enigmatic smiles. Elder Torkes kept shooting her wary, surreptitious glances but did not engage her in conversation. Which satisfied her. Keep him guessing about her, and off balance. Only how were she and Lars to have any sort of normal relationship if her quarters in the Conservatory were monitored? On the crowded cruiser there was no way for them to have a private word or even the chance of a caress. Abstinence after the feast did nothing for her temper. So, preoccupied, she didnt notice the subliminal whine until the second evening, when she twitched all through dinner, rubbing at her neck and ear. Something was wrong. Youre very unsettled tonight, Guildmember, Lars said finally, having endured her contortions throughout dinner. He spoke quietly, for her ears only, but his voice carried. Nerves No, its not nerves. Does this cruiser use a crystal drive? She spoke in a loud, accusing tone, looking to Captain Festinel for her answer. It does, Guildmember, and I regret to inform you that we are experiencing some difficulty with it. It urgently needs to be retuned. As soon as youre in port. The

I love those skies, thin blue or snowy gray,

took a swallow of the Yarran beer before he replied. Quite likely. He served himself a generous helping of fried Malva beans. Dont the Optherians utilize white crystal in that multi-sense organ of theirs? They do. So Lanzecki chose to be uncommunicative. Well, she could be persistent. Enthor said that an entire manual was fractured. Lanzecki nodded. She continued. And you did ask me would Optheria be far enough? I did? You know you did. Killashandra hung on to her patience. You never forget anything. And the impression I got from your cryptic comment was that someone, and the inference was me she pressed her thumb into her chest would have to go there. Am I correct? He regarded her steadily, his expression unreadable. Not long ago you gave me to understand that you would not undertake another off-world assignment That was before Id been stuck on this fardling planet She noticed the wicked gleam in his eyes. So, Im right. A crystal singer does have to make the installation! It was a shocking incident, Lanzecki said diffidently as he served himself more Malva beans. The performer who damaged the organ was killed by the flying shards. He was also the only person on the planet who could handle such a major repair. As is so often the case with such sensitive and expensive equipment, it is a matter of planetary urgency to repair the instrument. Its the largest on the planet and is essential to the observances of Optherias prestigious Summer Festival. We are contracted to supply technicians as well as crystal. He paused for a mouthful of the crisp white beans. He was definitely baiting her, Killashandra knew. She held her tongue. While the list of those qualified does include your name The catch cant be the crystal this time, she said as he purposefully let his sentence dangle unfinished. She watched his face for any reaction. White crystals active, reflecting sound Among other things, Lanzecki added when she paused. If it isnt the crystal, whats the matter with the Optherians, then? My dear Killashandra, the assignment has not yet been awarded. Awarded? I like the sound of that. Or do I? I wouldnt put it past you, Lanzecki, to sucker me into another job like that Trundomoux installation. He caught the finger she milwaukee 12v digital inspection camera was indignantly shaking at him, pulling her hand across the laden table to his lips. The familiar caress evoked familiar responses deep in her groin and she tried to use her irritation with his methods to neutralize its effect on her. Just then a communit bleep startled her. With a fleeting expression of annoyance, Lanzecki lifted his wrist unit to acknowledge the summons. A tinny version of Trags bass voice issued from the device. I was to inform you when the preliminary testing stations reported, the Administration Officer said. Any interesting applicants? Although Lanzecki sounded diffident, even slightly bored, the curious tension about his lips and eyes alerted Killashandra. She pretended to continue eating in a courteous disregard of the exchange, but she didnt lose a syllable of Trags reply. Four agronomists, an endocrinologist from Theta, two xenobiologists, an atmospheric physicist, three former spacers Killashandra noted the slight widening of Lanzeckis eyes which she interpreted as satisfaction and the usual flotsam who have no recommendations from Testing. Thank you, Trag. Lanzecki nodded his head at Killashandra to indicate the interruption was concluded and finished off the dish of fried Malva beans. So what is the glitch in the Optherian assignment? A lousy fee? On the contrary, such an installation is set at twenty thousand credits. And Id be off-world as well. Killashandra was quite impressed with the latitude such a credit balance would give her to forget crystal. You have not been awarded the contract, Killa. I appreciate your willingness to entertain the assignment but there are certain aspects which must be considered by the Guild as well as the individual. Dont commit yourself rashly. Lanzecki was being sincere. His eyes held hers steadily and a worried crease to his brows emphasized his warning. Its a long haul to the Optherian system. Youd be gone from Ballybran nearly a full year All the better You say that now when youre full of crystal resonance. You cant have forgotten Carrik yet. His reminder conjured flashing scenes of the first crystal singer she had met: Carrik laughing as they swam in Fuertes seas, then Carrik

"By the leave of Our Lady,

grim," Miller admitted. "The gangrene's spread up beyond the knee." Mallory rose groggily to his feet, picked up his gun. "How is he really, Dusty?" "He's dead, but he just won't die. He'll be gone by sundown. Gawd only knows what's kept him goin' so far." "It may sound presumptuous," Mallory murmured; "but I think I know too." "The first-class medical attention?" Miller said hopefully. "Looks that way, doesn't it?" Mallory smiled down at the still kneeling Miller. "But that wasn't what I meant at all. Come, gentlemen, we have some business to attend to." "Me, all I'm good for is blowin' up bridges and droppin' a handful of sand in engine bearin's," Miller announced. "Strategy and tactics are far beyond my simple mind. But I still think those characters down there are pickin' a very stupid way of comn?ttin' suicide. It would be a damned sight easier for all concerned if they just shot themselves." "I'm inclined to agree with you." Mallory settled himself more firmly behind the jumbled rocks in the mouth of the ravine that opened on the charred and smoking remains of the carob grove directly below and took another look at the Alpenkorps troops advancing in extended order up the steep, shelterless slope. "They're no children at this game. I bet they don't like it one little bit, either." "Then why the hell are they doin' it, boss?" "No option, probably. First off, this place can only be attacked frontally." Mallory smiled down at the little Greek lying between himself and Andrea. "Louki here chose the place well. It would require a long detour to attack from the rearand it would take them a week to advance through that devil's scrap-heap behind us. Secondly, it'll be sunset in a couple of hours, and they know they haven't a hope of getting us after it's dark. And finallyand I think this is more important than the other two reasons put togetherit's a hundred to one that the commandant in the town is being pretty severely prodded by his High Command. There's too much at stake, even in the one in a thousand chance of us getting at the guns. They can't afford to have Kheros evacuated under their noses, to lose" "Why not?" Miller interrupted. He gestured largely with his hands. "Just a lot of useless rocks "They can't afford to lose face with the Turks," Mallory went on patiently. "The strategic importance of these islands in the Sporades is negligible, but their political importance olympus camedia digital camera d-390 is tremendous. Adolf badly needs another ally in these parts. So be flies in Alpenkorps troops by the thousand and Stukas by the hundred, the best he hasand he needs them desperately on the Italian front. But you've got to convince your potential ally that you're a pretty safe bet before you can persuade him to give up his nice, safe seat on the fence and jump down on your side." "Very interestin'," Miller observed. "So?" "So the Germans are going to have no compunction about thirty or forty of their best troops being cut into little pieces. It's no trouble at all when you're sitting behind a desk a thousand miles away. . . . Let 'em come another hundred yards or so closer. Louki and I will start from the middle and work out: you and Andrea start from the outside." "I don't like it, boss," Miller complained. "Don't think that I do either," Mallory said quietly. "Slaughtering men forced to do a suicidal job like this is not my idea of funor even of war. But if we don't get them, they get us." He broke off and pointed across the burnished sea to where Kheros lay peacefully on the hazed horizon, striking golden glints off the westering sun. "What do you think they would have us do, Dusty?" "I know, I know, boss." Miller stirred uncomfortably. "Don't rub it in." He pulled his woollen cap low over his forehead and stared bleakly down the slope. "How soon do the mass executions begin?" "Another hundred yards, I said." Mallory looked down the slope again towards the coast road and grinned suddenly, glad to change the topic. "Never saw telegraph poles shrink so suddenly before, Dusty." Miller studied the guns drawn up on the road behind the two trucks and cleared his throat. "I was only sayin' what Louki told me," he said defensively. "What Loiiki told you!" The little Greek was indignant. "Before God, Major, the Americano is full of lies!" "Ah, well, mebbe I was mistaken," Miller said magnanimously. He squinted again at the guns, forehead lined in puzzlement. "That first one's a mortar, I reckon. But what in the universe that other weird looking contraption can be" "Also a mortar," Mallory explained. "A five-barrelled job, and very nasty. The Nebelwerfer or Moanin' Minnie. Howls like all the lost souls in hell. Guaranteed to turn the knees to jelly,

I needs must acknowledge thou art a brave soul;

restrained her: it was a deep and instinctive knowing that she must remain in this period of suspension for a while yet. That she had to wait. When the time was right, action would follow logically. She settled down to wait, and perfected the art. Youre in early, too, you know, Enthor was saying to her. Storm warnings only just gone out. Arent those good enough? Killashandra asked. No need to risk life and limb, is there? No, no, Enthor hastily assured her. Killashandra had, in fact, answered the storm warning her symbiont had given her. She was used to listening to it because it so often proved the most accurate sense she had. Youve enough here to spend a year on Maxim, Enthor went on with a sly sideways glance. You havent gone off in a long time, Killashandra. You should, you know. Killashandra shrugged her shoulders, glancing impassively at a credit line that would once have made her chortle in triumph. I dont have enough resonance to have to leave, she said tonelessly. Ill wait. Thanks, Enthor. Killa, if talking would help She looked down at the light hand the old Sorter had put on her arm, mildly surprised at the contact. His unexpected solicitude, the concern on his lined face nudged the thick shell which encased her mind and spirit. She smiled slightly as she shook her head. Talking wouldnt help. But you were kind to offer. And he had been. Sorters and singers were more often at loggerheads than empathetic. The northeaster which her symbiont had sensed swept a fair number of singers in from the Ranges to the safety of the Complex. The lift, the hall, the corridors were crowded but she wended her way through, and no one spoke to her. She didnt exist for herself so she didnt exist for them. The screen in her quarters directed her to contact Antona. There usually was a message from the medical chief waiting for her. Antona kept trying to make a deeper contact. Ah, Killa, please come down to the infirmary, will you? Im not due for another physical? No. But I need you down here. Killashandra frowned. Antona looked determined and waited for Killashandras acquiescence. Let me change. Killashandra brushed at the filthy blouse of her shipsuit. Ill digital camera canon fujifilm shutter lag even give you time to bathe. Killashandra nodded, broke the connection and, unfastening the suit as she made her way to the hygiene room, switched on the taps. Though once fresh in from the Ranges she might have done, she didnt luxuriate in the steaming water. She made a quick but thorough bath, and put on the first clean clothes she found. Her hair, close crapped for convenience, dried by the time she reached the Infirmary Level. Her nostrils flared against the smell of sickness and fever, and the muffled sounds reminded her of her initial visit to Antonas preserve. A new class must be passing through adjustment to the Ballybran symbiont. Antona came out of her office, her color high with suppressed excitement. Thank you, Killa. Ive a Milekey Transition here whom Id like you to talk to reassure him. Hes positive theres something wrong. Her words came out in a rush, as she dragged Killashandra down the hall, and thrust her through the door she opened. Impassively, Killashandra noted the number: it was the same room she had so briefly tenanted five years before. Then the occupant rose from the bed, smiling.Killa! She stared at Lars Dahl, unable to believe the evidence of her eyes for she had seen his phantom so often. But Antona had brought her here so this vision had to be real. Avidly she noted each of the tiny changes in him: the lack of tan, the gauntness of his shoulders under the light shirt, the new lines in his face, the loss of that twinkle of gaiety that had been a trademark of his open, handsome expression. He had subtly aged: no, matured. And the process had brought him distinction and an indefinable air of strength and the patience of strength and knowledge. Killa? The smile had dropped from his face, his half-raised hand fell to his side as she failed to respond. Imperceptibly she began to shake her head, and tentatively, certain that he would vanish if she admitted to herself that he was flesh, bone, and blood, her hands began to lift from her sides. Inside her body the cold knot into which all emotion and spirit had been reduced began to expand, like a warm draught through her veins. Her mind reverberated with one exultant conclusion: he was there, and he wouldnt be if he hadnt forgiven her. Lars? Her voice was a whisper of disbelief but sufficient reassurance to propel him across the

And I love him best of a';

and the sense of failure which Lars had experienced were as clear to Killashandra as if broadcast. Her cynical evaluation of him altered radically. She was possibly the only one in the entire assembly who could empathize, could understand and appreciate the deep and intense conflict he had to overcome at that moment. She also could approve heartily of the professionalism in him that unprotestingly accepted the challenge of an excruciating demand. Lars Dahl possessed a potentially Stellar temperament. Despite her proximity to him, she almost missed the first whispering chords which his strong fingers stroked from the strings. A haunting chord, expanded and then altered into a dominant, just like the dawn breeze through the old polly tree on her island of exile. Soft gray and pink as the sky lightened, and then the sun would warm the night-closed blossoms, their fragrance drifting to beguile senses: and the rising lilts of bird, the gentle susurrus of waves on the shore, and the lift in the spirit for the pleasure of a new day, for the duties of the day: climbing the polly for the ripe fruit, fishing off the end of a headland, the bright sun on the water, the rising breeze, the colors of day, the aroma of frying fish, the somnolence of midday when the suns heat sent people to hammock or mat an entire day in the life of an islander was in his music, colored and scented, and how he managed that feat of musical conjuring on a limited instrument like a twelve-string, Killashandra did not know. How that music would sound on the Optherian organ was something she would give her next cutting of black crystal to hear! And the Music Masters had rejected his composition? She was beginning to understand why he might wish to assassinate her, and why he had kidnapped her: to prevent the repair of the great organ and, perhaps other less worthy compositions, from being played by anyone. And yet there was nothing in her brief association with Lars Dahl, in this evenings showmanship, even in his reluctant acquiescence to the demands of his island, to suggest such a dark vengeful streak in the man. When the last chord, heralding moon-set, had faded into silence, Lars Dahl set the instrument down carefully and, turning on his heel, stalked away. There were murmurs of approval and regret, even anger in some faces, a more complimentary reaction to the beauty of what they had been privileged to hear than any wild applause. Then, people began to talk quietly in little groups, and one of the guitars tried to 4 x 5 digital cameras repeat one of the deceptively simple threnodies of Larss composition. With a glance to be sure no one was observing her, Killashandra rose to her feet and slipped out of the flickering torch light. Adjusting her eyes to the night, she saw movement off to the right and moved toward it, almost turning her ankle in one of the footprints that Larss angry passage had gouged in the soft sand. She saw his figure outlined against the sky, a dark tense shadow. Lars . . She wasnt sure what she could say to ease his distress but he shouldnt be alone, he shouldnt feel his music had not been appreciated, that the totality of the picture that he had so richly portrayed had not come across to his listeners. Leave me his bitter voice began, and then his arm snaked out, and catching her outstretched hand, pulled her roughly to him. I need a woman. Im here. Holding tight to her hand, he pulled her into a lope. Then, pushing at her shoulder with his, he guided her at right angles to the beach, up toward the thick shadow of the polly grove on the headland, near where she had beached that morning. When she tried to slow his headlong pace, his hand shifted to her elbow. His grip was electric, his fingers seemed to transfer that urgency to her and anticipation began to course through her breast and belly. How they avoided running into a polly tree trunk, or stumbling over the thick gnarled roots, she never knew. Then suddenly he slowed, murmured a warning to be careful. She could see him lift his arms to push through stiff underbrush. She heard the ripple of a stream, smelt the moisture in the air, and the almost overpowering perfume emanating from the creamy blossoms before she followed him, pushing through the bushes. Then her feet were on the coarse velvet of some kind of moss, carpeting the banks of the stream. His hands were urgent on her and the initial physical attraction she had felt for him was suddenly a mutual sensation. He put her at arms length, staring down at her, seeing her not as a vessel from which he expected the physical relief, but as a woman whose femininity had aroused an instinctive and overpowering response. Who are you, Carrigana? His eyes were wide with his amazement. What have you done to me? Ive done nothing yet, she replied with a ripple of delighted laughter. No one else had awakened such a response in her, not even Lanzecki. And if Lars had somehow sensed the

Nor with other men's wives have lain."

compartment as an insurance against surprise attack when I was driving. "How did it happen?" "The German girl." We were running side by side round a corner in the track towards the little knot of people forty yards back, clustering round a spot on the edge of the crevasse. "Slipped, fell, I dunno. Your friend's gone over after her." "Gone after her!" I knew that crevasse was virtually bottomless. "Good God!" I pushed Brewster and Levin to one side, peered gingerly over the edge into the blue-green depths below, then drew in my breath sharply. To the right, as I looked, the gleaming walls of the crevasse, their top ten feet glittering with a beaded crystalline substance like icing sugar, and here not more than seven or eight feet apart, stretched down into the illimitable darkness, curving away from one another to form an immense cavern the size of which I couldn't even begin to guess at. To the left, more directly below, at a depth of perhaps twenty feet, the two walls were joined by a snow and ice bridge, maybe fifteen feet long, one of the many that dotted the crevasse through its entire length. Jackstraw was standing on this pressed closely into one edge, holding an obviously dazed Helene in the crook of his right arm. It wasn't hard to work out Jackstraw's presence there. Normally, he was far too careful a man to venture near a crevasse without a rope, and certainly far too experienced to trust himself to the treachery of a snow-bridge. But, when Helene had stumbled over the edge, she must have fallen heavilyalmost certainly in an effort to protect her broken collar-boneand when she had risen to her feet had been so dazed that Jackstraw, to prevent her staggering over the edge of the snow-bridge to her death, had taken the near-suicidal gamble of jumping after her to stop her. Even in that moment I wondered if I would have had the courage to do the same myself. I didn't think so. "Are you all right?" I shouted. "I think my left arm is broken," Jackstraw said conversationally. "Would you please hurry, Dr Mason? This bridge is rotten, and I can feel it going." His arm broken and the bridge goingand, indeed, I could see chunks of ice and snow falling off from the underside of the arch on which he was standing! The matter-of-fact lack of emotion of his voice was more compelling than the most urgent cry could possibly have been. But for the moment I was in the grip of a blind panic that inhibited all feeling, all thought except the casio exilim underwater digital camera purely destructive. Ropesbut Jackstraw couldn't tie a rope round himself, not with an arm gone, the girl couldn't help herself either, both of them were helpless, somebody would have to go down to them, and go at once. Even as I stared into the crevasse, held in this strange motionless thrall, a large chunk of niv6 broke off from the side of the bridge and plummeted slowly down into the depths, to vanish from sight, perhaps two hundred feet below, long before we heard it strike the floor of the crevasse. I jumped up and raced towards the tractor sled. How to belay the man who was lowered? With only eight or nine feet between the edge of the crevasse and the cliff behind, not more than three men could get behind a rope, and, with perhaps two men dangling at the end of it what possible purchase could those three find on that ice-hard snow to support them, far less pull them up? They would be pulled over the edge themselves. Spikesdrive a spike into the ground and anchor a rope to that. But heaven only knew how long it would take to drive a spike into the icy surface with no guarantee at the end that the ice wouldn't crack and refuse to hold, and all the time that snow-bridge crumbling under the feet of the two people who were depending on me to save their lives. The tractor, I thought desperatelyperhaps the tractor. That would take any weight: but by the time we'd disconnected the tractor sled, pushed it over the edge and slowly backed the tractor along that narrow and treacherous path, it would have been far too late. I literally stumbled upon the answerthe four big wooden bridging battens sticking out from the end of the tractor sled. God, I must have been crazy not to think of them straight away. I grabbed a coil of nylon rope, hauled out one of the battens -Zagero was already beside me pulling at anotherand ran back to the spot as fast as I could. That three-inch thick, eleven-foot long batten must have weighed over a hundred pounds, but such is the supernormal strength given us in moments of desperate need that I brought it sweeping over and had it in position astride the crevasse, directly above Jackstraw and Helene, as quickly and surely as if I had been handling a half-inch plank. Seconds later Zagero had laid the second batten alongside mine. I stripped off fur gloves and mittens, tied a double bowline in the end of the nylon rope, slipped my legs through the two loops, made a quick half-hitch round my

When strawberries go begging, and the sleek

belong? The Islands dont actually hold me any more. Ive come to realize that over the past few months. And think that my father recognizes it, too. Oh, Im partner in an interisland carrier service thats reasonably profitable useful to the islanders certainly. He grinned. But three years in the City at the Complex taught me discipline, order, and efficiency and the easy way of islanders irritates me. I cant see me settling in to City life, either Killashandra raised herself on her elbow, looking down at his face. The muscles were relaxed but the strength and character in his features were not the least bit diminished. Arent you going to appeal the Masters decision? Her fingers traced his clearly defined left brow. No one appeals their decision, Carrigana, he said with a contemptuous snort. Then he drew both eyebrows together: her finger followed to caress away his scowl. They did, damn their souls to everlasting acid, have the incredible gall to suggest that, if I performed a slight service for them, they might consider. And like a childish fool I believed them. Incensed by his memories, he swung to a sitting position, arms clasping his knees tightly to his chest, his mouth in a bitter line. A real fool but so desperate to have my composition accepted not so much for my own prestige as to prove that an islander could succeed at the Complex and to vindicate the support the islanders had given me during those years. He twisted his torso around to face her. Youd never guess what this slight service was. I wouldnt? Killashandra was quite certain what he would say. They wanted me to make an assault on a visiting dignitary. Possibly the most important person to set foot on this forsaken mudball. Assault? On Optheria? On whom? What visiting dignitary? Killashandra was astonished at the surprise and concern in her voice, a genuine enough response to Larss shocking statement You heard that Comgail had died, shattering a manual of the Festival Organ? When she nodded silently, he continued. You may not know that the damage was deliberate. It was easy for her to react suitably, for a death involving crystal would not have been painless. There are a lot of people who believe that they we, and he grinned humorlessly, admitting to his complicity, have an inalienable right to leave this planet in order to achieve professional fulfillment. And that right should be enjoyed by more than disappointed composers, Carrigana. This restriction is stagnating intelligent people all over this world. People digital camera change shutter speed who have tremendous gifts which have no channel whatever on this backward natural mudball. So, it was decided to manufacture a situation that would require the presence of an extraplanetary official. An impartial but prestigious person who could be approached to register our protest with the FSP. Oh, letters have been smuggled out but letters are ineffective. Were not even sure that they reached their destinations. What we needed was someone who could be shown examples of this stagnation, talk to people like Theach, Nahia, and Brassner, see what they have been developing in spite of strictures of federal bureaucracy. Lars gave a rueful laugh. Its rather depressing to realize how little Optheria requires. The founding fathers wrought too well. Were a population expert in making do with the meanest possible natural resources. Good old polly! It was Comgail who proposed what had to be done to force the government to bring in a foreign technician. A manual on the Festival Organ would have to be shattered. The Government would be forced to have that replaced in time for the Summer Festival tourists. Did you ever realize how dependent the Government is on tourism? His eyes glinted with malicious amusement. Theach researched the economics. He can do the most phenomenal computations in his head that way, theres no written proof of his alienation from the Optheria way of life! That tourist income is absolutely essential to purchase the high tech items which cannot be manufactured here. And without which all the federal machinery would grind to a halt. Even the barrier arc at the shuttleport is fashioned from imported components. Mind you, Comgail did not intend to be a martyr. But he didnt draw back when the moment was on him. So the Government was forced to apply to the Heptite Guild for a complete and very expensive new crystal manual. And this is where Comgails sacrifice becomes relevant; he was also the only technician on Optheria capable of installing the replacement. Theyd have to have the services of at the very least a highly skilled technician or ideally a crystal singer to make the repair. Once the crystal singer was on Optheria, wed make sure thered be an opportunity to present our desparate situation and ask that it be submitted to the FSP Council. A singer has access to the Council, you know. Go on, Lars A nasty suspicion began to form in Killashandras mind, recalling Ampriss snide remarks

For were I to bend but my bow,

someone who was above suspicion. How did I know he was Senator Brewster? A couple of forged papers, a white moustache and white hair on top of a naturally florid complexion and anyone could have been Senator Brewster. True, it would be an impersonation impossible to sustain indefinitely: but the whole point was that any such impersonation didn't have to be sustained indefinitely. I was getting nowhere and I knew it: I was more confused, more uncertain, and infinitely more suspicious than ever. I was even suspicious of the women. The young German girl, Helene -Munich was her home town, near enough Central Europe and the skulduggery that went on in the neighbourhood of the iron curtain for anything to be possible: but on the other hand the idea of a seventeen-year-old master criminalwe certainly weren't dealing with apprenticeswas ridiculously far-fetched, and the fact that she had fractured her collar-bone, almost sure proof that the crash had been unexpected, was a strong point in her favour. Mrs Dansby-Gregg? She belonged to a world I knew little about, except for what slight information I had gleaned from my psychiatric brethren, who found rich fishing in the troubled waters of what passed for the younger London society: but instability and neurosesnot to mention the more than occasional financial embarrassmentwere not criminal in themselves, and, in particular, that world lacked what people like Zagero and Corazzini had in full measurethe physical and mental toughness required for a job like this. But particularising from the general could be every bit as dangerous and misleading as generalising from the particular: of Mrs Dansby-Gregg, as a person, I knew nothing. That left only Marie LeGarde. She was the touchstone, the one rock I could cling to in this sea of uncertainty, and if I were wrong about her so too had been a million others. There are some things that cannot be because they are unthinkable, and this was one of them. It was as simple as that. Marie LeGarde was above suspicion. I became gradually aware of the muted clack of the anemometer cups turning sluggishly in the dying wind above and that the hiss of the Colman lamp had become abnormally loud: a total silence had fallen over the cabin and everyone was staring at me with mingled puzzlement and curiosity. So much for my impassive features, my casual negligent ease: so clearly had I betrayed the fact that something was far wrong that not one of the nine had missed it. But to be the centre of attraction at the moment suited me well enough: Jackstraw had just made who has the best digital camera his, entry unobserved, a Winchester repeater cradled under his arm, his finger ready through the trigger guard. "Sorry," I apologised. "Rude to stare, I know. However, now it's your turn." I nodded in Jackstraw's direction. "Every expedition carries a gun or twofor coast use against prowling bears and wolves and to get seal meat for the dogs. I never thought that it would come in so handy right in the middle of the ice-capand against far more dangerous game than we ever find on the coast. Mr Nielsen is a remarkably accurate shot. Don't try anything -just clasp your hands above your heads. All of you." As if controlled by a master switch, all the eyes had now swivelled back to me. I'd had time to spare to pull out the automatica 9 mm butt-loading Berettathat I'd taken off Colonel Harrison: and this time I didn't forget to slide off the safety-catch. The click was abnormally loud in the frozen silence of the room. But the silence didn't last long. "What damnable outrage is this?" Senator Brewster shouted out the words, his face purpling in rage. He leapt to his feet, started to move forwards towards me then stopped as if he had run into a brick wall. The crash of Jackstraw's Winchester was a deafening, eardrum shattering thunderclap of sound in that confined space: and when the last reverberations of the rifle-shot had faded and the smoke cleared away, Senator Brewster was staring down whitely at the splintered hole in the floor boards, almost literally beneath his feet: Jackstraw must have miscalculated the Senator's rate of movement, for the bullet had sliced through the edge of the sole of Brewster's boot. However it was, the effect couldn't have been bettered: the Senator reached back blindly for the support of the bunk behind him and lowered himself shakily to his seat, so terrified that he even forgot to clasp his hands above his head. But I didn't care about that: there would be no more trouble from the Senator. "OK, so you mean business. Now we're convinced." It was Zagero who drawled out the words, but his hands were tightly enough clasped above his head. "We know you wouldn't do this for nothin', Doc. What gives?" "This gives," I said tightly. "Two of you people are murderers -or a murderer and murderess. Both have guns. I want those guns." "Succinctly put, dear boy," Marie LeGarde said slowly. "Very concise. Have you gone crazy?" "Unclasp your hands, Miss LeGarde, you're not included in this little

A name, a wretched picture and worse bust.

if he is unprepared, Guildmember. My father, late an agent of the Federated Council, was able to safeguard me, and other friends, against electronically induced subliminals. Which, I might add, are particularly adaptable to the heavy emotional experience of the sensory organ. Late an agent? Killashandra fancied she saw some diminution of Trags intractability. Trapped here by the same restraint which keeps Optherians from competing in galactic enterprise, Lars replied. Contact with the Federated Council has only just been reestablished after nearly thirty years She and Trag heard the minute sound at the same instant and assumed suitable poses of interrupted labor when the door panel slid open. Mirbethan escorted the lunch table which the security guard wheeled in. If youll just leave it there, Mirbethan, Killashandra gestured with a hand full of brackets while Trag and Lars bent over an already sited crystal, well take a break shortly. Not the one they expect, either, Lars murmured when the door panel had closed. Trag favored him with another unnerving stare. Lars returned it equably, with a slight bow toward the manual case. After you, Guild-member. Why three more crystals? Trag asked. This loft is half the size of the available space behind the organ console on stage, Lars said. We think the subliminal programming equipment is hidden behind that wall, and accessed by a musical key activated from this manual. We have reason to believe that Comgail, who is alleged to have smashed the crystal, Trags eyebrows raised, was killed because he had discovered that musical key, not because he was injured by the shards or because he had destroyed the manual. That would have only got him sent to rehab. Who is responsible for the subliminal programming? Lars grinned maliciously, My own personal candidate is Ampris; he is musically trained. It wouldnt take musicality to strike notes in the right sequence, Trag said. True, but he knows as much about the organ as every performer must and he became head of the Conservatory about the time the subliminal conditioning started. It began shortly after my father arrived, and he was here to investigate the first request for the revocation of the planet-bound restriction. Then, too, Torkes has always favored the propaganda control of population. But what one Elder does, the others invariably condone. And subliminal conditioning sustains them in sony digital camera dsch 12x coupon their power. Arrange for me to meet your father, Lars Dahl. Lars grinned. His credentials are as suspicious as mine, Guildmember. I doubt we could reach him. In any event, we are here, close to the damning proof of what we suspect. Surely a bird in hand Bird? The word exploded from Killashandra, a result of the tension she felt and a combination of surprise and respect for Larss sterling performance under Trags unnerving scrutiny. Perhaps the analogy is wrong, and Lars shrugged diffidently. Well, Guildmember? Have I my day in court, too? Three more crystals? Trags manner gave no indication of his thoughts. Two more, Killashandra said, if we are using the original key. Trag made a barely audible grunt at that comment before he reached for the next crystal and motioned Lars to place his bracket. Killashandra could not keep her mind entirely on the task at hand for she suddenly realized just how much rested on the truth of the dissidents contentions. Had she indeed allowed a sexual relationship to cloud her judgment? Or favorable first impressions from Nahia, Hauness, and the others to color her thinking? And yet, there was Corish von Mittelstern, and Olav Dahl. Or was that convoluted situation carefully contrived? She might be out on a limb, the saw in her own hand, she thought as she delicately tightened the bracket on the second crystal. She didnt dare look at Lars across the open case as they straightened up. Expressionless as ever, Trag handed Lars the tuning hammer. Lars gave Killashandra a rakish and reassuring grin and then tapped out the sequence: da da da-dum, da da da-dum. For one hideous moment nothing happened and Killashandra felt the last vestige of energy drain from her body with the groan she could not stifle. A groan that was echoed by a muted noise and a slight vibration in the floor. Startled, she and Lars looked down but Trag remained with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Clever! was his comment as the wall sank slowly and, to their intense relief, noiselessly apart from the initial protest. Clever and utterly despicable. As soon as the descending wall reached knee height, Trag swung over it, Lars right behind him. For a heavy man, Trag moved with considerable speed and economy of motion. He did a complete circuit of the room, his eyes sweeping from one side to the

That kings decline from princely government,

was a relatively short run, though Killashandras seatmates complained bitterly about the discomfort and duration all the way down. Killashandra accounted the landing smooth but the two cushions found fault with that as well, so she was immensely grateful when the port opened again, flooding the shuttle with the crisp clean cool air of Optheria. She inhaled deeply, clearing her lungs of the Athenas recycled air. For all the crafts modern amenities, it had not quite solved the age-old problem of refreshing air without the taint of deodorizers. No sooner had the first passengers filed into the arrival area than the public address system began a recorded announcement, scrolling through the same message in all major Federated Planets languages. Passengers were requested to have travel documents ready for inspection by Port Authorities. Please to form a line in the appropriately marked alphabetic or numeric queues. Aliens requiring special life support systems or supplies would please contact a uniformed attendant. Visitors with health problems were to present themselves, immediately after Clearance, to the Port Authority Medical Officer. It was the hope of the Tourist Bureau of Optheria that all visitors would thoroughly enjoy their holiday on the planet. Killashandra was relieved to see that she would be able to present her I.D. in some privacy, for the Inspectors presided in security booths. Those waiting their turn in the queue could not observe the process. She kept glancing to the far right of the line where Corish should be waiting but he was not immediately visible. She caught sight of him just as it was her turn to approach the Inspector. Killashandra suppressed a malicious grin as she slid her arm and its I.D. bracelet under the visiplate. The blank expression of the Inspectors square face underwent a remarkable change at the sight of the Heptite Seal on his screen. With one hand he pressed a red button on the terminal in front of him and with the other urgently beckoned her to proceed. Quitting the booth, he insisted on relieving her of her carisak. Please, no fuss, Killashandra said. Gracious Guildmember, the Inspector began effusively, we have been so concerned. The cabin reserved for you on the Athena I traveled economy. But youre a Heptite Guildmember! There are times, Inspector, Killashandra nikon 360 digital camera said, bending close to him and touching his arm, when discretion requires that one travel incognito. The hair stood up on the back of his hand. She sighed. Oh, I see. And clearly he did not. He unconsciously smoothed the hair back down. They had walked the short distance to the next portal, which slid apart to reveal a welcoming committee of four, three men and a woman, slightly breathless. The Guildmember has arrived! The Inspectors triumphant announcement left the distinct impression that he himself had somehow conjured her appearance. Killashandra stared apprehensively at them. They had a disconcerting resemblance to each other, not only a sameness of height and build but of coloring and feature. Even their voices were pitched in the same sonorous timber. She blinked, thinking it might be some trick of the soft yellow sunshine pouring in from the main reception area. Then she gave herself a little shake: all were government employees, but could any bureaucracy, Optherian or other, hire people on the basis of their uniform appearance? Welcome to Optheria, Guildmember Ree, the Inspector said, beaming as he ushered her past the portal, which whispered shut behind them. Welcome, Killashandra Ree, I am Thyrol, the first and oldest man said, taking one step toward her and bowing. Welcome, Killashandra Ree, I am Pirinio, said the second, following the example of the first. In unvarying ceremony, Polabod and Mirbethan made themselves known to her. Had they practiced long? I am truly welcomed, she said with a gracious semibow. The crystal? It was aboard the shuttle. All four looked to her right, left hands rising from their sides at the same instant, to indicate the float appearing through a second portal. Nullgravs suspended float and cartons above the gold-flecked marble floor but proper guidance apparently required six attendants, each wearing an anxious frown of concentration. A seventh man directed their efforts, dancing from one side to the other to be certain that nothing impeded their progress. These citizens of Optheria were reassuringly mismatched in size, form, and feature. We four, Thyrol began, indicating his companions with a twist of his hand, are to be your guides and mentors during your stay on Optheria. You have only to state your wishes and preferences and we Optheria will provide. The four bowed again, like a wave from right to left. The Inspector

On thy dear breast I'll lay my head--

likely to sleep?" Again the headshakes. "That settles it." I struggled to my feet. "It's only 4 a.m., but if we're going to freeze to death we might as well freeze on the move. Not only that, but another few hours in this temperature, and that tractor engine will never start again. What do you think, Jackstraw?" "I'll get the blow-torches," he said by way of answer, and pushed his way out through the canvas screen. Almost at once I heard him begin to cough violently in the deadly cold of the air outside, and, in the intervals between the coughing, we could clearly hear the dry rustling crackling of his breath as the moisture condensed, froze and drifted away in the all but imperceptible breeze. Corazzini and I followed, choking and gasping in turn as that glacial cold seared through throat and lungs, adjusting masks and goggles until not a millimetre of flesh was left exposed. Abreast the driving cabin I drew out my torch and glanced at the alcohol thermometerordinary mercury froze solid at38then looked again in disbelief. The red spirit inside the glass had sunk down to within an inch of the bulb and stood on the line of -68exactly one hundred degrees of frost. Still well below Wegener's -85, further short still of the incredible -125 that the Russians had recorded at the Vostok in Antarctica, but nevertheless the lowest, by almost fifteen degrees, that I had ever experienced. And that it should happen nownow, two hundred miles from the nearest human habitation, with Jackstraw and myself stuck with two murderers, a possibly dying man, seven other passengers rapidly weakening from exposure, exhaustion and lack of food, and a superannuated tractor that was due to pack up at any moment at all. Over an hour later I had cause to revise the last part of that estimateit seemed that the tractor had already packed up. I had had my first intimation of trouble to come when I had switched on the ignition and pressed the hornthe faint mournful beep could hardly have been heard twenty yards away. The batteries were so gummed up by the cold that they couldn't even have turned over a hot engine, far less one in which the crankcase, transmission and differential were all but locked solid in lubricating oil that had lost all power to lubricate anything and had been turned into a super viscous liquid with the consistency and intractability of some heavy animal glue. Even with two of us bringing all our weight to bear on past and present about digital cameras the starting handle it was impossible to turn even one cylinder over the top. We made to light the paraffin blow-torches but they, too, were frozen solid: paraffin freezes at just over -50, and even at -40 it still flows like heavy gear-case oil. We had to thaw them out with a petrol blow-torch, then place all five of them on wooden boxes and behind canvas aprons to retain the heat, two to thaw out the crankcase, two for the gear-box and transmission and the last for the differential. After an hour or so, when the engine had begun to turn fairly easily and we had brought out the heavy battery which had been thawing out by the stove, we tried again. But it gave no sign of life at all. None of us, not even Corazzini whose Global tractors were all diesel-powered, was an expert in engine maintenance, and this was when we came very close to despair. But despair was the one emotion we couldn't afford, and we knew it. We kept the blow-torches burning, returned the battery to the stove, removed and cleaned the plugs, eased the frozen brushes in the generator, stripped and removed the petrol lines, thawed them and sucked out the frozen condensation by mouth, scraped away the ice from the carburettor intake and returned everything in place. We had to remove our gloves for most of this delicate work, the flesh stuck to metal and pulled off like the skin of an orange when we removed our hands, even the backs of our fingers became burnt and blistered from casual knocks on metal, blood oozed out from under our fingernails only to coagulate in the freezing air, and our lips, where they had touched the copper petrol feeds, were swollen and puffed and blistered. It was brutal, killing work, and in addition to the work our arms and legs and faces were almost constantly frozen, despite frequent visits to the stove to thaw ourselves out. It was murderousbut it was worth it. At six-fifteen, two and a quarter hours after we had begun, the big engine coughed and spluttered into life, missed, coughed again, caught and settled down into a steady even roar. I felt my split lips cracking into a painful grin under my mask, thumped Jackstraw and Corazzinifor the moment quite forgetting that the latter might be one of the killerson the back, turned and went in for breakfast. Or what passed for breakfast. It was little enough, heaven knewcoffee, crackers and the contents of a couple of corned beef tins shared among the twelve of us, the lion's share

The tane unto the tither did say,

past three hours since Andrea had drawn off the Jaeger search party. Even in mid-winter in the White Mountains in Crete Mallory could recall no snowfall so heavy and continuous. So much for the Isles of Greece and the eternal sunshine that gilds them yet, he thought bitterly. He hadn't reckoned on this when he'd planned on going down to Margaritha for food and fuel, but even so it wouldn't have made any difference in his decision. Although in less pain now, Stevens was becoming steadily weaker, and the need was desperate. With moon and stars blanketed by the heavy snowcloudsvisibility, indeed, was hardly more than ten feet in any directionthe loss of their compasses had assumed a crippling importance. He didn't doubt his ability to find the vifiageit was simply a matter of walking downhill till they came to the stream that ran through the valley, then following that north till they came to Margarithabut if the snow didn't let up their chances of locating that tiny cave again in the vast sweep of the hillsides . . . Mallory smothered an exclamation as Miller's hand closed round his upper arm, dragged him down to his knees in the snow. Even in that moment of unknown danger he could feel a slow stirring of anger against himself, for his attention had been wandering along with his thoughts. . . . He lifted his hand as vizor against the snow, peered out narrowly through the wet, velvety curtain of white that swirled and eddied out of the darkness before him. Suddenly he had ita - dark, squat shape only feet away. They had all but walked straight into it. "It's the hut," he said softly in Miller's ear. He had seen it early in the afternoon, half-way between their cave and Margaritha, and almost in a line with both. He was conscious of relief, an increase in confidence: they would be in the vifiage in less than half an hour. "Elementary navigation, my dear Corporal," he murmured. "Lost and wandering in circles, my foot! Just put your faith . . ." He broke off as Miller's fingers dug viciously into his arm, as Miller's head came close to his own. - "I heard voices, boss." The words wer.e a mere breath of sound. "Are you sure?" Miller's silenced gun, Mallory noticed, was still in his pocket. Miller hesitated. "Dammit to hell, boss, I'm sure of nothin'," he whispered irritably. "I've been imaginin' every damn' thing possible in the past hour!" He pulled the snow hood off his head, the better to sony 4 megapixel digital camera listen, bent forward for a few seconds, then sank back again. "Anyway, I'm sure I thought I heard somethin'." "Come on. Let's take a look-see." Mallory was on his feet again. "I think you're mistaken. Can't be the Jaeger boysthey were half-way back across Mount Kostos when we saw them last. And the shepherds only use these places in the summer months." He slipped the safety catch of his Colt .455, walked slowly, at a halfcrouch, towards the nearest wall of the hut, Miller at his shoulder. - They reached the hut, put their ears against the frail, tarpaper walls. Then seconds passed, twenty, half a minute, then Mallory relaxed. "Nobody at home. Or if they are, they're keeping mighty quiet. But no chances, Dusty. You go that way. I'll go this. Meet at the doorthat'll be on the opposite side, facing into the valley. . . . Walk wide at the cornersnever fails to baffle the unwary." A minute later both men were inside the hut, the door shut behind them. The hooded beam of Mallory's torch probed into every corner of the ramshackle cabin. It was quite emptyan earthen floor, a rough wooden bunk, a dilapidated stove with a rusty lantern standing on it, and that was all. No table, no chair, no chimney, not even a window. Mallory walked over to the stove, picked up the lamp and sniffed it. "Hasn't been used for weeks. Still full of kerosene, though. Very useful in that damn' dungeon up thereif we can ever find the place. . . ." He froze into a sudden listening Immobility, eyes unfocused and head cocked slightly to one side. Gently, ever so gently, he set the lamp down, walked leisurely across to Miller. "Remind me to apologise at some future date," he murmured. "We have company. Give me your gun and keep talking." "Castelrosso again," Miller complained loudly. He hadn't even raised an eyebrow. "This is downright monotonous. A ChinamanI'll bet it's a Chinaman this time." But he was already talking to himself. The silenced automatic balanced at his waist, Mallory walked noiselessly round the hut, four feet out from the walls. He had passed two corners, was just rounding the third when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a vague figure behind him rising up swiftly from the ground and lunging out with upraised arm. Mallory stepped back quickly under the blow, spun round, swung his balled fist viciously and backwards into the stomach of his attacker. There was a sudden explosive gasp of agony

We'll live among wild peach trees, miles from town,

you said they're not much more than a couple of hundred miles away." "And I said they'll be staying there. They've set up their equipment and instruments and they won't move until they have to. They're too short of petrol for that." "They can refuel here, of course?" "That's no worry." I jerked a thumb towards the tunnel. "There's eight hundred gallons out there." "I see." Corazzini looked thoughtful for a moment, then went on. "Please don't think I'm being annoyingly persistent. I just want to eliminate possibilities. I believe you haveor have had -a radio schedule with your friends. Won't they worry if they fail to hear from you?" "Hillcrestthat's the scientist in chargenever worries about anything. And unfortunately, their own radio, a big long-range job, is giving troublethey said a couple of days ago that the generator brushes were beginning to give outand the nearest spares are here. If they can't raise us, they'll probably blame themselves. Anyway, they know we're safe as houses here. Why on earth should they worry?" "So what do we do?" Solly Levin asked querulously. "Starve to death or start hikin'?" "Succinctly and admirably put," Senator Brewster boomed. "In a nutshell, one might say. I propose we set up a small committee to investigate the possibilities" "This isn't Washington, Senator," I said mildly. "Besides, we already have a committeeMr London, Mr Nielsen and myself." "Indeed?" It seemed to be the Senator's favourite word, and long years of practice had matched it perfectly to the lift of his eyebrows. "You will remember, perhaps, that we have rather a personal stake in this also?" "I'm unlikely to forget it," I said dryly. "Look, Senator, if you were adrift in a hurricane and were picked up by a ship, would you presume to advise the captain and his officers of the course they should adopt to survive the hurricane?" "That's not the point." Senator Brewster puffed out his cheeks. "This is not a ship" "Shut up!" It was Corazzini who spoke, his voice quiet and hard, and I could suddenly understand why he had reached the top in his own particularly tough and competitive business. "Or Mason is absolutely right. This is their own backyard, and our lives should be left in the hands of experts. I take it you have already reached a decision, Dr Mason?" "I reached it last night. JossMr Londonstays here to contact the others when they return. He will be left enough food for three best sports action digital cameras weeks. We take the remainder, and we leave tomorrow." "Why not today?" "Because the tractor is at present unfit for winter travel, especially travel with ten passengers. It's still got the canvas hood on it that it had when we hauled stuff up from the coast. We have the prefabricated wooden sides and top that we need to arcticise it, plus the bunks and portable stove, but it will take several hours." "We start on that now?" "Soon. But first your luggage. We'll go out to the plane now, and bring that back." "Thank goodness for that," Mrs Dansby-Gregg said stiffly. "I was beginning to think I'd never see my stuff again." "Oh, you will," I said. "Briefly." "Just what do you mean by that?" she asked suspiciously. "I mean that you'll all put on as many clothes as you're able to stagger about in," I said. "Then you have a small attache-case for your valuables, if you have any. The rest of the stuff we'll have to abandon. This is no Cook's tour. We'll have no room on the tractor." "Butbut I have, clothes worth hundreds of pounds," she protested angrily. "Hundreds?Thousands would be nearer it. I have a Balenciaga alone that cost over five hundred pounds, not to mention" "How much do you reckon your own life is worth?" Zagero said shortly. He grinned. "Or maybe we should abandon you and save the Balenciaga. Better still, wear it on top of everythingyou know, how the well-dressed woman leaves the ice-cap." "Excruciatingly funny." She stared at him icily. "Frequently fracture myself," Zagero agreed. "Can I give you a hand with the stuff, Doc?" "You stay here, Johnny Zagero!" Solly Levin jumped up in agitation. "One little slip on that ice" "Calm yourself, calm yourself." Zagero patted his shoulder. "Merely goin' in a supervisory capacity, Solly. How about it, Doc?" "Thanks. You want to come, Mr Corazzini?" I could see he was already struggling into a parka. "I'd be glad to. Can't sit here all day." "These cuts on your head and hands aren't sealed yet. They'll sting like the devil when you get out into this cold." "Got to get used to it,

No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they Raise a flame in the breast for the war-laurell'd wreath; imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at