"We hold it in scorn," then said the forresters,

suicide." "You put the alternative so nicely." He smiled a smile that never touched the cold and determined eyes. "But I guess you're right at that." Lunch that day was a bowl of soup and crackers, poor fare at any time, shockingly insufficient to stay and warm men who would have to work for the next few hours in these bitter sub-zero temperatures above. But there was no help for it: if it would take us a week to reach the coast, and in all optimism I couldn't count on less, rationing would have to start now. In a matter of a couple of hours the thermometer reading had risen with astonishing speedthese dramatic temperature variations were commonplace on the ice-capand it was beginning to snow when we emerged from the hatch and moved across to where the tractor lay. The rise in temperature flattered only to deceive: the south wind brought with it not only snow but a rapidly climbing humidity, and the air was almost unbearably chill. We ripped off the covering tarpaulinit cracked and tore but I was no longer concerned with preserving itand our guests saw for the first time the vehicle upon which all their lives were to depend. Slowly I played my torch over itthe dark shroud of the arctic night had already fallen across the ice-capand I heard the quick indrawn hiss of breath beside me. "Drove it out when the museum attendant wasn't looking, I suppose." Corazzini kept his voice carefully expressionless. "Or did you just find it hereleft over from the last ice-age?" "It is a bit old," I admitted. "Pre-war. But all we can afford. The British Government isn't quite so lavish with its IGY expenditure as the Russians and your people. Know it? It's the prototype, the ancestor of the modern arctic tractor." "Never seen it before. What is it?" "French. A 10-20 Citroen. Underpowered, narrow-tracked as you can see, and far too short for its weight. Lethal in crevasse country. Plods along fairly well on the frozen ice-cap, but you'd be better with a bicycle when there's any depth at all of new-fallen snow. But it's all we have." Corazzini said no more. As the managing director of a factory producing some of the finest tractors in the world, I suppose his heart was too full to say any more. But his disappointment made no difference to his drive, his sheer unflagging determination. For the next few hours he worked like a demon. So, too, did Zagero. Less than five minutes after we had started work we had to stop again to rig up a canvas screen, lashed to accessory camera digital dock easyshare printer aluminium poles brought up from the runnel, round three sides of the tractor: work had been impossible in that snow and knife-like wind that lanced through even the bulkiest layers of clothingand most of them were now wearing so many that they could move only with difficultyas if they were tissue paper. Behind this screen we placed a portable oil stovethe very illusion of warmth was better than nothingtwo storm lanterns and the blow-torches without which we could have made no progress at all. Even with this shelter, practically everyone had to go below from time to time to rub and pound life back into his freezing body: only Jackstraw and I, in our caribou furs, could stay up almost indefinitely. Joss was below all the afternoon: after spending a couple of hours trying to raise our field party on the tractor's emergency radio he gave up and went doggedly back to work on the RCA. Our first job, the removal of the hoped canvas hood, gave us some measure of the difficulty of the task that lay before us. The hood was secured by only seven bolts and nuts, but these had been in position for over four months now, were frozen solid and took over an hour to remove: each set had to be thawed out separately by blow-torch before the heavy wrenches could get the nuts to turn. Then came the assembly of the wooden body. This was in fifteen prefabricated pieces, three each for the floor, sides, roof and frontthe back was only a canvas screen. Each set of three pieces had to be brought out singly through the narrow hatchway before assembly, and it was the devil's own job, in that numbing cold and flickering semi-darkness, to locate and line up the bolt-holes in the wood with the matching holes in the connecting iron cross-pieces. It took us well over an hour to assemble and fit the floor section alone, and it was beginning to look as if we would be here until midnight when Corazzini had the ideaand a brilliant one it seemed at the timeof assembling the various sections in the comparative warmth and brightness of the cabin, sliding the complicated piece out vertically into the food and fuel tunnel, sawing a long narrow slit through the snow roof, which was no more than a foot thick in the middle, and hauling the sections up from below. After this we made rapid progress. By five o'clock the entire body shell was completed and with the end in sight less than a couple of hours away, everyone worked more furiously than ever.

And I 'll tell you it presentlie,

place, the ambiance Not so fast, Lars Dahl. I was a trained musician before I became a crystal singer. I can be a critical auditor and when I heard your music, I didnt know you as well as I do now, so that is an unbiased assessment. If by any chance the Stellar who lodged the complaint with the Artists Association had had you in mind, I second his concern. Lars regarded her with a genuine surprise. You would? What music training did you have? I studied for ten years at the Fuerte Music Center. Voice. Lars nearly lost grip on the tiller and before he had altered the course, the Pearl yawed in the rough seas, throwing Killashandra against him You were the soprano that night? Yes. She grinned. I recognized your tenor at the barbecue. Where did you learn Baleefs Voyagers? And the Pearl Fishers duet? Certainly not in the Conservatory. My father. Hed brought some of his microlibrary with him when he came to Optheria. Your father is naturalized? Oh, yes. Like yourself, he didnt come to the islands by choice. If we mention your true identity to no one else and what is your true name? Or dont crystal singers give them? You mean to say you dont know the name of the woman you assaulted and then abducted? Killashandra pretended outrage. Lars shook his head, grinning at her with an almost boyish mischief. Killashandra Ree. He repeated the syllables slowly, then smiled. I like that much better than Carrigana. That was a rather harsh name to say endearingly. The ells and the sh are sweeter. Possibly the only sweet thing about me, I warn you, Lars. He pointedly ignored that remark. My father must know who you are, Killashandra. It will give him new heart for Ill tell you frankly, he was far more discouraged about those arrested in the Elders search than he let on to the others. Nor he paused, only then aware of the water sloshing in the cockpit about their toes nor do I like deceiving Nahia. She doesnt deserve it. No, she doesnt. Though I have the feeling she already has a good idea that Im not the island maid Ive been portraying. Oh? Was she at that reception in the Conservatory? No, but she sensed the crystal resonance. Killashandra stroked her arm explanatorily. Lars caressed her then. You mean, nikon digital camera merchants thats what Ive been feeling whenever we touch? Killashandra gave him a reassuring smile. Not entirely, lover. Some of it is a perfectly spontaneous combustion. Lars guffawed at that, embracing her once again. Shouldnt I bail or something? she asked as the chill sea water splashed over her toes. His arm restrained her. Not just yet. He frowned, glancing off to port, not really seeing the sprouts of islets as he corrected their course a few points easterly. However, if we tell my father and Nahia who you are Hauness, too? What Nahia knows, Hauness does, and safe enough in both their hands. But then what? Hard copy on the suicide files is rapidly available. But I should insist that you meet with other groups to prove unquestionably that the arbitrary restriction to Optheria is not popularly acceptable. Im glad you agree to that. In doing that, you will also need to avoid the Elders. It wouldnt do for them to discover you blithely treading the cobbles at Ironwood or the terraces of Maitland. You never told them youd kidnapped me, so why couldnt I visit other communities? Because youve now been missing for five weeks. How would you explain such an absence, much less why you havent repaired their precious Festival organ? Idve done that if that wretched security officer hadnt been in his flatulent dotage! My absence is easy to explain. I just dont explain it. She shrugged diffidently. Lars sniggered. You dont know how much our Elders dislike mysteries You have seen me playing a humble island maid, Lars. Try seeing me as a highly indignant and aristocratic member of the Heptite Guild. As she spoke, her voice became strange, disdainful, and Killashandra pulled herself arrogantly erect. Lars started to remove his arm from her shoulders in reaction to the transformation. Im more than a match for Ampris or Torkes. And they need my services far too much to annoy me again. Im obliged to mention that theyve sent for a replacement I know that. How could

"I love him the better therefor."

activated the jammer, she paced out the width of the room. In-ter-est-ing, she said, her nose against the far wall. This room is only half the length of the stage, Lars. Does that suggest anything to you? It does, but there is no corresponding door on the other side of the console! He joined her in her scrutiny of the blameless wall. The subliminals have to be linked to the main frame data bases. I wonder She followed his inspection of the cables that festooned the ceiling, pausing where they ran alongside the wall. Just a little minute, he said, his eyes wide with discovery, and he spun one of the impervo tubs to position just under the cables. He had to crane his neck, half stooped against the ceiling, but he gave a low and triumphant whistle. When he jumped down, he gathered Killashandra in his arms and whirled her about, crowing with exultation. The wall drops how I dont know, but there is just the slightest gap at the top, where no one would think to look for it. And three very heavy cables go through the wall. Lars replaced the tub before he began to inspect the corner joint. Once again he gave an exultant yip. The whole wall must move, Killa but how? That large a mass sinking into the floor might be a touch noisy. If we knew the mechanism He felt along the corner, then the floor, pressing and tapping. Thats far too obvious, Lars. Stupid they are but never obvious. Try for an extrusion on one of the units, underneath em, inside She ran searching fingers under the one nearest her, finding nothing but a rough edge on one corner which produced a gouged finger. Ach, I havent the patience for this sort of nonsense right now. You go ahead. Ill finish this last bit of cleaning. By the time their lunch was brought in, Lars had found nothing more. The units that could be opened had been opened with no result. Lars stewed and fussed all through the meal at his inability to resolve the problem. What sort of form do the security measures generally take on Optheria? Bureaucracies tend to find a reliable mechanism and stick with it, Killashandra suggested, with only half her attention on that part of the problem since she was so close to clearing the manual case for the next task. I can find out. Would you mind being left alone this evening? He grinned at her, stroking her arm gently. Youd be a mite conspicuous where I want to go. And where would that be? she asked with an arch glance of kalyway 10.5.2 digital camera mock disgust. Ive got to acquire a few more clothes, and he twitched the fabric of his shirt, not as gaudy as that of most island designs but certainly noticeable amid the drab garb of the city dwellers. Talk to a few people. Lucky for us, its nearing the time of year when the subliminals wear off and normal student appetites revive. I might he late, Killa, he made a grimace of regret We dont have as much time together She kissed the pulse in his throat. Whenever you return then. That is, of course, and she had to add a light touch to relieve the tension in her throat, if the guards pass you in. Chapter 20 And? Killashandra prompted Lars the next morning as they breakfasted. Despite a valiant effort to stay awake, she had been asleep when he returned and he was showering when she was awakened by the distant chimes. I got clothing, all right enough, Lars admitted with a frustrated sigh. The Elders search and seizure for you was far more comprehensive than our visitors, and despite the jammer he was taking no chances, had led us to believe. Or perhaps knew. Anyone anyone who has been booked even for a pedestrian offense was drawn. Half a dozen students were sent on to rehab without benefit of Inquiry. Olver? Lars ran his fingers through his hair, scratching his head vigorously as if to erase his despondency. How he escaped I dont know and neither, I gather, does he. We didnt exchange more than a few signs. Lars propelled himself from his chair, pacing, head down. It could very well be that the Elders have marked him and are playing a waiting game. Are Nahia and Hauness safe? Lars gave her a quick and grateful smile for that concern. They were holding clinics in Ironwood, he waved his hand to the north, at the time of your disappearance. The City, Gartertown, and the Port took the brunt of search and seizure. And Security then used your disappearance as an excuse to take known dissidents in protective custody. How many are? In protective custody? My dear Guildmember, such figures are never made public. An informed guess? Suicide is one form of social protest, the size of the p.c. population another one. Lars shook his head. Hauness might be able to find out, and Lars resumed his head

He that did this quarrel first begin

and absolute As you say, isnt the only requirement for your profession? The major one. Ballybran is a Code Four planet What does that mean? Im an island lad from a iggerant planet, and Lars voice was rich with contempt. Dangerous. Singing crystal is rated a highly dangerous profession, limited to Type IV through VIII bipedal humanoids Are there any other kinds? Dont alien life forms come for the Festival? The Reticulans are avid musicologists though I could never come to terms with their croons as music. Are they the ones that look like an assembly of twigs on a barrel? The wardroom was empty and Lars swung her into his arms, kissing her passionately, stroking her body, murmuring endearments. But knowing that they could be interrupted at any time inhibited Killashandras response, even as she yearned for more. At a scraping sound, they broke apart, Killashandra sliding breathlessly into the nearest chair. What a delightful description of Reticulans! The barrel is mostly windbag but Ive never been close enough to discover which of their pseudopods are the pipes. Lars stopped pacing, for the noise in the companionway had ceased, and he came back to fondle her. A candidate for Guild membership has to pass Physical Fitness Test SG-I, Psychological Profile SG-I which youd never pass if you continue to do that, Lars and Education Level 3. Im not applying to the Guild, only applying a member This time the footsteps stopped and the door was slid back. Mr. Fernock entered, smiling broadly when he saw the occupants. Well be underway in ten minutes, Guildmember, thanks to your invaluable assistance. And well be able to make a reasonable enough speed on five shafts to reach our destination on time. How marvelous, Killashandra said in a languid drawl. Marvelous was not really the way she felt, considering the inner turmoil Larss caresses had stimulated. She couldnt get to the City and the Conservatory fast enough. Chapter 18 Fortunately Lars was equally frustrated by their lack of privacy and made no further overtures. Perversely, Killashandra missed them. The cruiser had broken out flags and a full honor guard for the ceremonial and triumphant return. Killashandra steeled herself for yet another protocologically correct reception. She reflected on what scene she could produce to shorten the tedium, and debated major supporters of the digital camera whether or not a scene would produce any advantage. She had made several points. Unless she had sufficient provocation, she decided to leave well enough alone. For now. She might need to produce an effect to gain privacy within her suite. For she was determined to enjoy Lars without any surveillance for whatever time remained to them. She could, of course, stretch out the organ repair as long as she wished. Or her instruction of technicians. She could include Lars in that program. He had the perfect and absolute pitch to tune crystal as well as the strength and manual dexterity required. She must do everything she could to make him indispensable to the Elders, for whatever protection that could provide him, since he didnt seem at all interested in leaving Optheria. Even if that were possible. Were near enough for you to have a spectacular view of the City Port, Lars said, interrupting her reflections. A natural port? She smiled. Completely, though not nearly as good a natural harbor as North. Naturally. Captain Festinel awaits your arrival on the bridge. How courteous! Wheres Torkes? Burning up a few communications units with orders. He was incensed that you had to bloody your hands on the drive of a mere cruiser. Doesnt he value his skin as much as I do mine? Her entry rated salutes, rigid attention from the seamen and a smile and a warm handshake from Festinel. She politely accepted his effusive thanks and then pointedly turned to watch the rapidly approaching shoreline. The City Port bustled with activity: small water taxis skipping across the waves, larger barges wallowing across their swells, and coastal freighters awaiting their turn at the piers which, with their array of mechanical unloading devices, were anything but natural. The cruisers velocity had moderated considerably now that it was in congested waters. Ponderously it approached the Federal docking area, where sleek courier vessels bobbed alongside two more squat cruisers. Killashandra had no difficulty identifying their berth it was crowded with a welcoming committee, all massed white and insipid pale colors, blurred faces turned seaward, despite the glare of the

The squirrels in their silver fur will fall

would never have believed it capable. Even the Senator, the Rev. Smallwood and Solly Levin did what they could, as best they could, trying their best to hide their misery and their pain. By this time everyone, even Jackstraw and myself, was shaking almost uncontrollably with the cold so that our hands and elbows rat-tat-tatted like machine-guns against the wooden sides of the tractor: and our hands themselves, through constant contact with metal were in a shocking state, puffed and bleeding and blistered, the mittens continuously filled with lumps and slivers of ice that never melted. We had just installed the four collapsible bunks and were fitting the stove-pipe through its circular hole in the roof when someone called me. I jumped down and all but knocked over Marie LeGarde. "You shouldn't be out here," I scolded. "It's far too cold for you, Miss LeGarde." "Don't be silly, Peter." I could never bring myself to call her 'Marie', though she had asked me to several times. "I have to get used to it, don't I? Would you come below for a moment or two, ptease?" "Why? I'm busy." "But not indispensable," she retorted. "I want you to have a look at Margaret." "Margaretoh, the stewardess. What does she want?" "Nothing. It's I who want it. Why are you so hostile towards her?" she asked curiously. "It's not like youat least, I don't think it is. She's a fine girl." "What does the fine girl want?" "What in the world's got into you? Whyoh, forget it. I'm not going to fight with you. Her back hurtsshe's in considerable pain. Come and see it, please." "I offered to see it last night. If she wants me now why doesn't she come and ask me?" "Because she's scared of you, that's why," she said angrily. She stamped a foot in the frozen snow. "Will you go or not?" I went. Below, I stripped off my gloves, emptied the ice out of them and washed my blistered, bleeding hands in disinfectant. I saw Marie LeGarde's eyes widen at the sight of my hands, but she said nothing: maybe she knew I wasn't in the mood for condolences. I rigged up a screen in the corner of the room remote from the table where the women had been gathering and dividing out the remaining food supplies, and had a look at Margaret Ross's back. It was a mess, all right, a great ugly blue and purpling bruise from the spine to the left shoulder: in the centre, just below the shoulder blade, uploading from digital cameras was a deep jagged cut, which looked as if it had been caused by a heavy blow from some triangular piece of sharp metal. Whatever had caused it had passed clean through her tunic and blouse. "Why didn't you show me this yesterday?" I asked coldly. "I -1 didn't want to bother you," she faltered. Didn't want to bother me, I thought grimly. Didn't want to give yourself away, you mean. In my mind's eye I had a picture of the pantry where we had found her, and I was almost certain now that I could get the proof that I needed. Almost, but not quite. I'd have to go to check. "Is it very bad?" She twisted round, and I could see there were tears in the brown eyes from the pain of the disinfectant I was rubbing on none too gently. "Bad enough," I said shortly. "How did you get this?" "I've no idea," she said helplessly. "I just don't know, Dr Mason." "Perhaps we can find out." "Find out? Why? What does it matter?" She shook her head wearily. "I don't understand, I really don't. What have I done, Dr Mason?" It was magnificent, I had to admit. I could have hit her, but it was magnificent. "Nothing, Miss Ross. Just nothing at all." By the time I had pulled on my parka, gloves, goggles and mask she was fully dressed, staring at me as I climbed up the steps and out through the hatch. The snow was falling quite heavily now, gusting in swirling ghostly flumes through the pale beam of my torch: it seemed to vanish as it hit the ground, freezing as it touched, or scudding smoke-like over the frozen surface with a thin rustling sound. But the wind was at my back, the bamboo markers stretched out in a dead straight line ahead, never less than two of them in the beam of my torch, and I had reached the crashed plane in five or six minutes. I jumped for the windscreen, hooked my fingers over the sill, hauled myself up with some difficulty and wriggled my way into the control cabin. A moment later I was in the stewardess's pantry, flashing my torch around. On the after bulkhead was a big refrigerator, with a small hinged table in front of it, and at the far end, under the window, a hinged box covered over what might have been a heating unit or sink or both. I didn't bother investigating, I wasn't

They digd them graves in their church-yard,

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 waist, shouted for another rope to be brought, moved out and tied my own rope to the middle of the 20x optical slr digital camera planks, allowing for about twenty feet of slack, and lowered myself down hand over hand until I was standing beside Jackstraw and Helene. I could feel the snow-bridge shake under my feet even as I touched it, but I'd no time to think about that, it would have been fatal if I had even begun to think about it. Another rope came snaking down over the edge and in seconds I had it tied round Helene's waist so tightly that I could hear her gasp with the pain of it: but this was no time for taking chances. And whoever held the other end of the rope up above was moving even as quickly as I was, for the rope tightened just as I finished tying the knot. I learned later that Helene owed her life to Mahler's quick thinking. The dog-sledge carrying Marie LeGarde and himself had stopped directly opposite the spot where Helene had gone over, and he had shouted to Brewster and Margaret Ross to sit on it and thread the rope through the slats on the sledge top. It had been a chance, but one that came off: even on that slippery surface their combined weights were more than enough to hold the slightly built Helene. It was then that I made my mistakemy second mistake of that afternoon, though I did not realise that at the time. To help those above I stooped to boost her up, and as I straightened abruptly the suddenly increased pressure proved too much for the already crumbling bridge. I heard the ominous rumble, felt the snow begin to give under my feet, released my hold on Heleneshe was already well clear anywaygrabbed Jackstraw by the arm and jumped for the other side of the bridge a second before the spot where we had been standing vanished with a whroom and went cascading down into the gloomy depths of the crevasse. At the full extent of my rope I hit the ice on the far side of the crevasse, wrapped both arms tightly round JackstrawI heard his muffled expression of pain and remembered his injury for the first timeand wondered how long I could hold him when that side of the bridge went too, as go it must, its support on the far side no longer existing. But, miraculously, for the moment it held. Both of us were pressed hard in against the ice, motionless, hardly daring to breathe, when I heard a sudden cry of pain from above. It came from Heleneshe must have caught her injured shoulder as she was being pulled over the edge of the crevasse. But what caught my eye was not Helene, but Corazzini. He was standing very close to the

"I have a horn in my pocket,

up through our two plate glass skylights: but as always they were completely opaque, covered with a thick coating of rime and dusting of snow. I looked away from the skylights across to where Joss, our young Cockney radioman, was stirring uneasily in his sleep, then back to Jackstraw. "Still hear it?" "Getting louder all the time, Dr Mason. Louder and closer." I wondered vaguelyvaguely and a trifle irritably, for this was our world, a tightly-knit, compact little world, and visitors weren't welcomewhat plane it could be. A met. plane from Thule, possibly. Possibly, but unlikely: Thule was all of six hundred miles away, and our own weather reports went there three times a day. Or perhaps a Strategic Air Command bomber testing out the DEW-linethe Americans' distant early warning radar systemor even some civilian proving flight on a new trans-polar route. Or maybe some base plane from down by Godthaab. "Dr Mason!" Jackstraw's voice was quick, urgent. "It's in trouble, I think. It's circling uslower and closer all the time. A big plane, I'm sure: many motors." "Damn!" I said feelingly. I reached out for the silk gloves that always hung at night above my head, pulled them on, unzipped my sleeping-bag, swore under my breath as the freezing air struck at my shivering skin, and grabbed for my clothes. Half an hour only since I had put them off, but already they were stiff, awkward to handle and abominably coldit was a rare day indeed when the temperature inside the cabin rose above freezing point. But I had them onlong underwear, woollen shirt, breeches, silk-lined woollen parka, two pairs of socks and my felt cabin shoesin thirty seconds flat. In latitude 72.40 north, 8000 feet up on the Greenland ice-cap, self-preservation makes for a remarkable turn of speed. I crossed the cabin to where no more than a nose showed through a tiny gap in a sleeping-bag. "Wake up, Joss." I shook him until he reached out a hand and pushed the hood off his dark tousled head. "Wake up, boy. It looks as if we might need you." "Whatwhat's the trouble?" He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared up at the chronometer above his head. "Midnight! I've been asleep only half an hour." "I know. Sorry. But get a move on." I recrossed the cabin, passed by the big RCA transmitter and stove, and halted in front of the instrument table. The register showed the wind ENE, velocity 15 knotsnear enough 17 miles per hour, on a night like this, with the ice-crystals and compare nikon and canon digital cameras drift lifting off the ice-cap, clogging and slowing up the anemometer cups, the true speed was probably half as much again. And the pen of the alcohol thermograph was running evenly along the red circle of 40 degrees below zero72 degrees of frost. I thought of the evil combination of these two factors of wind and cold and felt my skin crawl. Already Jackstraw was silently climbing into his furs. I did the samecaribou trousers and parka with reindeer fur trimmed hood, all beautifully tailored by Jackstraw's wifesealskin boots, woollen mittens and reindeer gloves. I could hear the plane quite clearly now, and so too, I could see, did Joss. The deep even throb of its motors was plain even above the frantic rattling of the anemometer cups. "It'sit's an aeroplane!" You could see that he was still trying to convince himself. "What did you think it wasone of your precious London double-deckers?" I slipped snow-mask and goggles round my neck and picked up a torch from the shelf beside the stove: it was kept there to keep the dry batteries from freezing. "Been circling for the past two or three minutes. Jackstraw thinks it's in trouble, and I agree." Joss listened. "Engines sound OK to me." "And to me. But engine failure is only one of a dozen possible reasons." "But why circle here?" "How the devil should I know? Probably because he can see our lightsthe only lights, at a guess, in 50,000 square miles. And if he has to put down, which God forbid, he stands his only chance of survival if he puts down near some human habitation." "Heaven help them," Joss said soberly. He added something else, but I didn't wait to hear. I wanted to get up top as quickly as possible. To leave our cabin, we had to use a trap-door, not an ordinary door. Our cabin, a prefabricated, sectioned structure that had been hauled up from the coast on tractor sleds during the month of July, was deep-sunk in a great oblong hole that had been gouged out from the surface of the ice-cap, so that only the top few inches of its flat roof projected above ground level. The trap-door, hinged at both ends so that it could open either upwards or downwards, was reached by a short steep flight

Our argument's whole drift we shall forget;

overfond of his gunnery officer. "Lieutenant Beeston is worried." "I am worried!" The tone was cold, aloof, with an indefinable hint of condescension. "I understand that you have advised the captain not to offer any resistance?" "You sound like a B.B.C. communiqu6," Mallory said shortly. "But you're right. I did say that. You couldn't locate the guns except by searchlight and that would be fatal. Similarly with gunfire." "I'm afraid I don't understand." One could almost see the lift of the eyebrows in the darkness. "You'd give away your position," Mallory said patiently. "They'd nail you first time. Give 'em two minutes and they'd nail you anyway. I have good reason to believe that the accuracy of their gunners is quite fantastic." "So has the Navy," Ryan interjected quietly. "Their third shell got the Sybaris's B magazine." "Have you got any idea why this should be, Captain Mallory?" Beeston was quite unconvinced. "Radar-controlled guns," Mallory said briefly. "They have two huge scanners atop the fortress." "The Sirdar had radar installed last month," Beeston said stiffly. "I imagine we could register some hits ourselves if" "You could hardly miss." Miller drawled out the words, the tone dry and provocative. "It's a helluva big island, Mac." "Whowho are you?" Beeston was rattled. "What the devil do you mean?" "Corporal Miller." The American was unperturbed. "Must be a very selective instrument, Lootenant, that can pick out a cave in a hundred square miles of rock." There was a moment's silence, then Beeston muttered something and turned away. "You've hurt the Guns's feelings, Corporal," Ryan murmured. "He's very keen to have a gobut we'll hold our fire. . . . How long till we clear that point, Captain?" "I'm not sure." He turned. "What do you say, Casey?" "A minute, sir. No more." Ryan nodded, said nothing. There was a silence on the bridge, a silence only intensified by the sibilant rushing of the waters, the weird, lonesome pinging of the Asdic. Above, the sky was steadily clearing, and the moon, palely luminous, was struggling to appear through a patch of thinning cloud. Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Mallory was conscious of the great bulk of Andrea beside him, of Miller, Brown and Louki behind. Born in the heart of the country, brought up on the foothills of the Southern Alps, Mallory knew himself as a landsman first and last, battery camera digital optex an alien to the sea and ships: but he had never felt so much at home in his life, never really known till now what it was to belong. He was more than happy, Mallory thought vaguely to himself, he was content. Andrea and his new friends and the impossible well donehow could a man but be content? They weren't all going home, Andy Stevens wasn't coming with them, but strangely he could feel no sorrow, only a gentle melancholy. . . . Almost as if he had divined what Mallory was thinking, Andrea leaned towards him, towering over him in the darkness. "He should be here," he murmured. "Andy Stevens should be here. That is what you are thinking, is it not?" Mallory nodded and smiled, and said nothing. "It doesn't really matter, does it, my Keith?" No anxiety, no questioning, just a statement of fact. "It doesn't really matter." "It doesn't matter at all." Even as he spoke, he looked up quickly. A light, a bright orange flame had lanced out from the sheering wall of the fortress; they had rounded the headland and be hadn't even noticed it. There was a whistling roar Mallory thought incongruously of an express train emerging from a tunneldirectly overhead, and the great shell had crashed into the sea just beyond them. Mallory compressed his lips, unconsciously tightened his clenched fists. It was easy now to see how the Sybaris had died. He could hear the gunnery officer saying something to the captain, but the words failed to register. They were looking at him and he at them and he did not see them. His mind was strangely detached. Another shell, would that be next? Or would the roar of the gun-fire of that first shell come echoing across the sea? Or perhaps Once again, he was back in that dark magazine entombed in the rocks, only now he could see men down there, doomed, unknowing men, could see the overhead pulleys swinging the great shells and cartridges towards the well of the lift, could see the shell hoist descending slowly, the bared, waiting wires less than half an inch apart, the shining, spring-loaded wheel running smoothly down the gleaming rail, the gentle bump as the hoist... A white pillar of flame streaked up hundreds of feet into the night sky as the tremendous detonation tore the heart out of the great fortress of Navarone. No after-fire of any kind, no dark, billowing clouds of smoke, only that one blinding

"O save, O save, O sheriff," he said,

would never have found us" "We would have found you." There was complete certainty in the voice. "Panayis and Iwe know every stone, every blade of grass in Navarone." Louki shivered suddenly, stared out bleakly through the swirling snow. "You couldn't have picked worse weather." "We couldn't have picked better," Mallory said grimly. "Last night, yes," Lould agreed. "No one would expect you in that wind and rain. No one would hear the aircraft or even dream that you would try to jump" "We came by sea," Miller interrupted. He waved a negligent hand. "We climbed the south cliff." "What? The south cliff!" Louki was frankly disbelieving. "No one could climb the south cliff. It is impossible!" "That's the way we felt when we were about half-way up," Mallory said candidly. "But Dusty, here, is right. That's how it was." Louki had taken a step back: his face was expressionless. "I say it is impossible," he repeated flatly. "He is telling the truth, Louki," Miller cut in quietly. "Do you never read newspapers?" "Of course I read newspapers!" Louki bristled with indignation. "Do you think I amhow you sayilliterate?" "Then think back to just before the war," Miller advised. "Think of mountaineerin'and the Himalayas. You must have seen his picture in the papersonce, twice, a hundred times." He- looked at Mallory consideringly. "Only he was a little prettier in those days. You must remember. This is Mallory, Keith Mallory of New Zealand." Mallory said nothing. He was watching Louki, the puzzlement, the ?omical screwing up of the eyes, head cocked to one side: then, all at once, something clicked in the little man's memory and his face lit up in a great, crinkling smile that swamped every last trace of suspicion. He stepped forward, hand outstretched in we!come. "By heaven, you are- right! Mallory! Of course I know Mallory!" He grabbed Mallory's hand, pumped it up and down with great enthusiasm. "It is indeed as the American says. You need a shave. . . . And you look older." "I feel older," Mallory said gloomily. He nodded at Miller. "This is Corporal Miller, an American citizen." "Another famous climber?" Louki asked eagerly. "Another tiger of the hills, yes?" "He climbed the south cliff as it has never been climbed before," Mallory answered truthfully. He glanced at his watch, then looked directly at Louki. "There are fujifilm finepix z20fd 10-megapixel digital camera others up in the hifis. We need help, Louki. We need it badly and we need it at once. You know the danger if you are caught helping us?" "Danger?" Louki waved a contemptuous hand. "Danger to Louki and Panayis, the foxes of Navarone? Impossible! We are the ghosts of the night." He hitched his pack higher up on his shoulders. "Come. Let us take this food to your friends." "Just a minute." Mallory's restraining hand was on his arm. "There are two other things. We need heata stove and fuel, and we need" "Heat! A stove!" Louki was incredulous. "Your friends in the hifiswhat are they? A band of old women?" "And we also need bandages and medicine," Mallory went on patiently. "One of our friends has been terribly injured. We are not sure, but we do not think that he will live." "Panayis!" Louki barked. "Back to the village." Louki was speaking in Greek now. Rapidly he issued his orders, had Mallory describe where the rock-shelter was, made sure that Panayis understood, then stood a moment in indecision, puffing at an end of his moustache. At length he looked up at Mallory. "Could you find this cave again by yourself?" "Lord only knows," Mallory said franidy. "I honestly don't think so." "Then I must come with you. I had hopedyou see, it will be a heavy load for PanayisI have told him to bring bedding as welland I don't think" "I'll go along with him," Miller volunteered. He thought of his back-breaking labours on the caique, the climb up the cliff, their forced march through the mountains. "The exercise will do me good." Louki translated his offer to Panayistaciturn, apparently, only because of his complete lack of Englishand was met by what appeared to be a torrent of protest. Miller looked at him in astonishment. "What's the matter with old sunshine here?" he asked Mallory. "Doesn't seem any too happy to me." "Says he can manage O.K. and wants to go by himself," Mallory interpreted. "Thinks you'll slow him up on the hills." He shook his bead in mock wonder. "As if any man could slow Dusty Miller up!" "Exactly!" Louki was bristling with anger. Again he turned to Panayis, fingers stabbing the empty air to emphasise his words. Miller turned, looked apprehensively at Mallory. "What's he tellin' him now, boss?" "Only the truth," Mallory said solemnly. "Saying he ought to be honoured at

Streaming through slanted pastures fenced with stones.

shivering in sodden clothes. "Anything wrong?" "Plenty," Mallory assured him. "Search party moving this way. We'll have to pull out inside half an hour." He looked at his watch. "Just on four o'clock. Do you think you could raise Cairo on the set?" "Lord only knows," Brown said frankly. He rose stiffly to his feet. "The radio didn't get just the best of treatment yesterday. I'll have a go." "Thanks, Chief. See that your aerial doesn't stick up above the sides of the gully." Mallory turned to leave the cave, but halted abruptly at the sight of Andrea squatting on a boulder just beside the entrance. His head bent in concentration, the big Greek had just finished screwing telescopic sights on to the barrel of his 7.92 mm. Mauser and was now deftly wrapping a sleeping-bag lining round its barrel and butt until the entire rifle was wrapped in a white cocoon. Mallory watched him in silence. Andrea glanced up at him, smiled, rose to his feet and reached out for his rucksack. Within thirty seconds he was clad from head to toe in his mountain camouflage suit, was drawing tight the purse-strings of his snowhood and easing his feet into the rucked elastic anklets of his canvas boots. Then he picked up the Mauser and smiled slightly. "I thought I might be taking a little walk, Captain," he said apologetically. "With your permission, of course." Mallory nodded his head several times in slow recollection. "You said I was worrying about nothing," he murmured. "I should have known. You might have told me, Andrea." But the protest was automatic, without significance. Mallory felt neither anger nor even annoyance at this tacit arrogation of his authority. The habit of command died hard in Andrea: on such occasions as he ostensibly sought approval for or consulted about a proposed course of action it was generally as a matter of courtesy and to give information as to his intentions. Instead of resentment, Mallory could feel only an overwhelming relief and gratitude to the smiling giant who towered above him: he had talked casually to Miller about driving Stevens till he died and then abandoning him, talked with an indifference that masked a mind sombre with bitterness at what he must do, but even so he had not known how depressed, bow sick at heart this decision had left him until he knew it was no longer necessary. "I am sorry." Andrea was half-contrite, half-smiling. "I should have told you. I thought you understood. . . . It is the best thing to do, yes?" "It is the only thing to do," comparison of digital slr camera Mallory said frankly: "You're going to draw them off up the saddle?" "There is no other way. With their skis they would overtake me in minutes if I went down into the valley. I cannot come back, of course, until it is dark. You will be here?" "Some of us will." Mallory glanced across the shelter where a waking Stevens was trying to sit up, heels of his palms screwing into his exhausted eyes. "We must have food and fuel, Andrea," he said softly. "I am going down into the valley to-night." "Of course, of course. We must do what we can." Andrea's face was grave, his voice only a murmur. "As long as we can. He is only a boy, a child almost. . . . Perhaps it will not be long." He pulled back the curtain, looked out at the evening sky. "I will be back by seven o'clock." "Seven o'clock," Mallory repeated. The sky, he could see, was darkening already, darkening with the gloom of coming snow, and the lifting wind was beginning to puff little clouds of air-spun, flossy white into the little gully. Mallory shivered and caught hold of the massive arm. "For God's sake, Andrea," he urged quietly, "look after yourself!" "Myself?" Andrea smiled gently, no mirth in his eyes, and as gently he disengaged his arm. "Do not think about me." The voice was very quiet, with an utter lack of arrogance. "If you must speak to God, speak to Him about these poor devils who are looking for us." The canvas dropped behind him and he was gone. For some moments Mallory stood irresolutely at the mouth of the cave, gazing out sightlessly through the gap in the curtain. Then he wheeled abruptly, crossed the floor of the shelter and knelt in front of Stevens. The boy was propped up against Miller's anxious arm, the eyes lack-lustre and expressionless, bloodless cheeks deep-sunken in a grey and parchment face. Mallory smiled at him: he hoped the shock didn't show in his face. "Well, well, well. The sleeper awakes at last. Better late than never." He opened his waterproof cigarette case, profferred it to Stevens. "How are you feeling now, Andy?" "Frozen, sir." Stevens shook his head at the case and tried to grin back at Mallory, a feeble travesty of a smile that made Mallory wince. "And the leg?" "I think it must be frozen, too." Stevens looked down incuriously at the sheathed whiteness of his shattered leg. "Anyway, I can't feel a thing." "Frozen!" Miller's sniff was a masterpiece of

This said, they fell to 't without more dispute,

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 And their staffs they did flourish about. 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

And she's sent for twa friars of France,

gale, it would be a miracle indeed. It seemed unlikely that he would ever wake again. But he might, he just conceivably might, so I broached the morphia kit. Then we eased his head and neck into a more comfortable position, covered him with a blanket and left him. Immediately behind the radio compartment was a long narrow room which extended across two-thirds of the width of the plane. A quick glance at the two chairs and collapsible bunk was enough to show that this must be the crew's rest room, and someone had been resting there at the moment of the crash. That crumpled shirt-sleeved figure on the floor must have been taken completely unawares, before he had the slightest knowledge of what was happening: and he would never know now. We found the stewardess in the pantry, lying on her left side on the floor, the outspread black hair fallen forward over her face. She was moaning softly to herself, but it wasn't the moan of one in pain. Her pulse was steady enough, but fast. Jackstraw stooped down beside me. "Shall we lift her, Dr Mason?" "No." I shook my head. "She's coming to, I think, and she can tell us far quicker than we can find out whether there's anything broken. Another blanket, and we'll let her be. Almost certainly someone much more in need of our attention." The door leading into the main passenger compartment was locked. At least, it appeared to be, but I was pretty certain it would never be locked under normal circumstances. Perhaps it had been warped by the impact of landing. It was no time for half measures. Together, we took a step back, then flung all the weight of our shoulders against it. It gave suddenly, three or four inches, and at the same time we heard a sharp exclamation of pain from the other side. "Careful!" I warned, but Jackstraw had already eased his weight. I raised my voice. "Get back from that door, will you? We want to come in." We heard a meaningless mutter from the other side, followed by a low groan and the slipping shuffle of someone trying to haul himself to his feet. Then the door opened and we passed quickly inside. The blast of hot air struck me in the face like an almost physical biow. I gasped, fought off a passing moment of weakness when my legs threatened to give under me, then recovered sufficiently to bang the door shut behind me. With the motors dead and the arctic chill striking through the thin steel of the fuselage this warmth, no matter how efficient the cabin insulation, 37mm digital camera lens wouldn't last long: but while it did, it might be the saving of all those who still lived. A thought struck me and, ignoring the man who stood swaying before me, one hand clutching a seat grip for support, the other rubbing at a blood-masked forehead, I turned to Jackstraw. "Carry the stewardess in here. We'll take a chanceand it's not all that much of a chance either. There's a damned sight more hope for her in here with a( broken leg than out there with only a bump on the head. Throw her blanket over the wireless operator -but whatever you do don't touch him." Jackstraw nodded and went out, closing the door quickly behind him. I turned to the man who still stood shakily in the aisle, still dazedly rubbing his hand, a big brown square hand matted on the back with black hair, across a bleeding forehead. He looked at me for a moment, then stared down uncomprehendingly at the blood dripping on to the bright red tie and blue shirt that contrasted so oddly with the light grey gaberdine suit. He closed his eyes tightly, then shook his head to clear it. "Sorry to ask the inevitable question." The voice was quiet, deep, well under control. "Butwhat happened?" "You crashed," I said shortly. "What do you remember?" "Nothing. Well, that is, just a bump, then a loud screeching tearing noise" "Then you hit the door." I gestured at the bloodstains behind me. "Sit down for a moment. You'll be all right." I'd lost interest in him and was staring down the length of the cabin. I'd expected to see most of the seats wrenched off their bases, but instead they were all there exactly as they should have been, three wide to the left of me, two to the right, the seats in the front half facing aft, those to the rear facing forward. More than that, I had expected to see people, injured, broken and moaning people, flung all over the seats and aisles: but the big passenger compartment seemed almost empty, and there wasn't a sound to be heard. But it wasn't empty, not quite. Apart from the man by my side there were, I found, nine others altogether. Two men lay in the front part of the aisle. One, a big broad-shouldered man with curly dark hair, was propped up on an elbow, staring around him with a puzzled frown on his face; near him, lying on his side, was a smaller, much older man, but all I could see of him were a few wisps of black hair plastered across a bald head, a Glenurquhart