Then Little John smii'd his master upon,

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, 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 sony cybershot digital camera for cheap 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 interested. What I was interested in was the for'ard bulkhead, and I examined it carefully. It was given up entirely to the small closed doors of little metal lockers let in flush to the wallfood containers, probablyand there wasn't a single metal projection in the entire wall, nothing that could possibly account for the wound in the stewardess's back. And if she had been here at the moment of impact, that was the wall she must have been flung against. The inference was inescapableshe must have been elsewhere at the time of the crash. I remembered now, with chagrin, that I hadn't even bothered to see whether or not she was conscious when we'd first found her lying on the floor. Across the passage in the radio compartment I found what I was looking for almost immediatelyI'd a pretty good idea where to look. The thin sheet metal at the top left-hand corner of the radio cabinet was bent almost half an inch out of true: and it didn't require any microscope to locate or forensic expert to guess at the significance of the small dark stain and the fibres of navy blue cloth clinging to the corner of the smashed set. I looked inside the set itself, and now that I had time to spare it more than a fleeting glance it was abundantly clear to me that the wrenching away of the face-plate didn't even begin to account for the damage that had been done to the set: it had been systematically and thoroughly wrecked. If ever there was a time when my

And naebody kens that he lies there

exclamation from Killashandra. It is breathtaking! Thyrol chose to interpret her response his way. Beautiful was a fair adjective, Killashandra thought, but breathtaking, no! Even at that distance something was too prim and proper about the City for her taste. None of the indigenous trees and bushes were removed, you see, Thyrol explained, gesturing with his whole hand rather than a single finger, when the City was constructed, so that the natural, unspoiled landscape could be retained. And the river and that lake? Are they natural features? But of course. Nature is not distorted on Optheria. Which is as it should be, Polabod added. The entire valley is as it was when Man first landed on Optheria. The City Architect planned all the buildings and dwellings in the unoccupied spaces, Mirbethan said proudly . How exceedingly clever! Killashandra was wearing the contact lenses recommended for Optherias sunlight and wondered if the planet would be improved, viewed via augmented Ballybran vision. Just then it was very, very, blah! Killashandra had to delve a long way for an adequate expression which, tactfully, she did not voice. Would Borella have restrained herself? Would she have noticed? Ah, well, Beauty is said to be in the eye of the beholder! For Optherias sake, she was glad that someone loved it. While it might have been laudable of the Founding Fathers to wish to preserve the entire valley as it was when Man first landed, it must have given the architects and construction crews a helluva lot of trouble. Buildings wrapped around copses of trees, straddled brooks, incorporated boulders and ledges. Probably the floors on upper levels were even but it must have been bumpy going at ground level. Fortunately the airfoils of her vehicle were up to the uneven surface in the suburbs but the ride became rather bouncy as they proceeded deeper into the City. Pausing at the intersection of a huge open square open except for the many thorn bushes and scrawny trees Killashandra could not fail to notice that the ground floor of one corner building made uneven arches over repulsively greasy-looking bushes whose thorny branches were obviously a hazard to pedestrians; something was to be said for the curtailment of natural beauty. She could learn to hate the City quite easily. No wonder some of the natives were restless. Just how did the Summer Festival compensate for the rest of the Optherian sony digital still camera dsc-p71 year? Once past the open square, the road climbed gently to a cluster of buildings evidently uninhibited by natural beauties, for they seemed to have an architectural integrity so far lacking in the City. It was necessary, Thyrol said in a muted voice, to add the merest trace of a ramp to ascend to the Music Center. I wouldnt have known it if you hadnt told me, Killashandra said, unable to restrain her facetiousness. One ought to approach on foot, Pirinio went on in a repressive tone, but some latitude is permitted so that the audience may assemble punctually. His gesture called Killashandras attention to the many small switchback paths to one side of the promontory. Killashandra repressed a second facetious remark which Pirinios tone provoked. It wouldnt be the installation on Optheria, not the organ, nor the planet which were hazardous: once again it was the inhabitants. Was she always to encounter such intolerant, inflexible, remorseless personalities? What sort of local brew do you have here on Optheria? she asked, keeping her tone casual. If the reply was none, shed book out on the next available craft. Well, ah, that is, possibly not at all to your taste, Guildmember. Mirbethans startled reply was hesitant. No beverages can be imported. Im sure you saw the notice in the Port Authority. Our brewmasters produce four distinct fermented beverages: quite potable, Im told. Spirits are distilled from the Terran grains which we have managed to adapt to Optherian soil, but Ive been told that these are raw to educated palates. Optheria produces excellent wines, Pirinio said rather testily, with a reproving glance at Mirbethan. They cannot be exported and indeed, some do not travel well even the relatively short distance to the City. If wine is your preference, a selection will be put in your quarters. Ill try some of the brews, too. Wine and beer? Polabod exclaimed in surprise. Crystal singers are required to keep a high blood-alcohol content when absent from Ballybran. Ill have to decide which is the best for my particular requirement. She sighed in patient forebearance. I wasnt informed that members of your Guild required special diets. Thyrol was clearly perturbed. No special diet, Killashandra agreed, but we do require larger intakes of certain natural substances

Ambition was my idol, which was broken

conclusion that I'd a great deal more to worry about than the niceties of social intercourse. After the meal I rose, pulled on parka and gloves, picked up the searchlight; told Jackstraw and Joss to come with me and headed for the trap-door. Zagero's voice stopped me. "Where you goin', Doc?" "That's no concern of yours. Well, Mrs Dansby-Gregg?" "Shouldn't youshouldn't you take the rifle with you?" "Don't worry." I smiled thinly. "With everyone watching everyone else like hawks, that rifle's as safe as houses." "Butbut someone could jump for it," she said nervously. "They could get you when you're coming down the hatch" "Mr Nielsen and I are the last two persons they'd ever shoot. Without us, they couldn't get a mile from here. The most likely candidates for the next bullet are some of yourselves. You're absolutely inessential and, as far as the killers are concerned, represent nothing more than a waste of priceless rations." With this comforting thought I left them, each person trying to watch all the others at one and the same time, while doing his level best to give the appearance of watching no one. The wind was so slight now that the anemometer cups had stopped turning. The dying embers of the burnt-out plane were a dull smouldering glow to the north-east. The snow had gone completely and the first faint stars were beginning to show through the thinning cloud above. It was typically Greenland, this swift change in the weather, and so, too, was the temperature inversion that would surely follow in the morning, or before morning. Twelve hours from now it was going to be very cold indeed. With searchlight and torches we examined every inch of the tractor and sledges, above and below, and if there had been a pin there I would have sworn that we couldn't have missed it, far less anything so large as a couple of guns. We found nothing. I straightened, and turned to look at the glow that was lightening the sky to the east, and even as I stood there with Joss and Jackstraw by my side the moon, preternaturally large and rather more than half full, heaved itself above the distant horizon and flooded the ice-cap with its pale and ghostly light, laying down between itself and our feet a bar-straight path of glittering silver grey. We watched in silence for a full minute, then Jackstraw stirred. Even before he spoke, I knew what was in his mind. "Uplavnik," he murmured. "Tomorrow, we the islandmagee camera digital imaging club set off for Uplav-nik. But first, you said, a good night's sleep." "I know," I said. "A traveller's moon." "A traveller's moon," he echoed. He was right, of course. Travel in the Arctic, in winter, was regulated not by daylight but my moonlight. And tonight we had that moonand we had a clear sky, a dying wind and no snow at all. I turned to Joss. "You'll be all right alone?" "I have no worries," he said soberly. "Look, sir, can't I come too?" "Stay here and stay healthy," I advised. "Thanks, Joss, but you know someone must remain behind. I'll call you up on the usual schedules. You might get a kick out of the RCA yet. Miracles still happen." "Not this time, they won't." He turned away abruptly and went below. Jackstraw moved across to the tractorwe didn't say another word to each other, we didn't have toand I followed Joss down to the cabin. No one had moved an inch, as far as I could see, but they all looked up as I came in. "All right," I said abruptly. "Get your stuff together and pile on every last stitch of clothes you can. We're leaving now." We left, in fact, just over an hour later. The Citroen had been lying unused for the better pan of a fortnight, and we had the devil's own job getting it to start. But start it eventually did, with a roar and a thunderous clatter that had everybody jumping in startlement then looking at it in dismay. I knew the thoughts in their minds, that they'd have to live with this cacophony, this bedlam of sound assaulting their shrinking eardrums for no one knew how many days to come, but I wasted little sympathy on them: at least they would have the protection of the wooden body while I would be sitting practically on top of the engine. We said our goodbyes to Joss. He shook hands with Jackstraw and myself, with Margaret Ross and Marie LeGarde, and, pointedly, with no one else. We left him standing there by the hatchway, a lonely figure outlined against the pale light of the steadily climbing moon, and headed west by south for Uplavnik, three hundred long and frozen miles away. I wondered, as I knew Joss was wondering, whether we would ever see each other again. I wondered, too, what right I had in exposing Jackstraw to the dangers which must lie ahead. He was