Here is forty shillings in good silver,

the fortress on the east side of the squarethe wall stretched fifteen, perhaps twenty feet above their heads; the wickedly out- and down-curving spikes that topped the wall were all but lost in the darkness. "There she is, Dusty," Mallory murmured. "Nothing to it." "Nothin' to it!" Miller was horrified. I'veI've gotta get over that?" "You'd have a ruddy hard time going through it," Mallory answered briefly. He grinned, clapped Miller on the back and prodded the rucksack at his feet. "We chuck this rope up, the hook catches, you shin smartly up" "And bleed to death on those six strands of barbed wire," Miller interrupted. "Lould says they're the biggest barbs he's ever seen." "We'll use the tent for padding," Mallory said soothingly. "I have a very delicate skin, boss," Miller complained. "Nothin' short of a spring mattress" "Well, you've only an hour to find one," Mallory said indifferently. Louki had estimated that it would be at least an hour before the search party would clear the northern part of the town, give himself and Andrea a chance to begin a diversion. "Come on, let's cache this stuff and get out of here. We'll shove the rucksacks in this corner and cover 'em with earth. Take the rope out first, though; we'll have no time to start undoing packs when we get back here." Miller dropped to his knees, hands fumbling with straps, then exclaimed in sudden annoyance. "This can't be the pack," he muttered in disgust. Abruptly his voice changed. "Here, wait a minute, though." "What's up, Dusty?" Miller didn't answer immediately. For a few seconds his hands explored the contents of the pack, then he straightened. "The slow-burnin' fuse, boss." His voice was blurred with anger, with a vicious anger that astonished Mallory. "It's gone!" "What!" Mallory stooped, began to search through the pack. "It can't be, Dusty, it just can't! Dammit to hell, man, you packed the stuff yourself!" "Sure I did, boss," Miller grated. "And then some crawlin' bastard comes along behind my back and unpacks it again." "Impossible!" Mallory protested. "It's just downright impossible, Dusty. You closed that rucksackI saw you do it in the grove this morningand Louki has had it all the time since then. And I'd trust Louki with my life." "So would I, boss." digital video film camera lighting "Maybe we're both wrong," Mallory went on quietly. "Maybe you did miss it out. We're both helluva tired, Dusty." Miller looked at him queerly, said nothing for a moment, then began to swear again. "It's my own fault, boss, my own gawddamned fault." "What do you mean, your own fault? Heavens above man, I was there when . . ." Mallory broke off, rose quickly to his feet and stared through the darkness at the south side of the square. A single shot had rung out there, the whiplash crack of a carbine followed the thin, high whine of a ricochet, and then silence. Mallory stood quite still, hands clenched by his sides. Over ten minutes had passed since he and Miller had left Panayis to guide Andrea and Brown to the Castle Vygosthey should have been well away from the square by this time. And almost certainly Louki wouldn't be down there. Mallory's instructions to him had been explicitto hide the remainder of the T.N.T. blocks in the roof and then wait there to lead himself and Miller to the keep. But something could have gone wrong, something could always go wrong. Or a trap, maybe, a ruse. But what kind of trap? The sudden, off-beat stammering of a heavy machine-gun stilled his thoughts, and for a moment or two he was all eyes and straining ears. And then another, and lighter machine-gun cut in, just for a few seconds: as abruptly as they had started, both guns died away, together. Mallory waited no longer. "Get the stuff together again," he whispered urgently. "We're taking it with us. Something's gone wrong." Within thirty seconds they had ropes and explosives back in their knapsacks, had strapped them on their backs and were on their way. Bent almost double, careful to make no noise whatsoever, they ran across the roof-tops towards the old house where they had hidden earlier in the evening, where they were now to rendezvous with Louki. Still running, they were only feet away from the house when they saw his shadowy figure rise up, only it wasn't Louki, Mallory realised at once, it was far too tall for Louki, and without breaking step he catapulted the horizontal driving weight of his 180 pounds at the unknown figure in a homicidal tackle, his shoulder catching the man just below the breast-bone, emptying every last particle of air from the man's lungs with an explosive, agonised whoosh. A second later both of Miller's sinewy hands were clamped round the man's neck, slowly choking him to death. And he would

To-day will your hangman be?"

thin man, with a thin face and a thin nose with pinched nostrils. He had preternaturally long, thin fingers, too, but much was redeemed by the cheerful smile that broke across his narrow face, and his complete willingness to sort out the most difficult itinerary. He seemed to be on the most congenial terms with every transport or freight captain who had ever touched down at or veered close to the Shanganagh Moon base. Is it difficult to get to the Optherian System, Bajorn? Long old journey right now out of season for the cruise ships on that route. Summer Festival wont be for another six months galactic. So, traveling now, youd have to make four exchanges Rappahoe, Kunjab, Melorica, and Bernards World all on freighters before getting passage on a proper liner. Youre sure up to date. Bajorn grinned, his thin lips almost touching his droopy ears. Should be. Youre the fifth inquiry Ive had about that system. Whats up? Didnt know the Optherians went in for the sort of kicks singers like. Whore the other four? Well, theres no regulation against telling. Bajorn paused discreetly, and as theyve all asked, no reason why you shouldnt be told. You, and he ticked names off on his fingers, Borella Seal, Concera, Gobbain Tekla, and Rimbol. Indeed. Thank you, Bajorn, thats real considerate of you. Thats what Rimbol said, too. Bajorns face sagged mournfully. I do try to satisfy the Guilds travel requirements, but it is so depressing when my efforts are criticized or belittled. I cant help it if singers lose their memories and every shred of common courtesy. Ill program eternal courtesy to you on my personal tape, Bajorn. Id appreciate it. Only do it now, would you, Killashandra, before you forget? Promising faithfully, Killashandra rang off. Lanzecki had said there was a list. Were there only five names! Borella Seal and Concera she knew and she wouldnt have minded doing them out of the assignment; Gobbain Tekla was a total stranger. Rimbol had been cutting successfully, and in the darker shades just as Lanzecki had predicted. Why would he want such an assignment? So, four people had been interested enough to check Travel. Were there more? She asked for a list of unassigned singers in residence and it was depressingly long. After some names, including her own, the capital major characteristics of digital cameras I for Inactive flashed. Perhaps unwisely, she deleted those and still had thirty-seven possible rivals. She twirled idly about in the gimbaled chair, wondering exactly what criterion was vital for the Optherian assignment. Lanzecki hadnt mentioned such minor details in the little he had disclosed. From what she had already learned of the planet and the mechanics of installation, any competent singer could do the job. So what would weigh the balance in favor of one singer? Killashandra reexamined the list of her known rivals: Borella and Concera had both been cutting a long time. Gobbain Tekla, when she found his position on the Main Roster, was a relative newcomer; Rimbol, like Killashandra, was a rank tyro. When she inquired, she discovered that each of the others had been a redundant or a failed musician. Perhaps that was the necessary requirement. It certainly made sense for the installer to have an instrumental background. She rephrased her question to apply to all thirty-seven available singers. Nineteen fit that category. Lanzecki appeared reluctant to offer her the assignment but she oughtnt to fault him. She was acutely aware of past concessions from her Guildmaster. She had no right to expect an interrupted flow of benefits simply because he chose to share his bed with her. Nor, she decided, would she jeopardize their relationship by referring to the assignment again. Lanzecki might well be doing her a favor by not recommending her. She must keep that aspect of the situation firmly in mind. She might not be thrilled to vacation on the four systems to which her available credit would take her, but that was another string in her deplorable luck. She would get a rest from crystal and that was the essential requirement. Her reawakened appetite reminded her that it had been some hours since breakfast. During lunch, shed decide where to take herself. When, refreshed and revitalized, she returned to her labors for the Heptite Guild, shed find a fresh vein of black crystal and then shed get to the planet Maxim. Before she could plan her vacation in any detail, Antona rang her from the Infirmary. Have you eaten, Killa? Is that an invitation or a professional query? Because I just finished a very hearty lunch. Antona sighed. I should have liked your company for lunch. Theres not much doing right now down here. Fortunately. If its just the company

I am Robin Hood, thy master good,

Killashandra wondered if the Inspectors euphoria would extend to lesser breeds, those without Guild affiliation, when he resumed his booth in Immigration. If you will step this way, Guildmember Ree. Thyrol made another of his graceful gestures. When she moved to walk beside him, he altered his stride to keep a deferential meter from her. The others fell in behind. Killashandra shrugged, accepting the protocol. Not having to chat with her escort gave her a chance to glance about the shuttle port. The facility was functional and decorated with murals of Life on Optheria: the main attraction of the Summer Festival the organ was not depicted. Nor did the vaulted arrivals hall appear to have any catering areas apart from one narrow bank for beverage dispensing. Conspicuous by their absence were curio and souvenir booths. Not even a ticket bank was to be seen. And only one lounge area. At the wide exit, the doors sighed aside for Killashandra and Thyrol, who quickly walked down the wide shallow steps to a broad, intricately patterned apron of flat stones. Beyond was the roadway where the crew had just finished stowing the three foam crates in a large ground effect machine. Suddenly an arc of light flashed on behind Killashandra and a muted alarm sounded. Guards materialized from inconspicuous booths on both sides of the main entrance and approached the three Optherians of the reception committee who were walking behind Killashandra and Thyrol. Please do not be disconcerted, Guildmember Ree. Thyrol waved to the guards and they retreated back into their stations. The arc of light disappeared. What was that all about? Merely a security precaution. For my leaving the shuttle port? Thyrol cleared his throat. Actually, for Optherians leaving the shuttle port. Leaving? This is our vehicle, Guildmember, Thyrol said, smoothly urging her across the flagstone plaza. She allowed herself to be diverted because it was obvious that, whoever left the Shuttle Port was first obliged to enter: the alarm would work in both directions. But how could the device distinguish Optherians from other humans? No mutation had been mentioned in her perusal of the Encyclopedia Galactica entry for the planet: most ingenious for a warning device to differentiate between residents and nonresidents. But surely it got a bit noisy and confusing when canon digital camera service manual Optherians were escorting tourists to the shuttle port. Or was that the reason for this broad flagstone area? She would have to check on FSP regulations about security measures restricting citizens of their planets. As her vehicle glided forward, the first of the shuttle passengers began to emerge. On cue, fat accommodation buses filed out of the parking area to the flagstone curb. Craning her neck slightly, Killashandra took due note of the fact that the security system did not respond to the foreigners exits. Already the vehicle was climbing out of the valley which contained the shuttle port and the clutter of maintenance buildings. The place looked bleakly ordered and preternaturally neat in comparison to what Killashandra recalled of Fuertes busy space port. Perhaps when the tourist season started Even the clumps of trees and bushes which softened the harder lines of the buildings had a regulated look. Killashandra wondered how often the plantings had to be replaced. Shuttle emanations had a disastrous effect on most vegetation. Are you comfortable, Guildmember? Mirbethan asked from her seat behind Killashandra. Of necessity the shuttle port was placed close to the City, Pirinio took up the conversation, but is screened by these hills which also absorb much of the noise and bustle. Noise and bustle, his tone of voice told Killashandra, were the unpleasant concomitants of space travel. How wise of you, Killashandra replied. Optherians founding fathers planned for every contingency, Thyrol said smugly. No effort has been spared to conserve our planets natural beauty. The vehicle had reached the top of the gap and Killashandra had an unimpeded view of the broader valley below them, in which nestled the felicitous arrangement of pastel colored buildings, domes, and round towers that comprised Optherias capital settlement, known as the City. From that height, the impressive view drew a surprised 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,

With Death doomed to grapple,

enough to recruit such soft-bellied cowards! Lars grinned. Well, I could put you ashore with the crystal singer. Something increased his mirth out of proportion to the joke, though Hauness grinned and Nahia tried to control unseemly mirth at Erutowns expense. The islands big enough and she might even be grateful for company. I would be easier in mind about her safety if Erutown and Theach were there, Nahia said. The hurricane will have frightened her badly. I dont like the idea, Erutown said. Actually, if she thinks youve also been kidnapped Hauness suggested, then gestured to dismiss his notion at Erutowns negative response. I wouldnt object, Theach said. One doesnt know much about crystal singers, except that they heal quickly and indulge in an unusual profession. You? Erutown snorted contemptuously. Youd probably drown yourself thinking up more theories. When I initiate a session of theoretical thinking, I take the precaution of seating myself in some secure and secluded spot, Theach said in amiable reprimand. An island would suit me very well indeed. Youd starve! No one can starve on a polly island. Theach turned for confirmation to Lars, who nodded. You have to work at it, though, Lars amended. For at least a few hours every day. Despite a misapprehension current about my absent-mindedness, I have found that intense thought stimulates an incredible appetite. Since eating replenishes both body and the mechanics of thought, I do pause now and again in my meditations to eat! If I have to gather the food myself, I shall also have had that beneficial exercise. Yes, Lars, and Theach smiled at the islander, I begin to think that an island residence would provide me with all I require: seclusion, sustenance, and sanctuary! He sat back in the chair, beaming at his circle of friends. How many know you and Erutown are in the islands? Lars asked seriously. Nahia has been working very hard lately, Lars, Hauness said. She was granted a leave of absence: I took my annual holiday and announced our intention of cruising the coast. There are friends who will vouch for our presence in mainland waters. Besides, who would expect us to brave a hurricane? We boarded the jet from the seaside without being seen the night before she sailed, Erutown added. What Elder would suspect Nahias involvement with renegades? If they had any sense whatever, Nahia said in a crisp tone that cool pix digital camera surprised Killashandra with its suppressed anger, how could they fail to realize that I sympathize deeply with repressions, frustrations, and despairs which I cannot avoid feeling! With injustices not all the empathy in the world will ease. A moment of silence followed. Is your woman to be trusted with any of this, Lars? Hauness asked quietly. Suppressing a flare of guilt at her duplicity, Killashandra decided that it was time to join the group before Lars perjured himself. Here, this should satisfy, Lars, she said, approaching the others with a purposeful stride. She set before him a generous plate of sandwiches and hot tidbits which she had found in the food storage. Youre sure I cant get anything for you? she asked the others as she began to gather up the used plates and cups. Erutown gave her a sour glance, then turned to watch the rolling cloud formations of the approaching storm. Theach smiled absently, Hauness shook his head and settled back next to Nahia who had leaned back in the couch, eyes closed, her beautiful face relaxed. When Killashandra returned with her own serving, Lars and Hauness were absorbed by the satellite picture of the approaching hurricane, displayed on the vdr. It would be a substantial blow, Killashandra had to admit, but not a patch on what Ballybran could brew. Storm watching could be mesmerizing, certainly engrossing. Theach was the first to break from the fascination. He reseated himself at a small terminal and began to call up equations on the tiny screen. There was a tension to the line of his back, the occasional rattle of the keys that proved he was still conscious, but there were long intervals of total silence from his corner during the next few hours. Its not going to be a long one at its current rate, Lars remarked when he had finished eating. The eyell be on us by night. Is it likely to make the mainland? No. That is, after all, eight thousand kilos off. Itll blow itself out over the ocean as usual. You only get our storms when they make up in the Broad, not from this far south. So, Killashandra thought, she was in the southern hemisphere of Optheria, which explained the switch in seasons. And it explained why this group felt themselves secure from Mainland intervention and searches. Even with the primitive jet vehicles, an enormous

Who's right, who's wrong, 'twill be all one to us;

suggestions. Both came from Nick Corazzini. "Look, Doc, about this diet Mr Mahler must have. Maybe we can't balance it, but we can at least make sure that he gets a fair number of caloriesnot that I know how you count the damn' things. Why don't we double his rationsno, even that wouldn't keep a decent sparrow alive. What say each of the rest of us docks a quarter of his rations and hands them over? That way Mr Mahler would have about four times his normal" "No, no!" Mahler protested. "Thank you, Mr Corazzini, but I cannot permit" "An excellent idea," I interrupted. "I was thinking along the same lines myself." "Good," Corazzini grinned. "Carried unanimously. I also suggest we'd get along farther and faster if, say, Mr Zagero and I were to spell you two on the tractor." He held up a hand as if to forestall protest. "Either of us may be the man you want, in fact, we might be the two men you wantif it is two men. But if I'm one of the killers, and I know nothing about the Arctic, navigation, the maintenance of this damned Citroen and wouldn't as much as recognise a crevasse if I fell down one, it's as plain as the nose on your face that I'm not going to make a break for it until I'm within shouting distance of the coast. Agreed?" "Agreed," I said. Even as I spoke, there came a coughing clattering roar as Jackstraw coaxed the still-warm Citroen back into life, and I looked up at Corazzini. "All right," I went on. "Come on down. You can have your first driving lesson now." We left at half-past seven that morning, in driving conditions that were just about perfect. Not the slightest breath of air stirred. across the ice-cap and the deep blue-black vault of the sky was unmarred by even the tiniest wisp of cloud. The stars were strangely remote, pale and shimmering and unreal through the gossamer gauze of the glittering ice needles that filled the sky and sifted soundlessly down on the frozen snow, but even so visibility was all that could have been desired: the powerful headlights of the Citroen, striking a million sparkling diamond points of light off the ice spicules, reached a clear three hundred yards ahead into the darkness, leaving the ground to either side of the twin interlocking beams shrouded in impenetrable darkness. The cold was intense, and deepening by the hour: but the Citroen seemed to thrive on it that morning. Luck was with us almost right away. Within fifteen minutes of starting off, Balto, ranging free as always, appeared out of the darkness to the south-west and ran comparing shutter speeds in digital cameras alongside the dog-sledge, barking to attract Jackstraw's attention. Jackstraw gave us the signal to stopa rapid flickering of the red and green lights on the tractor dashboardand in two or three minutes appeared out of the darkness, grinning, to tell us that Balto had picked up a standing trail flag. That was good news in itself, in that it meant that our navigation the previous night had been all that could have been wished for and that we were almost exactly on course: even more important, however, was the fact that if this flag was the first of a series we could dispense with the navigator on the dog-sledge and that Jackstraw and I could have some sleepif sleep were possible in that miserably cold and lurching tractor body. And, indeed, that flag proved to the first of an almost unbroken series that was to guide us all the length of that interminable day, so that from eight o'clock onwards Jackstraw, Zagero, Corazzini and I took it in turns to drive, with the Senator, the Reverend Smallwood or Solly Levin up front as lookout. Theirs was probably the coldest, certainly the most unwelcome job of all: but all three bore up uncomplainingly, even to the extent of thawing out in silent agony at the end of their hour on duty. Shortly after eight o'clock I left an obviously competent Corazzini to his own devices, dropped back to the shelter of the tractor body and asked the Senator to go up front. I then set about breaking the strictest rule of all, where these old tractors were concernedthat no fire should ever be lit inside when they were in motion. But even the most stringent rules are to be observed only until such time as the need for breaking them is paramount: and now both the need and the time were here. My concern was not for the warmth and comfort of the passengers, or even for the cooking of the foodwe had little enough of that, heaven knew, though a constant supply of warm water would come in useful for dealing with the inevitable cases of frostbitebut purely and simply for the life of Theodore Mahler. Even following Corazzini's suggestion we couldn't give him enough food, and what we could didn't, and wouldn't, even begin to resemble a balanced diet. His best chance of survival, and that was slender enough, lay in conserving his body reserves and his energy as far as lay within our power. To achieve that, work, or exercise of even the lightest kind, was out: he had to remain as immobile as possible,

Calld him, and bid him stay.

overlooking the massive, reinforced ferro-concrete control tower that controlled the two great guns below. Mallory suddenly stopped, picked up a handful of dirt, rubbed it on his face and told Miller to do the same. "Disguise," he explained. "The experts would consider it a bit on the elementary side, but it'll have to do. The lighting's apt to be a bit brighter inside this place." He went up the steps to the officers' quarters at a dead run, crashed through the swing doors with a force that almost took them off their hinges. The sentry at the keyboard looked at him in astonishment, the barrel of his sub-machine-gun lining up on the New Zealander's chest. "Put that thing down, you damned idiot!" Mallory snapped furiously. "Where's the commandant? Quickly, you oaf! It's life or death!" "HerrHerr Kominandant?" the sentry stuttered. "He's leftthey are all gone, just a minute ago." "What? All gone?" Mallory was staring at him with narrowed, dangerous eyes. "Did you say 'all gone'?" he asked softly. "Yes. II'm sure they're . . ." He broke off abruptly as Mallory's eyes shifted to a point behind his shoulder. "Then who the hell is that?" Mallory demanded savagely. The sentry would have been less than human not to fall for it. Even as he was swinging round to look, the vicious judo cut took him just below the ear. Mallory had smashed open the glass of the keyboard before the unfortunate guard bad bit the floor, swept all the keysabout a dozen in alloff their rings and into his pocket. It took them another twenty seconds to tape the man's mouth and hands and lock him in a convenient cupboard; then they were on their way again, still running. One more obstacle to overcome, Mallory thought as they pounded along in the darkness, the last of the triple defences. He did not know how many men would be guarding the locked door to the magazine, and in that moment of fierce exaltation he didn't particularly care. Neither, he felt sure, did Miller. There were no worries now, no taut-nerved tensions or nameless anxieties. Mallory would have been the last man in the world to admit it, or even believe it, but this was what men like Miller and himself had been born for. They had their hand-torches out now, the powerful beams swinging in the wild arcs as they plunged along, skirting the massed batteries of A.A. guns. To anyone observing their approach from the front, there could have been nothing more calculated to disarm suspicion than the sight and sound of the two men canon 6d digital camera running towards them without any attempt at concealment, one of them shouting to the other in German, both with lit torches whose beams lifted and fell, lifted and fell as the men's arms windmilled by their sides. But these same torches were deeply hooded, and only a very alert observer indeed would have noticed that the downward arc of the lights never passed backwards beyond the runners' feet. Suddenly Mallory saw two shadows detaching themselves from the darker shadow of the magazine entrance, steadied his torch for a brief second to check. He slackened speed. "Right!" he said softly. "Here they comeonly two of them. One eachget as close as possible first. Quick and quieta shout, a shot, and we're finished. And for God's sake don't start clubbing 'em with your torch. There'll be no lights on in that magazine and I'm not going to start crawling around there with a box of bloody matches in my hand!" He transferred his torch to his left hand, pulled out his Navy Colt, reversed it, caught it by the barrel, brought up sharply only inches away from the guards now running to meet them. "Are you all right?" Mallory gasped. "Anyone been here? Quickly, man, quickly!" "Yes, yes, we're all right." The man was off guard, apprehensive. "What in the name of God is all that noise" "Those damned English saboteurs!" Mallory swore viciously. "They've killed the guards and they're inside! Are you sure no one's been here? Come, let me see." He pushed his way past the guard, probed his torch at the massive padlock, then straightened his back. "Thank heaven for that anyway!" He turned round, let the dazzling beam of his torch catch the man square in the eyes, muttered an apology and switched off the light, the sound of the sharp click lost in the hollow, soggy thud of the heel of his Colt catching the man behind the ear, just below the helmet. The sentry was still on his feet, just beginning to crumple, when Mallory staggered as the second guard reeled into him, staggered, recovered, clouted him with the Colt for good measure, then stiffened in sudden dismay as he heard the vicious, hissing plop of Miller's automatic, twice in rapid succession. "What the hell" "Wily birds, boss," Miller murmured. "Very wily indeed, There was a third character in the shadows at the side. Only way to stop him." Automatic cocked in his ready hand, he stooped over the

Upon the hills, when every little creek

least, not out of the fjord alive. Neither you nor any of your friends coming to meet younor any of the men waiting aboard that trawler down there." God, how slowly they were coming! Why didn't one of their marksmen with a rifle shoot Smallwood there and thenat that moment, the thought that a rifle bullet would have gone clear though Smallwood and killed the girl held so tightly in front of him never occurred to me. But if I could hold his attention another thirty seconds, if none of the others standing by my side betrayed by the slightest flicker of expression "They're going to destroy that trawler, Smallwood," I rushed on quickly. The men advancing up from the foot of the glacier were waving their arms furiously now, shouting wildly in warning, and even at over three-quarters of a mile their voices were carrying clearly. I had to try to drown their voices, to make sure that Smallwood kept his eyes fixed only on me. "They're going to blow it out of the water, it and you and that damned missile mechanism. What's the use of" But it was too late. Smallwood had heard the shouts even as I had begun to speak, twisted his head to look down the valley, saw the direction of the pointing arms, glanced briefly over his shoulder, then turned to face me again, his face twisted in a bestial snarl, that monolithic calm shattered at last: "Who are they?" he demanded viciously. "What are they doing? Quickor the girl gets it!" "It's a landing party from the destroyer in the next bay," I said steadily. "This is the end, Smallwood. Maybe you'll stand trial yet." "I'll kill the girl!" he whispered savagely. "They'll kill you. They've been ordered to recover that mechanism at all costs. Nobody's playing any more, Smallwood. Give up your gun." He swore, vilely, blasphemously, the first time I had ever heard such words from him, and leapt for the driving cabin of the tractor, pushing the girl in front of him while his pistol swung in a wide arc covering all of us. I understood what he was going to do, what this last desperate suicidal gamble was going to be, and hurled myself at the door of the driving cabin. "You madman!" My voice was a scream. "You'll kill yourself, you'll kill the girl" The gun coughed softly, I felt the white-hot burning pain in my upper arm and crashed backward on to the ice just as Smallwood released the brakes of the Citroen. At once the big tractor started to move, those murderous treads passing inches from me as Jackstraw leapt one use disposable digital camera forward and dragged me to safety a second before they would have run over my face. The next moment I was on my feet, running after the tractor, Jackstraw at my heels: I suppose that wound just below my shoulder must have been hurting like hell, but the truth is that I felt nothing at all. The tractor, with next to no adhesion left on the steepening slope of ice, accelerated with dismaying speed, soon outdistancing us. At first it seemed as if Smallwood was making some attempt to steer it, but it was obvious almost immediately that any such attempts were utterly useless: five tons of steel ran amok, it was completely out of control, skidding violently first to one side then the other, finally making a complete half-circle and sliding backward down the glacier at terrifying speed, following the slope of the ice which led from the right-hand side where we had been standing to the big nunataks thrusting up through the ice on the far left-hand corner of the dog-leg half-way down. How it missed all the crevassesit went straight across some narrow ones, thanks to its treadsand all the ice-mounds on the way down and across the glacier I shall never know, but miss them it did, increasing speed with every second that passed, its treads screeching out a shrilly metallic cacophony of sound as they scored their serrated way across and through the uneven ice of the glacier. But then, I shall never know either how Jackstraw and I survived all the crazy chances we took on our mad headlong run down that glacier, unable to stop, leaping across crevasses we would never have dared attempt in our normal minds, pounding our sliding way alongside others where the slip of either foot would have been our death. We were still two hundred yards behind the tractor when, less than fifty yards from the corner, it struck an ice-mound, spun round crazily several times and then smashed, tail first, with horrifying force into the biggest of the nunataksa fifty-foot pinnacle of rock at the very corner. We were still over a hundred yards away when we saw Small wood, obviously dazed, half-fall out of the still upright driving cabin, hat-box in hand, followed by the girl. Whether she flung herself at him or just stumbled against him it was impossible to say, but both of them slipped and fell together and next moment had disappeared from sight against the face of the nunatak. Still fifty yards away, already trying all we could to brake