Squinting against the howling wind, I slowly turned a full circle. The whistle whined up and down the scale, strongest in the direction I had been originally facing, weakest and almost inaudible when I was turned exactly away from that direction.
A directional beam, I told myself. Or, with a thrill of hope bubbling inside me, a direction finder. I knelt down to scoop up the rest of the equipment from the snow, stuffed it into the various pouches at my waist, and then headed off in the direction that the electronic signal indicated, bent almost double against the raging, icy wind.
I trudged through drifts that almost reached my armpits. Fortunately the suit I wore kept me warm and dry. The hair on my head was a brittle mass of ice and I could barely see through the icicles that closed my eyes to slits. All feeling had left my cheeks, my ears and nose. But I could still breathe, and I pushed on, hour after hour, growing hungrier and weaker with each painful, plodding step.
The storm did not let up in the slightest. If anything, it seemed to be growing in strength. But through the swirling snow I began to make out the dim gray form of a massive bulk of rock. The directional beam was leading me toward it, and as I struggled through the blinding snow, I could see that it was a looming cliff of granite, scoured clean of snow by the furious wind, jutting stubbornly up from the snow-blanketed landscape, standing jagged, raw, and dark against the gray, snowy sky.
I floundered through deep drifts, stopping only to check my communicator every few minutes, to make certain I was still following its electronic guidance. My strength was ebbing fast. The cold was seeping into me, leaching the energy of my muscles, numbing my will to press on. Each step became more difficult. My booted feet felt as if they were shod with lead and weighed a ton apiece. All I really wanted to do was to lie down and rest in the soft, comforting snow.
I remembered seeing pictures from some distant era of Eskimo sled dogs curled up happily in little holes they had dug for themselves in the snow, their bushy tails wrapped around their noses, their dark eyes peeping out from a world of white and cold. I stopped for breath and turned to look back at the trail I had broken through the deep snow. Already my tracks were being filled in, obliterated, by the howling storm. The stern gray bulk of the mountain frowned silently down at me as I stood lost in a world of white, totally alone in the universe, as far as I knew. It was time to rest, time to lie down and sleep.
Even my fingers were growing numb, despite the gloves and the suit’s overburdened heating system. I let the tiny communicator slip from my fingers. It landed in the snow, its one red square glowering at me accusingly.
“You can glare all you want to,” I said to it, in a voice raw with pain. Each breath I took was agony now; the air was so cold that it was burning my lungs.
“I’ve got to rest,” I said to that red light.
It stared back at me, unblinking. The tiny electronic wail cut through the blizzard’s howling.
“All right,” I rasped. “I’ll take ten more steps. Then, if there’s no shelter in sight, I’m going to dig a hole for myself and get some sleep.”
I forced myself through ten more steps. Then ten more. Then five. The granite cliff seemed as far away as ever. The storm grew in fury.
“There’s no point to it,” I said to the inanimate little box in my hand. “There’s no point…”
A blinding red pencil-beam of light lanced past my head. I plunged down into the snow instinctively and fumbled for the gun at my hip.
The beam streaked out again, and I could hear the air around me crackle.
Friend or enemy? I asked myself, and then almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the question. The enemy was this storm, the cold, the bitter agony of the ice that surrounded me. Anyone who could fire a gun must have heat, and food.
I raised my pistol and fired it straight overhead. That eye-hurting brilliance ought to be visible for miles, even through the storm.
Peering toward the granite cliff, I saw an answering beam angling up into the clouds. I headed for it, adrenaline pumping through my aching body and my limbs flailing through the snow with every last ounce of energy in me.
I saw, up ahead, a dark cleft in the rock, the mouth of a cave. Several people were standing there, clad in the same kind of white armor that I wore. They saw me, too, and began waving frantically, encouragingly. But they did not leave the safety of their shelter.
I plunged ahead, waving my own arms foolishly over my head, yelling hoarsely to them.
“Come on, you can make it!” one of them called.
“Only a few more yards,” yelled another.
I staggered toward them, wondering far in the back of my mind why they would not come out of their cave to help me through those last few yards. But that question was swamped by the joy I felt at finding others like myself in this endless desert of ice and snow.
The storm winds had sculpted the snow banks around the base of the cliff into smooth ramps of white. I slithered down one of them, sliding and slipping on the ice until I staggered into their welcoming arms.
They grabbed me, held me up, grinning and laughing happily at me. Beyond them, deeper in the cave, I saw crates of equipment and a big electric radiant-heater glowing red and warm.
“Hey!” one of them said. “He’s not from our unit!” Their laughter froze and their grins disappeared as they held me in their arms.
“Just who the hell are you, anyway?”
“What unit are you with?”
“I didn’t know there were any other units operating in this sector.”
“Come on, buddy — who are you and what are you doing here?”
I had no real answers for them. My body sagged in their arms, every last bit of energy totally spent. My eyes closed and the world went dark.
CHAPTER 34
When I opened my eyes, I saw the ceiling of the cave, rugged slabs of granite, far above me. I flexed my fingers and toes, then turned my head slightly. I saw that I had been stripped to the waist; my armor suit was gone and I wore nothing but a pair of briefs.
But I felt warm. The sensation was delightful. I reveled in it for a few moments, then propped myself up on my elbows to take a better look around.
They had placed me on a cot that seemed to be suspended in midair. It felt like a hammock; it swayed with every move I made. But I could see no supports holding it up. The others were grouped together deeper inside the cave, gathered around what looked like a desk. I could only see their backs. Most of them had removed their suits of armor, and I could see seven men and five women dressed in gray coveralls. Someone was seated at the desk, but I could not tell whether it was a man or a woman, because the others were clustered around so tightly.
“How are you feeling?”
I turned at the sound of a woman’s voice, so quickly that the hammock’s swaying nearly dumped me to the floor of the cave.
“I’m all right… I think.”
She was a good-looking woman with blonde hair and a pert little nose. She grinned at me. “I thought you’d be in for a fierce case of frostbite when you staggered in here, but the computer checked you out fine.”
“I feel fine,” I said, realizing that it was true. I felt warm and safe. I was not even hungry.
As if she could read my thoughts, the woman said, “I pumped a couple of vials of nutrients into you while you were sleeping. Whatever happened to your helmet? Good thing you had the emergency communicator. And using your pistol as a distress signal! What put that idea into your head? What unit are you from, anyway?”
I stopped her staccato questions by raising one hand and saying, “I think I can get up, if you’ll hold this thing steady for a second.”
She laughed and grabbed one end of the floating cot. “It looks great back at headquarters; all you need is a grav disc and a length of fabric. Travels light. But none of the desk jockeys ever tried to sleep on one of these monstrosities!”