“Well, this ship’s our only way off the planet; remember that, Horza," Aviger said. His eyes looked frightened. Dorolow touched

him on the

arm of his suit.

“Trust in God," Dorolow said. “We’ll be all right." She looked at Horza. “Won’t we, Horza."

Horza nodded. “Yes. We’ll be all right. We’ll all be just fine." He turned and went back to the bridge.

They stood in the high mountain snows, watching the midsummer sun sink in its own red seas of air and cloud. A cold wind blew

her hair across

her face, auburn over white, and he raised a hand, without thinking, to sweep it away again. She turned to

him, her head nestling into his

cupped hand, a small smile on her face.

“So much for midsummer’s day," she said. The day had been fair, still well below freezing, but mild enough for them to take

their gloves off

and push their hoods back. The nape of her neck was warm against his palm, and the lustrous, heavy hair brushed

over the back of his hand as

she looked up at him, skin white as snow, white as bone. “That look, again," she said softly.

“What look." he said, defensively, knowing.

“The faraway one," she said, taking his hand and bringing it to her mouth, kissing it, stroking it as though it was a small,

defenseless animal.

“Well, that’s just what you call it."

She looked away from him, toward the livid red ball of the sun, lowering behind the distant range. “That’s what I see," she

told him. “I know

your looks by now. I know them all, and what they mean."

He felt a twinge of anger at being thought so obvious, but knew that she was right, at least partly. What she did not know

about him was only

what he did not know about himself (but that, he told himself, was quite a lot still). Perhaps she even

knew him better than he did himself.

“I’m not responsible for my looks," he said after a moment, to make a joke of it. “They surprise me, too, sometimes."

“And what you do." she said, the sunset’s glow rubbing false color into her pale, thin face. “Will you surprise yourself when

you leave here."

“Why do you always assume I’m going to leave." he said, annoyed, stuffing his hands into the thick jacket’s pockets and staring

at the

hemisphere of disappearing star. “I keep telling you, I’m happy here."

“Yes," she said. “You keep telling me."

“Why should I want to leave."

She shrugged, slipped one arm through his, put her head to his shoulder. “Bright lights, big crowds, interesting times; other

people."

“I’m happy here with you," he told her, and put his arm round her shoulders. Even in the bulky quilting of the jacket, she

seemed slim, almost

fragile.

She said nothing for a moment, then, in quite a different tone: “… And so you should be." She turned to face him, smiling.

“Now kiss me."

He kissed her, hugged her. Looking down over her shoulder, he saw something small and red move on the trampled snow near her

feet.

“Look!" he said, breaking away, stooping. She squatted beside him, and together they watched the tiny, stick-like insect crawl

slowly,

laboriously, over the surface of the snow: one more living, moving thing on the blank face of the world. “That’s the

first one I’ve seen," he told her.

She shook her head, smiling. “You just don’t look," she chided.

He put out one hand and scooped the insect into his palm, before she could stop him. “Oh,

Horza

…" she said, her breath catching on a tiny

hook of despair.

He looked, uncomprehending, at her stricken expression, while the snow-creature died from the warmth of his hand.

The

Clear Air Turbulence

dropped toward the planet, circling its icebright layers of atmosphere from day to night and back again, tipping over

the

equator and tropics as it spiraled in.

Gradually it encountered that atmosphere—ions and gases, ozone and air. It swooped through the world’s thin wrapping with

a voice of fire,

flashing like a large, steady meteorite across the night sky, then across the dawn terminator, over steel-gray

seas, tabular bergs, ice tables,

floes and shelves, frozen coasts, glaciers, mountain ranges, permafrost tundra, more crushed

pack ice and, finally, as it bellied down on its

pillars of flame, land again: land on a thousandkilometer peninsula sticking

out into a frozen sea like some monstrous fractured limb set in

plaster.

“There it is," Wubslin said, watching the mass-sensor screen. A bright, winking light tracked slowly across the display. Horza

looked over.

“The Mind." he asked. Wubslin nodded.

“Right density. Five kilometers deep…" He punched some buttons and squinted at figures scrolling across the screen. “On the

far side of

the system from the entrance… and moving." The pinpoint of light on the screen disappeared. Wubslin adjusted the

controls, then sat back,

shaking his head. “Sensor needs an overhaul; its range is right down." The engineer scratched his

chest and sighed. “Sorry about the engines,

too, Horza." The Changer shrugged. Had the motors been working properly, or had

the mass sensor’s range been adequate, somebody could

have remained on the

CAT,

flying it if necessary, and relaying the Mind’s position to the others in the tunnels. Wubslin seemed to feel guilty that

none of the repairs he’d tried to effect had significantly improved the performance of either motors or sensor.

“Never mind," Horza said, watching the waste of ice and snow passing beneath them. “At least now we know the thing’s in there."

The ship guided them to the right area, though Horza recognized it anyway from the times he had flown the single small flyer

the base was

allowed. He looked for the flyer as they made their final approach, in case somebody happened to be using it.

The snow-covered plain was ringed by mountains; the

Clear Air Turbulence

swept over a pass between two peaks, shattering the silence,

tearing dusty snow from the jagged ridges and crags of the barren

rocks on either side. It slowed further, coming in nose-up on its tripod of

fusion fire. The snow on the plain beneath picked

itself up and stirred as though uneasy at first. Then as the craft dropped lower and lower the

snow was blown, then ripped,

from the frozen ground beneath and thrown away in vast swirling rolls of heated air mixing snow and water, steam

and plasma

particles, in a howling blizzard which swept across the plain, gathering strength as the vessel dropped.

Horza had the

CAT

on manual. He watched the screen ahead, saw the false, created wind of stormy snow and steam in front, and beyond

it, the

entrance to the Command System.

It was a black hole set in a rugged promontory of rock which fluted down from the higher cliffs behind like a piece of solidified

scree. The

snowstorm broiled round the dark entrance like mist. The storm was turning brown as the fusion flame heated the

frozen ground of the plain

itself, melting it and plucking it out in an earthy spray.

With hardly a bump, and only a little settling as the legs sank into the now soggy surface of the swept plain, the

CAT

touched the surface of

Schar’s World.

Horza looked straight ahead at the tunnel entrance. It was like a deep dark eye, staring back.

The motors died; the steam drifted. Disturbed snow fell back, and some new flakes formed as the suspended water in the air

froze once

more. The

CAT

clicked and creaked as it cooled from the heat produced by both the friction of re-entry and its own plasma jets. Water gurgled,

turning to slush, over the scoured surface of the plain.

Horza switched the

CAT

’s bow laser to standby. There was no movement or sign from the tunnel. The view was clear now, the snow and

steam gone.

It was a bright, sunny, windless day.

“Well, here we are," Horza said, and immediately felt foolish. Yalson nodded, still staring at the screen.