Tasting of cider and of scuppernong;

ducked low in reflex instinct as a sudden burst of automatic fire whined in murderous ricochet off the boulders before him. He had expected this. It was the old classic infantry attack patternadvance under covering fire, drop, cover your mate and come again. Swiftly Andrea rammed home another charge into the magazine of his Mauser, dropped flat on his face and inched his way along behind the low line of broken rock that extended fifteen or twenty yards to his righthe had chosen his ambush point with careand then petered out. At the far end he pulled his snow hood down to the level of his brows and edged a wary eye round the corner of the rock. Another heavy burst of automatic fire smashed into the boulders he had just left, and half a dozen men three from either end of the linebroke cover, scurried along the slope in a stumbling, crouching run, then pitched forward into the snow again. Along the slope the two parties had run in opposite directions. Andrea lowered his head and rubbed the back of a massive hand across the stubbled grizzle of his chin. Awkward, damned awkward. No frontal attack for the foxes of the W.G.B. They were extending their lines on either side, the points hooking round in a great, encircling halfmoon. Bad enough for himself, but he could have coped with thata carefully reconnoitred escape gully wound up the slope behind him. But he hadn't foreseen what was obviously going to happen: the curving crescent of line to the west was going to- sweep across the rock-shelter where the others lay hidden. Andrea twisted over on his back and looked up at the evening sky. It was darkening by the moment, darkening with the gloom of coming snow, and daylight was beginning to fail. He twisted again and looked across the great swelling shoulder of Mount Kostos, looked at the few scattered rocks and shallow depressions that barely dimpled the smooth convexity of the slope. He took a second quick look round the rock as the rifles of the W.G.B. opened up once more, saw the same encircling manoeuvre being executed again, and waited no longer. Firing blindly downhill, he half-rose to his feet and flung himself out into the open, finger squeezing on the trigger, feet driving desperately into the frozen snow as he launched himself towards the nearest -rock-cover, forty yards away if an inch. Thirty-five yards to go, thirty, twenty and still not a shot fired, a slip, a stumble on the sliding scree, a catlike recovery, ten yards, still miraculously immune, and then he had dived into shelter to land on chest fastest picture taking digital camera and stomach with a sickening impact that struck cruelly into his ribs and emptied his lungs with an explosive gasp. Fighting for breath, he struck the magazine cover, rammed home another charge, risked a quick peep over the top of the rock and catapulted himself to his feet again, all inside ten seconds. The Mauser held across his body opened up again, firing downhill at vicious random, for Andrea had eyes only for the smoothly-treacherous ground at his feet, for the scree-lined depression so impossibly far ahead. And then the Mauser was empty, useless in his hand, and every gun far below had opened up, the shells whistling above his head or blinding him with spurting gouts of snow as they ricochetted off the solid rock. But twilight was touching the hills, Andrea was only a blur, a swiftly-flitting blur against a ghostly background, and uphill accuracy was notoriously difficult at any time. Even so, the massed fire from below was steadying and converging, and Andrea waited no longer. Unseen hands plucking wickedly at the flying tails of his snow-smock, he flung himself almost horizontally forward and slid the last ten feet face down into the waiting depression. Stretched full length on his back in the hollow, Andrea fished out a steel mirror from his breast pocket and held it gingerly above his head. At first he could see nothing, for the darkness was deeper below and the mirror misted from the warmth of his body. And then the film vanished in the chill mountain air and he could see two, three and then half a dozen men breaking cover, heading at a clumsy run straight up the face of the hilland two of them had come from the extreme right of the line. Andrea lowered the mirror and relaxed with a long sigh of relief, eyes crinkling in a smile. He looked up at the sky, blinked as the first feathery flakes of falling snow melted on his eyelids and smiled again. Almost lazily he brought out another charger for the Mauser, fed more shells into the magazine. "Boss?" Miller's voice was plaintive. "Yes? What is it?" Mallory brushed some snow off his face and the collar of his smock and peered into the white darkness ahead. "Boss, when you were in school did you ever read any stories about folks gettin' lost in a snowstorm and wanderin' round and round in circles for days?" "We had exactly the same book in Queenstown," Mallory conceded.

That gentlemen do make the merchant rise,

This is a Bellemere, but its too sour for me. The best beer in the galaxy is a Yarran brew. Yarran? She regarded Corish with keener interest. If Corish came from Beta Jungische, he was a long way from a regular supply of Yarran beer. Killashandras curiosity rustled awake. The Yarran brewmasters have no peers. Surely your brother has mentioned Yarran beer? Well, now, its possible that he has, Killashandra said slowly, as if searching her memory. But then, he told me so much that I cant remember half. She was about to giggle again and then decided that, not only did her giggle nauseate herself but it might repel Corish and she wanted to satisfy this flicker of curiosity about him. Why are you traveling to Optheria? Family business, sort of. An uncle of mine went for a visit and decided to become a citizen. We need his signature on some family papers. Weve written several times and had no reply. Now, he could be dead but I have to have the proper certification if he is, and his print and fist on the documents if he isnt. And you have to come all the way from Beta Jungische for that? Well, theres a lot of credit involved and this isnt a bad way to go. He enscribed a half circle with his beaker, including the ship as well as the dancers, and smiled at Killashandra over the rim as he sipped. This Pilsners not all that bad, really. What have you there? She went along with Corishs adroit change of subject and with the beer sampling. Although singing crystal brought with it an inexhaustible ability to metabolize alcohol without noticeable affect, she feigned the symptoms of intoxication as she confided her fake history to the Jungian, whenever necessary embellishing her actual experiences at the Arts Complex. Thus Corish learned that she was a keyboard specialist, in her final year of training, with high hopes that the Optherian Festival would provide her with sufficient data for an honors recommendation. She had credentials of sufficiently high caliber to gain entrance into the Federal Music Conservatory on Optheria where she hoped shed be allowed to play on an Optherian organ. An hour is all I need, she told Corish, blinking in her simulation of advancing inebriation, for the purposes of my dissertation. From what I hear about their precious organ, youd be lucky to get within spitting distance. Even half an hour. I hear that only underwater digital cameras for sale Federal licensed musicians are allowed in the organ loft. Well, theyll have to make an exception in my case because I have a special letter from Fuertes President hes a friend of my familys. And a sealed note from Stellar Performer Dalkay Mogorog She paused deferentially at the mention of that august personality, who was evidently unknown to Corish, and Im sure theyll concede. Even fifteen minutes? she asked as Corish continued to shake his head. Well, theyll just have to! I havent come all this way to be refused. Im a serious student of keyboard instruments. I won a scholarship to the Federated Sentient Planets Conservatory on Terra. Ive been permitted to play on a Moartian clavier, a Handelian spinet, Purcells harpsichord, a Bach organ, and a Beethoven pianaforte and She hiccuped to mask the fact that she was running out of prestigious composers and instruments. So? Which beer do you prefer now? Huh? Corish solicitously conducted her to her cabin and arranged her on her bunk. As he drew a light blanket over her, she felt the static leap from her shoulder to his hands. He hesitated briefly, then quietly left. As Killashandra gave him time to leave her passage-way, she reviewed her performance and decided that she hadnt dropped from character, even if he had. It was rather nice of him, too, not to have taken advantage of her. When she felt secure, she slipped from her cabin and down to the gymnasium level. At that hour, it was empty and she enjoyed an hours luxuriating in the radiant fluid. They met the next morning at the breakfast hour, Corish solicitously inquiring after her health. Did I fall asleep on you? she asked with wide-eyed dismay. Not at all. I just saw to it that you were safely in your own cabin before you did. Critically, she held her hands out in front of her. Wel1, at least, theyre steady enough to practice. Youre going to practice? I practice every day. May I listen Well it can be quite boring I have to spend at least an hour on the preliminary finger exercises and scales before I can do any interesting music If Im

By February you may find the skins

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 Of garter snakes and water moccasins 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

O I hae killed my fadir deir,

slumbered under that placid exterior. Had we met an unarmed Smallwood and Corazzini then, I do not think we would have stopped short of killing him with our hands. I suppose, too, that we were all three of us exhausted as we had never been before, frost-bitten, bleeding, thirsty and steadily weakening from lack of food. I say 'suppose', because logic and reason tell me that these things must have been so. But if they were I do not think they touched the minds of any of us that night. We were no longer ourselves, we were outside ourselves. Our bodies were but machines to serve the demands of our minds, and our minds so consumed with anxiety and anger that there was no place left for any further thought. We were following the tractor. We could, I suppose, have turned back in the hope of stumbling across Hillcrest and his men. I knew Hillcrest well enough to know that he would know that those who had taken over our tractorhe had no means of knowing who they were, for all he knew Zagero might have suddenly overpowered uswould never dare make for Uplavnik but would almost certainly head for the coast. The likelihood was that Hillcrest, too, would head for the Kangalak fjordtogether with a small bay beside it, the Kangalak fjord was the only break, the only likely rendezvous in a hundred miles of cliff-bound coastand he could go there arrow-straight: on board his Sno-Cat he had a test prototype of a new, compact and as yet unmarketed Arma gyroscope specially designed for land use which had proved to have such astonishing accuracy that navigation on the ice-cap, as a problem, had ceased to exist for him. But, even should he be heading towards the coast, our chances of meeting him in that blizzard did not exist, and if we once passed them by we would have been lost for ever. Better by far to head for the coast, where some patrolling ship or plane might just possibly pick us upif we ever got there. Besides, I knew that both Jackstraw and Zagero felt exactly as I didunder a pointless but overpowering compulsion to follow Smallwood and Corazzini until'we dropped in our tracks. And the truth was that we couldn't have gone any other way even had we wished to. When Smallwood had dropped us off we had been fairly into the steadily deepening depression in the ice-cap that wound down to the Kangalak glacier and it was a perfect drainage channel for the katabatic wind that was pouring down off the plateau. Although powerful enough already when we had been abandoned, that wind was now blowing with the force of a full gale, mercury cyberpix digital camera and for the first time on the Greenland ice-plateaualthough we were now, admittedly, down to a level of 1500 feet -1 heard a wind where the deep ululating moaning was completely absent. It howled, instead, howled and shrieked like a hurricane in the upper works and rigging of a ship, and it carried with it a numbing bruising flying wall of snow and ice against which progress would have been utterly impossible. So we went the only way we could, with the lash of the storm ever on our bent and aching backs. And ache our backs did. Only three peopleZagero, Jackstraw and myselfwere able to carry anything more than their own weight: and we had among us three people completely unable to walk. Mahler was still unconscious, still in coma, but I didn't think we would have him with us very much longer: Zagero carried him for hour after endless hour through that white nightmare and for his self-sacrifice he paid the cruellest price of all for when, some hours later, I examined the frozen, useless appendages that had once been his hands, I knew that Johnny Zagero would never step into a boxing ring again. Marie LeGarde had lost consciousness too, and as I staggered along with her in my arms I felt it to be no more than a wasted token gesture: without shelter, and shelter soon, she would never see this night out. Helene, too, had collapsed within an hour of the tractor's disappearance, her slender strength had just given out, and Jackstraw had her over his shoulder. How all three of us, exhausted, starved, numbed almost to death as we were, managed to carry them for so long, even though with so many halts, is beyond my understanding: but Zagero had his strength, Jackstraw his superb fitness and I still the sense of responsibility that carried me on long hours after my legs and arms had given out. Behind us Senator Brewster blundered along in a blind world all of his own, stumbling often, falling occasionally but always pushing himself up and staggering gamely on. And in those few hours Hoffman Brewster, for me, ceased to be a senator and became again my earliest conception of the old Dixie Colonel, not the proud, rather overbearing aristocrat but the embodiment of a bygone southern chivalry, when courtesy and a splendid gallantry in the greatest perils and hardships were so routine as to excite no comment. Time and time again during that .bitter night be insisted, forcibly insisted, on relieving one of

The King then said to Earl Marischal,

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 distance could be traversed in a relatively short time. It struck Killashandra that if Nahia, Hauness, and the others could travel so far, so could the Elders, especially if they wanted to implicate islanders. Or was that just talk? If, as Lars had admitted, Torkes had set him up to assault her in order to verify her identity and was using that assault now to implicate the islanders, would it not be logical to assume that some foray into the islands would be made by officialdom? If only to preserve their fiction? Killashandra closed her mouth on this theory for she had gleaned it from information she had overhead surreptitiously. Well, shed find a way to warn Lars, for she had a sudden premonition that a warning was in order. From what she had seen of the Elders, reapplying to the Guild would be a humiliating embarrassment to their sort of bureaucracy. Unless and Killashandra smiled to herself they took the line that Killashandra Ree had not arrived as scheduled. How tidy it could be made, the Elders able to suppress any reference to the reception in her honor. However, Lanzecki would know that she had gone, and know, too, that she would not have evaded the responsibility she had accepted. And there would be computer evidence of her arrival even the Elders would have a hard time suppressing that sort of trail mark. Not to mention her use of the credit outlet on Angel. This could be very interesting! She must have dozed off, for the couch had been comfortable, the days unusual exercise exhausting, and watching the weather screen soporific. It was the lack of storm noise that woke her. And a curious singing in her body which was her symbionts reaction to drastic weather changes. A quick glance at the screen showed her that the eye of the storm was presently over Angel Island. She rubbed at her arms and legs, sure that the vibration she felt might be discernible. However, Nahia had curled up on the end of the long couch, Hauness, one arm across her shoulders, was also asleep, head back against the cushions. Theach was still diddling, but Erutown and Lars were absent. She heard voices and steps on the circular stair digital camera lumix dmc-lz7 and made a dash for the toilet. She distinguished Larss distinctive laugh, a bass rumble from his father, and a grunt that could be Erutown, and some other voices. Until the eye had passed and the symbiont had quieted, Killashandra wanted to avoid everyone, especially Lars. Carrigana? Lars called. Then she heard him approach the toilet and rap on the door. Carrigana? Would you mind fixing some hungry storm watchers more of those excellent sandwiches? Under ordinary circumstances, Killashandra would have had a tart rejoinder but catering would solve the more immediate problem. Just a moment. She splashed water on her face, smoothed back her hair, and regarded the blossoms about her neck. Strangely enough they were not dead, their petals were still fresh despite the creasing. Their fragrance scented her fingers as she opened the crushed flowers and spread them back into their original shapes. When she opened the door, Nahia and Hauness were making their way toward the catering area. They only want to talk weather, Nahia said with a smile. Well help you. The others did talk weather, but on the comunits to other islands, checking on storm damages and injuries, finding out what supplies would be required, and which island could best supply the needs. The three caterers served soup, a basic stew, and high-protein biscuits. In the company of Nahia and Hauness, the work was more pleasant than Killashandra would have believed. She had never met their likes before and realized that she probably never would again. The respite at the storms eye was all too brief, and soon the hurricane was more frightening in its renewed violence. Though it was a zephyr in comparison to Ballybran turbulence, Killashandra rated it a respectable storm, and slept through the rest of it. A touch on her shoulder woke her, a light touch that was then repeated and her shoulder held in a brief clasp. That was enough to bring Killashandra to full awareness and she looked up at Nahias perplexed expression. Killashandra smiled reassuringly, attempting to pass off the storm resonance still coursing through her body. As Lars was draped against her, she moved cautiously to a sitting position and took the steaming cup from Nahia with quiet thanks. Killashandra wondered how the man had been able to sleep with her body buzzing. Other storm watchers had disposed themselves for sleep about the room. Outside a hard rain

"O hold thy hand, hold thy hand," said Robin then,

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 shoot not thy arrows so keen; 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

But I, being fond of true philosophy,

in the residence? Why, yes, Killashandra said, extending her hand to Lars and smiling graciously at Olav, I think that perhaps hunger is at the root of my deplorable temper. Im not usually so easily upset, citizens. Now that the scene had been played, she was ravenous and hoped that Olavs hospitality would be to the standard she expected. It was, and she was seated on Olavs right at the beautifully appointed banquet table. Torkes was opposite her, Teradia appearing at his right hand. Evidently she had merely had to change her gown. Killashandra did wonder how she had arrived so promptly. Other charmingly dressed ladies partnered the officers of Torkess retinue and from some discreet corner delicate music wafted to the diners ears. The food was sumptuous, a feat, considering the island had so recently been in the throes of a hurricane. As Killashandra sampled the many dishes presented, she realized that the components were not as varied as the manner in which they had been prepared. Polly fruit, pulp, and heart was the basis of nine dishes. Smacker was served as a chowder, boiled, broiled, fried in a delicious light batter and in a rich piquant sauce. The largest yellowbacks she had yet seen had been lightly broiled with slivered nuts. A succulent mollusk was offered, grilled with a dollop of some flavor enhancer. There were salads of greens, molded salads of some jellied vegetable, fruit, and fish. From the way in which Torkess officers filled their plates, and refilled them when the dishes were presented a second time, they werent used to eating. Torkes was abstemious by comparison although a fair trencherman away from Elder Pentroms dietary regimen. He did not refuse the wine, either, though his two senior captains did. When the first hunger was appeased, Torkes addressed Lars, his expression far too bland to be as affable as he sounded. Just where did you discover the Guildmember, Captain Dahl? On a polly islet slightly east of Bar Island. I dont normally pass by for its a bit off the regular trade route, but with the higher tides to give me clearance over the reef in that area, I could take a bit of a short cut to Bar, which I aimed to beach before sunset. Do you have this islet marked on your charts? Of course, Elder Torkes. I will show you its location immediately after dinner. Lars had one hand on her thigh under the table and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Had his father tipped him off camera canon digital sd750 elph powershot as he had her? As well as the entry in my log which verifies the position. You keep a log? Of a certainty, Elder Torkes. The Harbor Master is most insistent on such details which are, in my view, an integral part of responsible seamanship. Farther down the table, an officer nodded his head in agreement. Torkes returned to his meal. What is this delicious fish, Harbor Master? Killashandra asked, indicating the smacker. Ah, that is one of the island delicacies, Guildmember, and Olav launched into an amusing description of the habits of the tropical behemoth and the dangers of capturing it. In his tale he managed to touch on the strength and bravery of smacker fishermen and their dedication to an unenviable task. Much of the smacker catch went to feed the Mainland. With such innocuous tidbits and discourse, the meal finished. Immediately upon rising from the table, Elder Torkes told Lars Dahl that now was the time to show him the islet. We can call up the information right here, Olav said, going to the elaborate sideboard of the dining room. One section of its flat surface immediately transformed to display a terminal while the island seascape above slid to one side exposing a large screen. Killashandra, watching Torkes obliquely, saw him stiffen until Olav merely gestured for Lars Dahl to retrieve what documents he needed. Within a moment, a small-scale chart of the entire Archipelago dominated the screen. Lars tapped keys and the chart dissolved to a larger-scale one of Angel Island, then flowed left toward Bar Island, slightly upward, and in another adjustment, magnified the chosen islet, complete with its protecting reefs, quite isolated from other blobs of polly-treed islands. Here, Elder Torkes, is where I discovered the Guild-member. Fortunately, whoever abandoned her left her where there is a good fresh spring. He now magnified the islet so that its topographical features were apparent. Id a bit of a shelter on the height, Killashandra said. Here, Lars agreed and pointed. And mercifully I was high enough there to be out of reach of the hurricane tides just barely I fished in this lagoon, and swam, there, too, because the larger things couldnt pass over the reef. But, as you can see, gentlemen, I could not