Permafrost

by Roger Zelazny

  Aldon decides to act only when he detects a development that runs counter to anything in his experience. He sends one of his mobile units to intercept Paul as the man heads out of town. It catches up with him at a bending of the way and slides into his path with one appendage upraised.

  "Stop!" Aldon calls through the speaker.

  Paul brakes his vehicle and sits for a moment regarding the machine.

  Then he smiles faintly. "I assume you have good reason for interfering with a guest's freedom of movement."

  "Your safety takes precedence."

  "I am perfectly safe."

  "At the moment."

  "What do you mean?"

  "This weather pattern has suddenly become more than a little unusual. You seem to occupy a drifting island of calm while a storm rages about you."

  "So I'll take advantage of it now and face the consequences later, if need be."

  "It is your choice. I wanted it to be an informed one, however."

  "All right. You've informed me. Now get out of my way."

  "In a moment. You departed under rather unusual circumstances the last time you were here—in breach of your contract."

  "Check your legal bank if you've got one. That statute's run for prosecuting me on that."

  "There are some things on which there is no statute of limitations."

  "What do you mean by that? I turned in a report on what happened that day."

  "One which—conveniently—could not be verified. You were arguing that day... ."

  "We always argued. That's just the way we were. If you have something to say about it, say it."

  "No, I have nothing more to say about it. My only intention is to caution you—"

  "Okay, I'm cautioned."

  "To caution you in more ways than the obvious."

  "I don't understand."

  "I am not certain that things are the same here now as when you left last winter."

  "Everything changes."

  "Yes, but that is not what I mean. There is something peculiar about this place now. The past is no longer a good guide for the present. More and more anomalies keep cropping up. Sometimes it feels as if the world is testing me or playing games with me."

  "You're getting paranoid, Aldon. You've been in that box too long. Maybe it's time to terminate."

  "You son of a bitch, I'm trying to tell you something. I've run a lot of figures on this, and all this shit started shortly after you left. The human part of me still has hunches, and I've a feeling there's a connection. If you know all about this and can cope with it, fine. If you don't, I think you should watch out. Better yet, turn around and go home."

  "I can't."

  "Even if there is something out there, something that is making it easy for you—for the moment?"

  "What are you trying to say?"

  "I am reminded of the old Gaia hypothesis—Lovelock, twentieth century... ."

  "Planetary intelligence. I've heard of it. Never met one, though."

  "Are you certain? I sometimes feel I'm confronting one."

  "What if something is out there and it wants you—is leading you on like a will-o'-the-wisp?"

  "It would be my problem, not yours."

  "I can protect you against it. Go back to Playpoint."

  "No thanks. I will survive."

  "What of Dorothy?"

  "What of her?"

  "You would leave her alone when she might need you?"

  "Let me worry about that."

  "Your last woman didn't fare too well."

  "Damn it! Get out of my way, or I'll run you down!"

  The robot withdraws from the trail. Through its sensors Aldon watches Paul drive away.

  Very well, he decides. We know where we stand, Paul. And you haven't changed. That makes it easier.

  Aldon further focuses his divided attention. To Dorothy now. Clad in heated garments. Walking. Approaching the building from which she had seen Paul emerge on his vehicle. She had hailed and cursed him, but the winds had carried her words away. She, too, had only feigned sleep. After a suitable time, then, she sought to follow. Aldon watches her stumble once and wants to reach out to assist her, but there is no mobile unit handy. He routes one toward the area against future accidents.

  "Damn him!" she mutters as she passes along the street, ribbons of snow rising and twisting away before her.

  "Where are you going, Dorothy?" Aldon asks over a nearby PA speaker.

  She halts and turns. "Who—?"

  "Andrew Aldon," he replies. "I have been observing your progress."

  "Why?" she asks.

  "Your safety concerns me."

  "That storm you mentioned earlier?"

  "Partly."

  "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. What do you mean partly?"

  "You move in dangerous company."

  "Paul? How so?"

  "He once took a woman into that same wild area he is heading for now. She did not come back."

  "He told me all about that. There was an accident."

  "And no witnesses."

  "What are you trying to say?"

  "It is suspicious. That is all."

  She begins moving again, toward the administrative building. Aldon switches to another speaker, within its entrance.

  "I accuse him of nothing. If you choose to trust him, fine. But don't trust the weather. It would be best for you to return to the hotel."

  "Thanks but no thanks," she says, entering the building.

  He follows her as she explores, is aware of her quickening pulse when she halts beside the cold bunkers.

  "These are the sleepers?"

  "Yes. Paul held such a position once, as did the unfortunate woman."

  "I know. Look, I'm going to follow him whether you approve or not. So why not just tell me where those sleds are kept?"

  "Very well. I will do even more than that. I will guide you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I request a favor—one that will actually benefit you."

  "Name it."

  "In the equipment locker behind you, you will find a remote-sensor bracelet. It is also a two-way communication link. Wear it. I can be with you then. To assist you. Perhaps even to protect you."

  "You can help me to follow him?"

  "Yes."

  "All right. I can buy that."

  She moves to the locker, opens it.

  "Here's something that looks like a bracelet, with doodads."

  "Yes. Depress the red stud."

  She does. His voice now emerges clearly from the unit.

  "Put it on, and I'll show you the way."

  "Right."

  SNOWSCAPE. Sheets and hills of white, tufts of evergreen shrubbery, protruding joints of rock, snowdevils twirled like tops beneath wind's lash ... light and shade. Cracking sky. Tracks in sheltered areas, smoothness beyond.

  She follows, masked and bundled.

  "I've lost him," she mutters, hunched behind the curved windscreen of her yellow, bullet-shaped vehicle.

  "Straight ahead, past those two rocks. Stay in the lee of the ridge. I'll tell you when to turn. I've a satellite overhead. If the clouds stay parted—strangely parted ..."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He seems to be enjoying light from the only break in the cloud cover over the entire area."

  "Coincidence."

  "I wonder."

  "What else could it be?"

  "It is almost as if something had opened a door for him."

  "Mysticism from a computer?"

  "I am not a computer."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Aldon. I know that you were once a man... ."

  "I am still a man."

  "Sorry."

  "There are many things I would like to know. Your arrival comes at an unusual time of year. Paul took some prospecting equipment with him. ..."

  "Yes. It's not against the law. In fact, it is one of the vacation features here, isn't it?"

  "Yes. There are many interesting miner
als about, some of them precious."

  "Well, Paul wants some more, and he didn't want a crowd around while he was looking."

  "More?"

  "Yes, he made a strike here years ago. Yndella crystals."

  "I see. Interesting."

  "What's in this for you, anyway?"

  "Protecting visitors is a part of my job. In your case, I feel particularly protective."

  "How so?"

  "In my earlier life I was attracted to women of your—specifications. Physical, as well as what I can tell of the rest."

  "Two-beat pause, then, "You are blushing."

  "Compliments do that to me," she says, "and that's a hell of a monitoring system you have. What's it like?"

  "Oh, I can tell your body temperature, your pulse rate—"

  "No, I mean, what's it like being—what you are?"

  Three-beat pause. "Godlike in some ways. Very human in others —almost exaggeratedly so. I feel something of an amplification of everything I was earlier. Perhaps it's a compensation or a clinging to things past. You make me feel nostalgic—among other things. Don't fret. I'm enjoying it."

  "I'd like to have met you then."

  "Mutual."

  "What were you like?"

  "Imagine me as you would. I'll come off looking better that way."

  She laughs. She adjusts her filters. She thinks about Paul.

  "What was he like in his earlier days—Paul?" she asks.

  "Probably pretty much the way he is now, only less polished."

  "In other words, you don't care to say."

  The trail turns upward more steeply, curves to the right. She hears winds but does not feel them. Cloud-shadow grayness lies all about, but her trail is lighted.

  "I don't really know," Aldon says, after a time, "and I will not guess, in the case of someone you care about."

  "Gallant," she observes.

  "No, just fair," he replies. "I might be wrong."

  They continue to the top of the rise, where Dorothy draws a sharp breath and further darkens her goggles against the sudden blaze where a range of ice fractures rainbows and strews their shards like confetti in all directions.

  "God!" she says.

  "Or goddess," Aldon replies.

  "A goddess, sleeping in a circle of flame?"

  "Not sleeping."

  "That would be a lady for you, Aldon—if she existed. God and goddess."

  "I do not want a goddess."

  "I can see his tracks, heading into that."

  "Not swerving a bit, as if he knows where he's going."

  She follows, tracing slopes like the curves of a pale torso. The world is stillness and light and whiteness. Aldon on her wrist hums softly now, an old tune, whether oflove or martial matters she isn't certain. Distances are distorted, perspectives skewed. She finds herself humming softly along with him, heading for the place where Paul's tracks find their vanishing point and enter infinity.

  THE LIMP WATCH HUNG UPON THE TREE LIMB. My lucky day. The weather ... trail clean. Things changed but not so out of shape I can't tell where it is. The lights! God, yes! Iceshine, mounds of prisms. ... If only the opening is still there... . Should have brought explosives. There has been shifting, maybe a collapse. Must get in. Return later with Dorothy. But first—clean up, get rid of ... it. If she's still there... . Swallowed up maybe. That would be good, best. Things seldom are, though. I— When it happened. Wasn't as if. Wasn't what. Was... . Was shaking the ground. Cracking, splitting. Icicles ringing, rattling, banging about. Thought we'd go under. Both of us. She was going in. So was the bag of the stuff. Grabbed the stuff. Only because it was nearer. Would have helped her if—Couldn't. Could I? Ceiling was slipping. Get out. No sense both of us getting it. Got out. She'd've done the same. Wouldn't she? Her eyes... . Glenda! Maybe ... No! Couldn't have. Just couldn't. Could I? Silly. After all these years. There was a moment. Just a moment, though. A lull. If I'd known it was coming I might have. No. Ran. Your face at the window, on the screen, in a sometime dream. Glenda. It wasn't that I didn't. Blaze of hills. Fire and eyes. Ice. Ice. Fire and snow. Blazing hearthful. Ice. Ice. Straight through the ice the long road lies. The fire hangs high above. The screaming. The crash. And the silence. Get out. Yet. Different? No. It could never have. That was the way. Not my fault... . Damn it. Everything I could. Glenda. Up ahead. Yes. Long curve. Then down. Winding back in there. The crystals will... . I'll never come back to this place.

  THE LIMP TREE LIMB HUNG UPON THE WATCH. Gotcha! Think I can't see through the fog? Can't sneak up on me on little cat feet. Same for your partner across the way. Ill melt off a little more near your bases, too. A lot of housecleaning backed up here... . Might as well take advantage of the break. Get those streets perfect... . How long? Long... . Long legs parting... . Long time since. Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance? Unnatural. This weather. A sort of spiritual spring... . Extend those beams. Burn. Melt in my hot, red-fingered hands. Back off, I say. I rule here. Clear that courtyard. Unplug that drain. Come opportunity, let me clasp thee. Melt. Burn. I rule here, goddess. Draw back. I've a bomb for every tower of ice, a light for any darkness. Tread carefully here. I feel I begin to know thee. I see thy signature in cloud and fog bank, trace thy icy tresses upon the blowing wind. Thy form lies contoured all about me, white as shining death. We're due an encounter. Let the clouds spiral, ice ring, Earth heave. I rush to meet thee, death or maiden, in halls of crystal upon the heights. Not here. Long, slow fall, ice facade, crashing. Melt. Another... . Gotcha!

  FROZEN WATCH EMBEDDED IN PERMAFROST. Bristle and thrum. Coming now. Perchance. Perchance. Perchance. I say. Throstle. Crack. Sunder. Split. Open. Coming. Beyond the ice in worlds I have known. Returning. He. Throstle. The mind the mover. To open the way. Come now. Let not to the meeting impediments. Admit. Open. Cloud stand thou still, and wind be leashed. None dare oppose thy passage returning, my killer love. It was but yesterday. A handful of stones... . Come singing fresh-armed from the warm places. I have looked upon thy unchanged countenance. I open the way. Come to me. Let not to the mating. I —Girding the globe. I have awakened in all of my places to receive thee. But here, here this special spot, I focus, mind the mover, in place where it all began, my bloody handed, Paul my love, calling, back, for the last good-bye, ice kiss, fire touch, heart stop, blood still, soul freeze, embrace of world and my hate with thy fugitive body, elusive the long year now. Come into the place it has waited. I move there again, up sciatic to spine, behind the frozen eyeballs, waiting and warming. To me. To me now. Throstle and click, bristle and thrum. And runners scratching the snow, my heart slashing parallel. Cut.

  PILGRIMAGE. He swerves, turns, slows amid the ragged prominences—ice fallen, ice heaved—in the fields where mountain and glacier wrestle in slow motion, to the accompaniment of occasional cracking and pinging sounds, crashes, growls, and the rattle of blown ice crystals. Here the ground is fissured as well as greatly uneven, and Paul abandons his snowslider. He secures some tools to his belt and his pack, anchors the sled, and commences the trek.

  At first, he moves slowly and carefully, but old reflexes return, and soon he is hurrying. Moving from dazzle to shade, he passes among ice forms like grotesque statues of glass. The slope is changed from the old one he remembers, but it feels right. And deep, below, to the right... .

  Yes. That darker place. The canyon or blocked pass, whichever it was. That seems right, too. He alters his course slightly. He is sweating now within his protective clothing, and his breath comes faster as he increases his pace. His vision blurs, and for a moment, somewhere between glare and shadow, he seems to see... .

  He halts, sways a moment, then shakes his head, snorts, and continues.

  Another hundred meters and he is certain. Those rocky ribs to the northeast, snow rivulets diamond hard between them... . He has been here before.

  The stillness is almost oppressive. In the distance he sees spumes of windblown snow jetting off and eddying down from a hi
gh, white peak. If he stops and listens carefully he can even hear the far winds.

  There is a hole in the middle of the clouds, directly overhead. It is as if he were looking downward upon a lake in a crater.

  More than unusual. He is tempted to turn back. His trank has worn off, and his stomach feels unsettled. He half-wishes to discover that this is not the place. But he knows that feelings are not very important. He continues until he stands before the opening.

  There has been some shifting, some narrowing of the way. He approaches slowly. He regards the passage for a full minute before he moves to enter.

  He pushes back his goggles as he comes into the lessened light. He extends a gloved hand, places it upon the facing wall, pushes. Firm. He tests the one behind him. The same.

  Three paces forward and the way narrows severely. He turns and sidles. The light grows dimmer, the surface beneath his feet, more slick. He slows. He slides a hand along either wall as he advances. He passes through a tiny spot of light beneath an open ice chimney. Overhead, the wind is howling a high note now, almost whistling it.

  The passage begins to widen. As his right hand falls away from the more sharply angling wall his balance is tipped in that direction. He draws back to compensate, but his left foot slides backward and falls. He attempts to rise, slips, and falls again.

  Cursing, he begins to crawl forward. This area had not been slick before... . He chuckles. Before? A century ago. Things do change in a span like that. They—

  The wind begins to howl beyond the cave mouth as he sees the rise of the floor, looks upward along the slope. She is there.

  He makes a small noise at the back of his throat and stops, his right hand partly raised. She wears the shadows like veils, but they do not mask her identity. He stares. It's even worse than he had thought. Trapped, she must have lived for some time after... .

  He shakes his head.

  No use. She must be cut loose and buried now—disposed of.

  He crawls forward. The icy slope does not grow level until he is quite near her. His gaze never leaves her form as he advances. The shadows slide over her. He can almost hear her again.