"The difference, however, is that we are taking our time," said Jarry,"and giving them a chance to get used to the new conditions."

"Still, I feel that all that--outside there"--she gestured toward thewindow--"is what this world is becoming: one big Deadland."

"Deadland was here before we came. We haven't created any new deserts."

"All the animals are moving south. The trees are dying. When they getas far south as they can go and still the temperature drops, and the aircontinues to harm their lungs--then it will be all over for them."

"By then they might have adapted. The trees are spreading, aredeveloping thicker barks. Life will make it."

"I wonder...."

"Would you prefer to sleep until it's all over?"

"No; I want to be by your side, always."

"Then you must reconcile yourself to the fact that something is alwayshurt by any change. If you do this, you will not be hurt yourself."

Then they listened for the winds to rise.

Three days later, in the still of sundown, between the winds of day andthe winds of night, she called him to the window. He climbed to the thirdfloor and moved to her side. Her breasts were rose in the sundown light andthe places beneath them silver and dark. The fur of her shoulders andhaunches was like an aura of smoke. Her face was expressionless and herwide, green eyes were not turned toward him.

He looked out.

The first big flakes were falling, blue, through the pink light. Theydrifted past the stone and gnarly Normform; some stuck in the thick quartzwindowpane; they fell upon the desert and lay there like blossoms ofcyanide; they swirled as more of them came down and were caught by the firstfaint puffs of the terrible winds. Dark clouds had mustered overhead andfrom them, now, great cables and nets of blue descended. Now the flakesflashed past the window like butterflies, and the outline of Deadlandflickered on and off. The pink vanished and there was only blue, blue anddarkening blue, as the first great sigh of evening came into their ears andthe billows suddenly moved sidewise rather than downwards, becoming indigoas they raced by.

"The machine is never silent," Jarry wrote. "Sometimes I fancy I canhear voices in its constant humming, its occasional growling, its cracklesof power. I am alone here at the Deadland station. Five centuries havepassed since our arrival. I thought it better to let Sanza sleep out thistour of duty, lest the prospect be too bleak. (It is.) She will doubtless beangry. As I lay half-awake this morning, I thought I heard my parents'voices in the next room. No words. Just the sounds of their voices as I usedto hear them over my old intercom. They must be dead by now, despite allgeriatrics. I wonder if they thought of me much after I left? I couldn'teven shake my father's hand without the gauntlet, or kiss my mother goodbye.It is strange, the feeling, to be this alone, with only the throb of themachinery about me as it rearranges the molecules of the atmosphere,refrigerates the world, here in the middle of the blue place. Deadland.This, despite the fact that I grew up in a steel cave. I call the othernineteen stations every afternoon. I am afraid I am becoming something of anuisance. I won't call them tomorrow, or perhaps the next day.

"I went outside without my refrig-pack this morning, for a few moments.It is still deadly hot. I gulped a mouthful of air and choked. Our day isstill far off. But I can notice the difference from the last time I triedit, two and a half hundred years ago. I wonder what it will be like when wehave finished? --And I, an economist! What will my function be in our newAlyonal? Whatever, so long as Sanza is happy....

"The Worldchanger stutters and groans. All the land is blue for so faras I can see. The stones still stand, but their shapes are changed from whatthey were. The sky is entirely pink now, and it becomes almost maroon in themorning and the evening. I guess it's really a wine-color, but I've neverseen wine, so I can't say for certain. The trees have not died. They'vegrown hardier. Their barks are thicker, their leaves darker and larger. Theygrow much taller now, I've been told. There are no trees in Deadland.

"The caterpillars still live. They seem much larger, I understand, butit is actually because they have become woollier than they used to be. Itseems that most of the animals have heavier pelts these days. Someapparently have taken to hibernating. A strange thing: Station Sevenreported that they had thought the bipeds were growing heavier coats. Thereseem to be quite a few of them in that area, and they often see them off inthe distance. They looked to be shaggier. Closer observation, however,revealed that some of them were either carrying or were wrapped in the skinsof dead animals! Could it be that they are more intelligent than we havegiven them credit for? This hardly seems possible, since they were testedquite thoroughly by the Bio Team before we set the machines in operation.Yes, it is very strange.

"The winds are still severe. Occasionally, they darken the sky withash. There has been considerable vulcanism southwest of here. Station Fourwas relocated because of this. I hear Sanza singing now, within the soundsof the machine. I will let her be awakened the next time. Things should bemore settled by then. No, that is not true. It is selfishness. I want herhere beside me. I feel as if I were the only living thing in the wholeworld. The voices on the radio are ghosts. The clock ticks loudly and thesilences between the ticks are filled with the humming of the machine, whichis a kind of silence, too, because it is constant. Sometimes I think it isnot there; I listen for it, I strain my ears, and I do not know whetherthere is a humming or not. I check the indicators then, and they assure methat the machine is functioning. Or perhaps there is something wrong withthe indicators. But they seem to be all right. No. It is me. And the blue ofDeadland is a kind of visual silence. In the morning even the rocks arecovered with blue frost. Is it beautiful or ugly? There is no responsewithin me. It is a part of the great silence, that's all. Perhaps I shallbecome a mystic. Perhaps I shall develop occult powers or achieve somethingbright and liberating as I sit here at the center of the great silence.Perhaps I shall see visions. Already I hear voices. Are there ghosts inDeadland? No, there was never anything here to be ghosted. Except perhapsfor the little biped. Why did it cross Deadland, I wonder? Why did it headfor the center of destruction rather than away, as its fellows did? I shallnever know. Unless perhaps I have a vision. I think it is time to suit upand take a walk. The polar icecaps are heavier. The glaciation has begun.Soon, soon things will be better. Soon the silence will end, I hope. Iwonder, though, whether silence is not the true state of affairs in theuniverse, our little noises serving only to accentuate it, like a speck ofblack on a field of blue. Everything was once silence and will be soagain--is now, perhaps. Will I ever hear real sounds, or only sounds out ofthe silence? Sanza is singing again. I wish I could wake her up now, to walkwith me, out there. It is beginning to snow."

Jarry awakened again on the eve of the millennium.

Sanza smiled and took his hand in hers and stoked it, as he explainedwhy he had let her sleep, as he apologized.

"Of course I'm not angry," she said, "considering I did the same thingto you last cycle."

Jarry stared up at her and felt the understanding begin.