The pair had run from where smoke billowed at the mouth of a chamber. Dumarest headed towards it, saw a Monitor standing helplessly before a fuming mass of vegetation, caught a glimpse of a wild figure setting more tanks aflame.

"Eloise!"

"Earl!" She came running towards him, almost unrecognizable; her gown torn, face, arms and hands dark with soot, hair frizzled from too-near flame. "Earl! Thank God you made it!" Her arms wrapped around him, tight, demanding; the pressure of her body equaling that of her lips.

"Eloise." With an effort he pushed her away. "Where are the others?"

"In Adara's room, I guess." She stared at him, her eyes wide. "My God, you look a mess. Your clothes! Your face!" Her hand lifted to touch the spots of burn, the seared patches of skin. "Earl?"

"I'm all right." He coughed as smoke caught at his lungs. "Did they get the flying units?"

"I don't know. I've been busy." She gestured at the havoc she had caused. "I guess we've won. The Monitors don't seem to care."

For now, but not for long. They were self-motivated units capable of independent decisions; disorganized now only because of the lack of direct orders from Camolsaer. And even that wouldn't last. Already repair units must be at work on the machine.

"Look at them, Earl. Those damned machines don't know which way to turn. And look at the fires. I started them. I did it. This is the finest day of my life."

"It'll be the last, if you don't hurry."

"Fire," she said dreamily. "The poor man's friend. I heard someone say that once and didn't know what he was talking about. I know now. It's something I'll remember. Just a spark and everyone's equal. More than equal. A poor man has nothing to lose, nothing to go up in flames."

She was transported, almost in ecstasy, something cruel and primitive in her nature responding to the destruction. Coldly Dumarest slapped her cheek, streaks appearing on the sooted flesh. "Earl! You-"

"You're forgetting what this is all about." He gestured at the flames. "We've no time to waste while you gloat. We need food, clothes; a lot of things."

"Clothes?"

"You think you can travel like that?" He looked at her torn gown, the naked flesh it revealed. "The cold would kill you within minutes. And you could use a bath."

"Earl?"

"A cold bath," he snapped. "Maybe it will shock some sanity into you. Now let's get moving."

On the way he stopped at a terminal, resting his hand on the plate.

"Dumarest. What is the external weather?"

"Cold. Some wind. Snow expected."

"How soon?"

"Before dark."

"Direction of wind?"

"From the south."

Bad news; worse was the fact that Camolsaer still seemed to be functioning. At least it was answering questions in a precise manner. Dumarest tested it further.

"There is a dead man close to this terminal."

"Dead… dead… dead…" "Fires are spreading. Compartment 34 is flooded. A Monitor has been crushed in room 812."

A buzz came from the grill-the section of the mechanical brain dealing with variable factors was obviously inoperative.

Dumarest said, "Where is Dras?"

Again the buzz. Satisfied, he turned from the installation.

"What was that all about?" Eloise was puzzled. "I can understand you wanting to know about the weather, but why all the rest?"

"A test. The weather report must be on a different circuit. The main thing is that Camolsaer no longer knows what is going on in the city."

"You wrecked it, Earl."

"Not wrecked, it was too big for that; but I managed to damage it a little. Let's hope the damage will last long enough."

"Long enough?"

"For us to leave the city."

* * * * *

Arbush had been busy. He was surrounded by a mass of clothing; soft furs, garments of warm fabric, boots, hats, an assortment which Adara had gathered from a dozen rooms. Now the man stood at the ledge before the serving hatch.

"Eloise!" He turned as she entered the room, his face brightening, some of the shadows lifting from his eyes. "My dear, I thought you were hurt I wanted to look for you but-"

"I wouldn't let him," interrupted Arbush. "Not until we had everything ready. It's good to see you, Earl. Success?"

"Of a kind." Dumarest looked at the clothes, then pushed the woman towards the bathroom. "Strip and get washed. Dirt is a poor insulator against the cold."

"You'll join me, Earl?"

He ignored the invitation, turning to stare at the minstrel where he sat, his face hard.

"Why didn't you get the units?"

"We tried, Earl. Three times. Once we managed to get a wedge started against the lock, but a Monitor arrived and brushed us away. I tried to distract it with fire, but it was no good. The damned thing was still there when we left." Arbush shrugged, glancing at Adara. "So I thought it best to do what we could."

"I failed," said Adara. "I did my best, but it wasn't good enough. Arbush is being kind."

"What are you doing?"

"Ordering food." The minstrel waved to where bundles stood close to the door. "Meats, pastes, oils, food and things to provide fuel. Some wine; they didn't have brandy."

"The means to start a fire?"

Arbush lifted a can tied to a thong, smoke oozing from ragged holes punched in the metal.

"Burning rag," he explained. "Give it a swing and it will flare to life. A thing I learned on Falfard."

As Dumarest had learned it long ago; a primitive method of transporting fire, simple, cheap, effective.

"We'd better carry one each," he said. "And ropes? Did you make some rope?"

Arbush had been thorough. Strips of fabric had been plaited into tough cords, the cords again plaited to form lengths of rope. Dumarest tested one, frowning. They were too short to give real aid if they had to climb, but they would serve to join one to the other. An essential piece of equipment in case of emergency. And a length of rope had many uses.

Adara said, wonderingly, "Earl, all these preparations. I thought we were going to fly over the ice, not walk."

"We may have to do both."

"But the units-"

"We haven't got them yet." Dumarest softened his tone a little; the man couldn't help being what he was. "We've traveled over the ice, you haven't. The units could fail, anything; and only a fool doesn't plan for an emergency. Eloise!"

"Coming, Earl!"

She was naked, unabashed, her skin dusted with powder, fresh paint on her lips and nails; the upper lids of her eyes thick with a blue shadow flecked with silver. More silver bound her hair.

Arbush sucked in his breath. "My lady, you are beautiful!"

She smiled at the compliment, her eyes on Dumarest.

"You wanted me, darling?"

"Get dressed." He was curt, seeing the look in Adara's eyes, knowing the danger of a man who could have lost the wish and will to live. "Adara, help her. Plenty of layers, topped with the thickest furs you can find. Never mind about appearance. Just cover her up so as to keep her warm. Yourself also. We must all get ready."

When finished they looked grotesque; shapes padded and tied almost beyond recognition, faces narrowed beneath enclosing hoods.

Sweating, Arbush distributed the bundles; tying his own, with the neck of the gilyre protruding, to his belt. They were ready to go, but one thing remained to be done.

"Adara, listen to me." Dumarest faced the man, holding his eyes. "There's one thing you've got to remember. You can't lose. Always bear that in mind. If you haven't realized it yet, you're as good as dead. No matter what you do now you can't make things worse. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Earl. Arbush has already explained all that."

"I'm not asking if you know it. I want to know if you accept it. In here." Dumarest rested a finger over the man's heart. "In your guts. You've got to want to survive."