"Let's get this quite straight, Dr Mason." Corazzini leant forward, his lean brown face intent and serious. He was worried all right, but he wasn't scared. Corazzini didn't look as if he would scare easily: I had the idea that he would be a pretty good man to have around. "The others left here three weeks ago in a big modern Sno-Cat, and aren't expected back for another three weeks. You've overstayed your welcome on the ice-cap, you say, and things have been cut a trifle too fine – you had already started rationing yourselves to make your food spin out until they returned. With thirteen of us here we have food for less than five days. Therefore we may be a fortnight without food before they return." He smiled, but there was no humour in it. "My arithmetic is correct, Dr Mason?"

"It is, unfortunately."

"How long would the tractor you have take to get to the coast?"

"There's no guarantee that it ever would. I told you, it's falling to pieces. I'll show you later. Maybe a week – given the right conditions. Any bad weather would stop it in its tracks."

"You doctors are all the same," Zagero drawled. "Always spreadin' sweet cheerfulness and light. Why don't we wait for the other machine to get back?"

"Indeed?" Senator Brewster said heavily. "And how do you propose to live in the meanwhile, Mr Zagero?"

"People can live for longer than fourteen days without food, Senator," Zagero said cheerfully. "Think what it would do for that figure of yours. Tush, Senator, you surprise me. Too gloomy by half."

"Not in this case," I said flatly. "The Senator is right. Sure you can live a long time without food in normal conditions. You might even do it here – if you had proper day clothes and night coverings. You haven't – and how many of you have stopped shivering since you came here? Cold burns up your energy and depletes your reserves at a fantastic pace. Do you want me to list all the Arctic and Antarctic explorers – and Himalayan climbers -who have died within forty-eight hours of their food running out? And don't kid yourselves about the life-giving warmth of this cabin. The floor temperature is about zero now – and that's as hot as it's likely to get."

"You said there was a radio on your old tractor," Corazzini said abruptly. "What range does it have? Couldn't you possibly reach your friends – or your Uplavnik base – with that?"

I nodded in Joss's direction. "There's the man to ask."

"I heard," Joss said without enthusiasm. "Do you think I'd be trying to salvage this wreckage, Mr Corazzini, if there was any chance? It's an eight-watt transmitter with hand-cranked generator and battery receiver, it came out of the ark and was never meant for anything more than walkie-talkie use."

"But what is its range?" Corazzini persisted.

"Impossible to say." Joss shrugged. "You know how it is with transmission and reception. One day you can hardly pick up the BBC a hundred miles away, another you can pick up a taxi-cab at twice the distance, if you have the right receiver. All depends on conditions. This one? Hundred miles, maybe – hundred fifty in perfect conditions. In the present conditions, you'd be better with a megaphone. I'll have a go with it this afternoon, perhaps. Might as well waste my time that way as any other." Joss turned away and it was obvious that, as far as he was concerned, the subject was closed.

"Perhaps your friends will move within transmission range?" Corazzini suggested. "After all, you said they're not much more than a couple of hundred miles away."

"And I said they'll be staying there. They've set up their equipment and instruments and they won't move until they have to. They're too short of petrol for that."

"They can refuel here, of course?"

"That's no worry." I jerked a thumb towards the tunnel. "There's eight hundred gallons out there."

"I see." Corazzini looked thoughtful for a moment, then went on. "Please don't think I'm being annoyingly persistent. I just want to eliminate possibilities. I believe you have – or have had -a radio schedule with your friends. Won't they worry if they fail to hear from you?"

"Hillcrest – that's the scientist in charge – never worries about anything. And unfortunately, their own radio, a big long-range job, is giving trouble – they said a couple of days ago that the generator brushes were beginning to give out – and the nearest spares are here. If they can't raise us, they'll probably blame themselves. Anyway, they know we're safe as houses here. Why on earth should they worry?"

"So what do we do?" Solly Levin asked querulously. "Starve to death or start hikin'?"

"Succinctly and admirably put," Senator Brewster boomed. "In a nutshell, one might say. I propose we set up a small committee to investigate the possibilities – "

"This isn't Washington, Senator," I said mildly. "Besides, we already have a committee – Mr London, Mr Nielsen and myself."

"Indeed?" It seemed to be the Senator's favourite word, and long years of practice had matched it perfectly to the lift of his eyebrows. "You will remember, perhaps, that we have rather a personal stake in this also?"

"I'm unlikely to forget it," I said dryly. "Look, Senator, if you were adrift in a hurricane and were picked up by a ship, would you presume to advise the captain and his officers of the course they should adopt to survive the hurricane?"

"That's not the point." Senator Brewster puffed out his cheeks. "This is not a ship – "

"Shut up!" It was Corazzini who spoke, his voice quiet and hard, and I could suddenly understand why he had reached the top in his own particularly tough and competitive business. "Or Mason is absolutely right. This is their own backyard, and our lives should be left in the hands of experts. I take it you have already reached a decision, Dr Mason?"

"I reached it last night. Joss – Mr London – stays here to contact the others when they return. He will be left enough food for three weeks. We take the remainder, and we leave tomorrow."

"Why not today?"

"Because the tractor is at present unfit for winter travel, especially travel with ten passengers. It's still got the canvas hood on it that it had when we hauled stuff up from the coast. We have the prefabricated wooden sides and top that we need to arcticise it, plus the bunks and portable stove, but it will take several hours."

"We start on that now?"

"Soon. But first your luggage. We'll go out to the plane now, and bring that back."

"Thank goodness for that," Mrs Dansby-Gregg said stiffly. "I was beginning to think I'd never see my stuff again."

"Oh, you will," I said. "Briefly."

"Just what do you mean by that?" she asked suspiciously.

"I mean that you'll all put on as many clothes as you're able to stagger about in," I said. "Then you have a small attache-case for your valuables, if you have any. The rest of the stuff we'll have to abandon. This is no Cook's tour. We'll have no room on the tractor."

"But – but I have, clothes worth hundreds of pounds," she protested angrily. "Hundreds? – Thousands would be nearer it. I have a Balenciaga alone that cost over five hundred pounds, not to mention – "

"How much do you reckon your own life is worth?" Zagero said shortly. He grinned. "Or maybe we should abandon you and save the Balenciaga. Better still, wear it on top of everything – you know, how the well-dressed woman leaves the ice-cap."

"Excruciatingly funny." She stared at him icily.

"Frequently fracture myself," Zagero agreed. "Can I give you a hand with the stuff, Doc?"

"You stay here, Johnny Zagero!" Solly Levin jumped up in agitation. "One little slip on that ice – "

"Calm yourself, calm yourself." Zagero patted his shoulder. "Merely goin' in a supervisory capacity, Solly. How about it, Doc?"

"Thanks. You want to come, Mr Corazzini?" I could see he was already struggling into a parka.