Time of the Great Freeze

by Robert Silverberg

  They boarded the sleds and glided eastward in silence, past the moose Jim had slain, and onward without stopping. The Londoner sleds led the way; Colin had joined the New Yorker party to serve as guide in case they became separated from the others. He rode with Jim and Ted in one of the New York sleds; Dr. Barnes, Carl, and Dave occupied the other one.

  An hour of travel had passed, and the shadows of night were beginning to close in, when a second plane flew over them. This one did not stay to circle. It became audible in the distance, the by-now familiar rumble turning into a whine as the plane came nearer, and then the plane was there, a slim gleaming shape in the sky, and it seemed to hesitate for a moment, studying them, and then it was gone.

  Soon after, the party halted for the night. Jim followed Colin into the group of Londoners and found them crouched around their radio. "Moncrieff's telling London about the planes," one of the Londoners explained.

  Jim listened. Through the sputter of static came voices. Moncrieff cut in, telling the story in short, clipped sentences. Jim listened, sadly amused by it all. The Londoners at the far end kept interrupting with tense, worried questions. They seemed to see invaders on every side! If not the New Yorkers, then the senders of these mysterious planes. Why were they so suspicious, Jim wondered? Why not hope to make contact with the flying people, why not greet them in warmth?

  No. There was something about living under the ground that changed a man's soul, Jim thought. You hid, cowering, from the air, from the sun and the sky and the clouds and the rain and the snow, and fright crept into your bones, so that you saw enemies on all fronts. Fear obsessed you. These Londoners were sick with fear. New York had been no better. Hide! Bar the doors, block up the tunnels! Beware the unknown!

  Well, at least the Londoners had some reason, he admitted. They had been invaded by barbarians, by the fur-clad folk of the ice-world, who somehow must have found the entrance to the London tunnel. Perhaps the London entrance was closer to the surface than New York's. But that had been thirty years ago. It was not astonishing that the hungry ones of the glacier would want to enter the warm fastness below the ice. But why assume that men of another city-just as comfortable as London, certainly-were invaders? Above all, Jim wondered, why think that these city folk of the South, powerful and wealthy, would want to invade London? No doubt the airplane people meant well, since London had nothing to offer them. But here were Colin's people, safe in their warm city, crazed with fear that the planes were the vanguard of an invasion.

  "Stay away!" crackled the voice out of the radio. "Don't come back to London!"

  Colin and Jim exchanged glances. "They can't mean that," Colin said.

  Moncrieff went on speaking, his voice remaining level and measured. He pointed out the absurdity of sending a picked group of soldiers to the outer world and then refusing them admittance when they came back with word of danger. But the Londoner at the other end sounded almost hysterical.

  "Stay away!" he chattered. "Bring us no spies! If you come, you'll lead the airplanes to us! We're sealing the tunnel. We want no invaders! Stay away! That's an order. Stay away!"

  Moncrieff let out his breath in a long irritated sigh. "May I speak to the Lord Mayor?" he asked. "This is a wholly unreasonable attitude, and I must appeal to higher authority."

  Much as he had loathed Moncrieff before, Jim had to admire the man now. His earlier treachery had been only a soldier's performance of duty. His orders had been to wipe out the invaders. And now, in the calm, stern way that he was reasoning with the panicky people in the underground city, he was showing great strength and determination.

  But he seemed to be getting nowhere.

  "They don't want us," Colin whispered in disbelief. "They're telling us to keep away! We can die out here in the snow, and they won't care!"

  Jim heard the voice from the speaker: "You can't come here. Don't even try to call us. Radio contact might lead them to us. I order you to keep away and make no attempt at contact!"

  "I insist on speaking with the Lord Mayor!" Moncrieff snapped. "This is a maximum security matter. Do you dare to take the responsibility of forbidding me to speak with him?"

  Jim shook his head. "They're insane! Condemning their own men to death-out of fear!"

  "It isn't right," Colin muttered. "They sent us out here to protect them, didn't they? And now they won't let us back. We didn't deserve that of them."

  "Wait," a Londoner near the speaker said. "He's getting through! It's the Lord Mayor himself!"

  A new voice could be heard now, clear and strong above the static. Once again, Moncrieff went through the story-how the "invasion party" from New York had proved harmless, how mysterious scout-planes from who knew where had come by to investigate. There was no comment from the Lord Mayor. Jim wondered if the radio had gone dead. But then came a reply, at last.

  Moncrieff looked up. A grin crossed his flinty face. "The Lord Mayor says we can come back. There's an end to this nonsense. They'll have the tunnel open for us. And for you New Yorkers, too."

  * * *

  Onward to London!

  It was heartening to see that not all Londoners were hopelessly trapped in fear. That had been an awkward impasse, for a while. Where would they have gone, if London had refused to let them in? Not back to New York, surely. They would have been men without a city, condemned endlessly to roam the ice-world.

  In the morning, they set out. Cold weather closed in on them. London was still several days' journey away, and the sudden change in weather slowed them. The temperature began to fall, from the thirty-degree level where it had remained for some days, down into the twenties, then still lower. The nights were cold and crystal-clear, with the temperature frequently dipping well below zero. The numbing cold was like a great hand, holding them back from London's warmth. Through the long days they huddled in the sleds, bowed down to hide from the knife-edge sharpness of the wind, and at night they crowded together in the tattered tents to keep from freezing. When a lone moose wandered by, they slew it for its meat-the provisions were running low, and with the weather turning bad they might not reach London very soon.

  And then it began to snow.

  The snow started with a light sprinkling, powdery flakes coming down out of a metallic gray sky. But the coming of night seemed to speed the fall, and by morning, three inches of snow covered the sleds. And still it fell.

  "I thought spring was coming," Ted grumbled. "I thought the world was warming up!"

  The snow went on falling. It was impossible to see more than a dozen yards in any direction. The convoy sleds kept together until late that afternoon, and then suddenly Jim, who was riding with Colin and Ted, realized that the other sleds were nowhere in sight.

  "Stop!" he cried. "We've become separated!"

  They halted, and hallooed for the other sleds. For half an hour or more they bellowed into the storm, until their voices were hoarse and their throats raw.

  "They're gone," Jim said. "They could be anywhere at all."

  "Maybe we'll find them when the snow stops," Colin said hopefully.

  But the snow did not stop. It continued for the rest of that day, and on through the night. A foot and a half of fresh, soft new snow had piled up on the hard-packed surface of the glacier. The sled was having hard going. Drifts were sometimes ten feet high, piled by the furious wind, and several times, unable to see in the driving snow, they rode right into one of the drifts and had to dig themselves out.

  The power accumulators of the sled reached bottom and gave out. There had been no sunshine for days, and the sled could go no farther until its source of energy returned. They stopped, and pitched the tent, and worked all night to keep from getting buried in the drifting snow. This was the Ice Age with a vengeance! Jim thought. They had had comparatively mild weather their whole journey, but now the angry weather gods were hurling their worst! Snow, snow, and more snow. Would they ever find their way to London? He wondered gloomily what had become of his father and Dave and Carl.


  The snow stopped, finally, after three consecutive days. The world was white and clean and new-minted, but the sun did not appear, and the sled could not be charged. They waited. The last of their moose meat went, and still they waited, through one dark day and a second. There were no signs of the other sleds.

  On the third day, when the sun remained still behind its cloud covering, Ted went out to hunt. An hour passed, without sign of him, and then a vagrant snowflake spiraled down, and then another.

  "Storm coming up," Jim said.

  "No," Colin answered. "Just snow blowing out of the drifts."

  But it was a storm. In fifteen minutes, it was as thick as the last one.

  "Why doesn't he come back?" Colin asked anxiously. "Surely he didn't let himself get lost!"

  "No," Jim said. "That wouldn't be like Ted."

  Jim fired the power torch into the air, and shouted himself hoarse once again. No one appeared, and the snow redoubled its onslaught. Finally, discouraged, he sank down into the sled, his head in his hands. Chet, Dom, Roy-his father, Dave, Carl-now Ted, too! He was alone, except for his new Londoner companion. But for what? To be lost in these eternal snows?

  "Hellooooo!" a voice called, far away.

  "Hello!" Colin cried. "Here we are! Hello!"

  Jim sprang to his feet. A figure appeared, moments later, struggling doggedly through the storm.

  It was Ted. He stumbled into the sled, breathless, snow crusting his hair. He carried the body of a wildcat, lean and stringy, not enough meat on it for a single decent meal.

  Ted grinned wearily. "Here's dinner-more or less."

  * * *

  Late that day the storm ended. In the morning, the sun rose for the first time in nearly a week, and they started the sled and continued onward.

  The weather was better for half a day. Then came more snow, and they had to halt. Hunger bit at their bellies. There was no food left, and in the snow they dared not leave the sled to hunt. Unless some luckless animal blundered right across their path, they would go hungry.

  Hungry they went. Gaunt and tired and weak, they brushed snow from their eyes, and hid under the tent, and prayed for the sky to clear and the sun to return. But a quiet realization came over them, one by one, as the day ebbed without a break in the snowfall.

  "We aren't going to make it," Colin said.

  "Don't say that!" Ted hissed.

  "It's true. We'll die in the snow. We'll never get to London."

  "It'll clear soon," Jim said, hollowly and without even convincing himself. "It has to!"

  "And if it doesn't?" Colin asked.

  Jim shrugged. "We'll be awfully hungry."

  "We're awfully hungry now," Ted said. He managed a faint grin. For the first time he, too, admitted defeat, as he said tiredly, "Perhaps Colin's right. Perhaps this is the end of the line."

  "You, too?" Jim asked.

  "Be realistic," Ted said.

  There was silence. Finally Jim nodded. The snow fell like a curtain now, stifling them. He said leadenly, "We came a long way, anyhow. We gave it a good try." When you had done your best, he thought, there was no shame in failure.

  Neither of them answered him.

  Time stole away. The snow ended for a while, and the sun glimmered, weak and feeble. They did not start the sled.

  "Let the accumulator charge," Ted said.

  But Jim knew that it was not a matter of the accumulator. It was they that had run down. They no longer had the strength to go on. "We've got to keep going," he said.

  He started the sled, and guided it on an uncertain course, slowly, bumpingly through the drifting snow. Colin lay curled on the floor of the sled, asleep, while Ted lolled half awake, numb with cold, weak with hunger and fatigue. Jim drove for a mile. Then a kind of lassitude crept over him. He did not feel like bothering any more. He was cold and tired and hungry. Ted and Colin were both asleep, and he wanted to sleep, too. To curl up on a fleecy bed of snow, to close his aching eyes, to rest, to sleep…

  He heard a sound in the stillness. A far-off rumbling sound, that grew in volume and rose in pitch, and became a high whine, like that of one of the planes they had seen earlier. Jim smiled. A plane, here? It could only be a dream. And therefore he must be already asleep, he told himself.

  Only a dream…

  16

  GOLDEN AWAKENING

  Jim woke.

  His eyes fluttered open, and he looked for the snow, and for the sled. But he was in a room like no room he had ever seen. Its lofty ceiling was far above his head. He was lying in a bed, soft and comfortable, in a large room whose green walls pulsed with gentle light. It was a long moment before he convinced himself that this was no dream.

  Shakily he rose from the bed. His tattered, filthy journeying clothes had somehow been exchanged for a light robe of some smooth, free-flowing gray fabric that did not seem to crease at all. Iridescent high lights gleamed in the robe; it seemed as though strands of gold were woven in it. He walked toward the window, and found that it gave onto a sort of terrace. Unquestionably, like a sleepwalker, Jim stepped out on the balcony…

  And gripped its rail in mortal terror. Sudden dizziness took hold of him. Beads of sweat burst from his forehead. He looked down, down, an unbelievable distance. It was five hundred feet or more to the ground! He had never known a height like that, so sheer a drop.

  Far below, tiny dots of color moved. Graceful cars of blue and gold and red, topped with plastic bubbles, raced along in the street. Buildings rose on every side-giant towers, mighty vaults of steel and plastic.

  Gradually Jim calmed. The sky overhead was warm and bright, flecked with cottony clouds. There was no snow here. Only the city, stretching to the horizon, tower after massive tower. A graceful network of airy bridges hung like gossamer in the air, linking building to building far above street level.

  And the city was shining.

  That was the only way Jim could describe it. The sleek sides of the huge buildings gleamed brightly in the warm daylight. It seemed as though row upon row of mirrors, a thousand feet high, blinked back at him.

  He stepped back into the room. As he did so, a panel in the wall opened, and a figure entered: a man of middle years, shorter than Jim, whose olive-toned face was partly hidden by a thick black beard.

  "Good morning."

  "Good… morning," Jim said falteringly.

  "Are you wondering where you are? You are in Rio de Janeiro. Our scout planes found you and brought you here, seven days ago. I am Dr. Carvalho."

  "Rio-? But you speak English?"

  "Oh, yes, we know some languages here," Dr. Carvalho grinned. "You gave us a little difficulty. You were badly frostbitten, and we thought you might lose a few toes. But you are all right. You have slept while we thawed you out."

  "There were two others with me," Jim said.

  "They are doing well," Dr. Carvalho replied. "They awoke yesterday. Come," the doctor said. "Come see your friends. And our city."

  Jim followed him through the panel in the wall. He found himself in a small rectangular enclosure whose luminescent walls were inlaid with tiles of a glowing violet substance.

  "Down," Carvalho said, and the enclosure sank.

  It glided downward giving no sensation that they were descending, drifting to a silent halt. A wall opened. They stepped out, into another room.

  "So you're awake!" Colin said.

  The Londoner was garbed in one of the loose robes, too. He looked rested, healthy. Ted stood behind him, grinning broadly. Looking past him, Jim had a better view of the street from this lower floor: he could see people, tanned, happy-faced people, wearing tunics like his. They were on a sliding walkway, five bright metal strips moving at different speeds. This city seemed miracle piled on miracle.

  And yet Jim felt a stab of uneasiness.

  "Why are we here?" he asked. "Why did you rescue us?"

  Dr. Carvalho looked astonished. "We found you in the snow. We could not leave you to die."

  "Y
ou don't pick everybody you see in the snow, do you?"

  "You had a sled. You were obviously city people. We had to know who you are, where you were from. Your friends here have told us everything-how you came from New York, hoping to meet the Londoners, and how you were disappointed."

  Jim whirled on Colin and Ted. "You shouldn't have opened your mouth! You shouldn't have said a word to them!"

  Colin gasped. "Lord, and why not?"

  "Who knows what they want?"

  "We want only to be friendly," Carvalho said, his voice gentle. "Why are you so suspicious of us?"

  Colin nodded. Almost playfully, he said, "You complained I was suspicious! And now here you are doing the same thing!"

  Jim was startled. Then, as he realized how he must have seemed to the others, he began to laugh. It was contagious, then, this business of mistrust! He had fallen into the old trap, the automatic reflex of hostility that had caused so much trouble in the world.

  Jim said, "There were other sleds in our party. We became separated from them in the snow."

  "Yes. I know."

  "Were… did you… were any of those other sleds seen?"

  Carvalho nodded. "Yes. Our reconnaissance plane followed them to London. They reached London safely."

  "Are you sure? All the sleds?"

  "The whole party," Dr. Carvalho said. "They were never in danger. Your sled was the only one that went astray."

  Jim let out a long sigh of relief. So his father was safe in London, then. And Dave, and Carl. And even Moncrieff and the Londoners. They had all made it. But Jim still looked troubled.

  "What do you want with us?" he asked, a shade too belligerently.

  Dr. Carvalho said gently, "You must not fear us, Jim. We of Brazil want only to help you and your people."