His teeth rattled in his head, but he got a fire going with the sticks laboriously gathered and hoarded.
Outside, gray shadows moved towards the entrance. They squatted a short way off, waiting. Crane loosed off a single shot to warn then to keep their distance.
Smoke filled the cave and made his eyes water. As warmth seeped through his body, he tried to get his boot off. Pain shot up his leg. Gently now! He knew that if he fainted, he’d never wake again.
He realized that his foot was too swollen to have any chance of getting the boot off. He would have to cut it free. He hesitated; boots were essential. But he had to know the worst.
With the warmth of the fire came the smell from his fur and wool. He got out his knife and carefully sliced away the leather till he could ease it away from his woolen sock. And saw bone jutting through dirty flesh and a clot of frozen blood.
He cried, knowing this was the end. He was going to die in this cave.
He built up the fire with his remaining sticks, and reached for paper and pencil. He began to write an account of what had happened. Somebody—a man?—might find it one day and be warned.…
* * * *
“Life on an island a few degrees north of the equator is pleasantly relaxing. Worries vanish. There is no pressure. The heat prevents any but the most casual activity. For much of the time I lazed in the shade and drank lime and iced water. I had enough money for the simple life, and no one bothered me. Possibly those in authority agreed with my action and turned a blind eye.
“I swam in the sea, ate and drank, sometimes took a leisurely stroll, and slept. I realized I was drifting, but it didn’t bother me. I suppose I had just given up.
“It was almost twelve months before the galactics’ second ship was detected. I followed the news on TV, but somehow it didn’t affect me the way the news of the first one had. I was that far gone. I assumed we would claim it was an accident and talk reparations.
“We waited for radio contact but this ship made no attempt to communicate, and ignored our broadcasts. Experts talked knowledgeably about robot probes. Then it turned away from its Earth trajectory and headed directly towards the sun. There were brief hours of panic while engineers spoke of systems failure. The alien fired one missile into the sun and headed back the way it had come.
“And the sun went out.
“There were riots in the cities. New religions sprang up, and governments collapsed. Human activity became meaningless.
“Earth was dark now the moon had no light to reflect. It grew cold. Snow fell and the glaciers marched south. Nuclear power stations were buried beneath the ice and human civilization was overwhelmed. Millions froze to death. Thousands tried to reach the equatorial regions. Wars flared as the inhabitants repelled them.
“‘London under twenty feet of ice’, the last commentator announced before the power failed.
“My tropical paradise became dark and cold, and survival was all that mattered. I was lucky to be on an island and away from the worst of the gangs that fought each other. I robbed a store to get a rifle and ammunition, climbing boots and matches. My fur coat came from the corpse of a wealthy visitor.
“I found a cave along the coast and hid out, eating birds and rats, even insects—though they gave me stomach pains. I survived by hunting. Dog, I found, was the best eating.…”
* * * *
The fire was dying as the last of the wood burned away. Crane’s chilblains itched and the patch of frostbite on his face numbed the chill as he sucked a piece of ice. He had no food. His ankle stopped hurting as he gradually froze.
The hunters moved in, and Crane fired one last bullet.
* * * *
The hunters spotted a dull glimmer among the embers in the cave and fanned it to life. They fed the pages of writing to the flames as the fire blazed up. Then they collected food for cooking.
SUNSKIMMER, by Sydney J. Bounds
“It has been confirmed that a swarm of meteors is orbiting the sun and approaching Mercury. So the question now is, will the powers-that-be cancel this year’s race?”
The voice coming from the widescreen was warm, thrilling and female. The buzz of chatter in the skimmers’ changing room faded to near silence.
They stared at the image of Kate Pilgrim, a smartly dressed newscaster of mature years; behind her over-excited groupies screamed the names of their favorite skimmer.
Duke Halliday viewed Kate with approval, even though her words disturbed him. He imagined the length of the legs under that ankle-touching skirt and sighed.
“You hear that, Duke?” Bull Travers, one of the younger sunskimmers, used a tone of voice that suggested a challenge to their leader. “What d’you propose to do about it?”
Duke’s attention remained with the woman onscreen. “I propose to wait for an official announcement. She’s a media person and exaggerates.”
Bull noticed his concentration on the newscaster and made a shrewd guess.
He expressed his disgust. “She’s old—that’s obscene!”
“Yeah, too old,” Gunner said, leering. “You know the one I fancy? That one.” He pointed to a groupie in a minidress.
“I go for the topless one next to her,” Big Red chimed in.
Each skimmer was a hero to his fans; each could have his pick of the groupies. The screen flashed up the betting odds and Duke saw he was still favorite, but some of the young ones were creeping up.
He was scrambling into a bright red suit, new for the occasion, when Bull put it bluntly.
“Maybe you should retire? If you’re chasing mutton when lamb’s available, you’re getting past it. Time to move over and make room for fresh blood.”
Duke glanced sideways at him. Like you, he thought, and smiled. Skimmers were bald, but Bull was trying to grow a moustache; it took a lot of time to cultivate and he looked ridiculous.
Duke nodded acknowledgement of the challenge. “Let’s see how you finish, shall we?”
He continued suiting up, outwardly calm. A lot was riding on this race, and he’d already made his decision. A sunskimmer didn’t last forever.
And Kate was from Earth with fascinatingly long legs and on her way up through the hierarchy of Three Planets Video.
No official announcement of a postponement came: Duke checked the skimmers were suited and took his place at their head for the parade. They left the changing room, where mirrors were banned, carrying their helmets; it was cruelly obvious they had been adapted for their off-planet job.
They passed through the hall of mirrors; the glass was slightly convex and their reflections, bolstered by padded suits, suggested powerful bodies. Here they could strut and swagger and indulge in as rich a fantasy life as any macho male. Here they could forget they were adapted.
Leading the parade, Duke marched through a tunnel into the public arena to a roar of approval from the betting crowd and wild screams from the groupies. TV cameras pointed system-wide eyes.
They circled once to cheers and filed out through another tunnel where they paused to fit their helmets. Beyond was the hangar where their ships, each with the pilot’s individual color, waited like a row of ceramic eggs. Big, fat, swollen eggs.
Duke spoke to his personal mechanic: “Any problems?”
“Every little thing’s fine, Duke.”
Jockey-sized and lightweight, even an adapted man found the cockpit a tight fit in his bulky suit. The seat was contoured to fit and a visiting VIP had once joked. “They’ll need a shoehorn to get you in.” Only it wasn’t a joke.
Once the door slid shut he was locked