Headlong: Episode One

HEADLONG FLIGHT

My day had begun well. After two days' skiing, late the previous
afternoon I had reached the bottom of the prominent gully leading
almost to the summit of The Fang, the mountain at the head of our
valley. Camping under the overhang of a nearby rock buttress had given
me an undisturbed and fairly comfortable night. Now, having set off
before dawn, there were only a few metres of gully left before I would
reach the top. I was revelling in the exertion of climbing, gasping for
breath in the thinner air and exhilarated by the beauty of my frozen
surroundings: gritty black rock and crisp white snow, framing a blue
slice of sky. With a final lung-bursting rush, I flailed up through the
small overhanging snow cornice at the gully's exit, out onto the summit
snowfield and into the bright midday sunshine flooding down from a
clear blue sky. A cool breeze blew in my face, very welcome after the
claustrophobic confines of the gully.

As I stood panting from the effort, I surveyed my surroundings. The
summit was a mere hundred metres away. In my pack were a packed lunch
and flask of coffee. A pleasant picnic to enjoy while I savoured my
success. I could sit on the top and admire the splendour of my world,
counting the mountains ranged around me on the horizon. Some were peaks
familiar from previous expeditions, Algedon and Balkonia, together with
others as yet unclimbed. Among them Valhalla, its top permanently
wreathed in cloud. Having got my breath back, I holstered my ice axe
and started towards the summit of my latest conquest.

Halfway there, I became aware of something unexpected. There appeared
to be a summit cairn where none should be. Puzzled, I continued my
ascent, but stopped dead when I recognized the object as a rucsac
sticking out of the snow. Crouching down, I looked around quickly.
There was no one to be seen, but the pack could not have been there for
more than a few hours, without being covered by the night's
snowfall.

A dark suspicion was forming in my mind. Until now, the threat had been
only a possibility. Something long dreaded, but always seeming remote
and even unreal. Now it had become an awful reality. The moist warmth
resulting from my exertions seemed to condense instantly into icy
droplets of cold sweat. My first impulse was to retreat. Head back to
the gully and get away. But I couldn't simply leave. I had to know for
certain. And stubbornly, I would not be cheated of completing the climb
I had coveted for so long. Trying to calm my breathing, I continued my
advance. On reaching the summit, my worst fears were confirmed. The
rucsac was a large military model, and its owner was only a couple of
hundred metres away. At the top of the cliff on the far side of the
summit snowfield, he stood facing away from me, scanning the horizon
with powerful binoculars: a man. A living Nemesis who could turn and
destroy me at any moment.

My mind seemed to implode. I didn't want this. I wanted to rewind time
and not come here. Not today, not ever. What should have been a
long-anticipated moment of personal triumph had been cruelly twisted
from my grasp by Fate. Without realizing how I had got there, I found
myself on my hands and knees in the snow, hoping this moment was not
really happening. Praying that when I looked up, the rucsac would be
gone, and him with it. All a ghastly delusion, brought on by
over-exertion. But his pack was still there. I could see it. I reached
out and touched it. It was real.

My mouth was suddenly dry. I'm going to die, I thought, and there's
nothing I can do to prevent it. How can I possibly escape? All I could
do was cheat him of his prey by leaping over the cliff myself. But I
knew I couldn't do that, either. It ran counter to everything I had
ever been taught or believed in. At the very idea, I could feel a hot
anger swelling inside me, dispelling the cold chill of fear. Anger at
him certainly, but mostly myself. For although I knew our time here was
now over, I also knew that I alone could determine how it would
end.

Now get a grip, you pathetic specimen, I thought to myself. This wasn't
how you were brought up, was it? You know what to do. And if you don't,
you can work it out. You've been trained all your life to solve
problems - so do it! Thoughts racing, I considered my options. At any
moment, he might look round and see me. As yet, he must not know I was
here on the mountain. The overnight snow must have covered my
approaching ski tracks. I had only one sensible course of action: warn
my family and then get away as fast as I could. Once I had signalled
them, it would mean hiding somewhere until they came to pick me up. We
did not communicate routinely, for fear of giving away our presence,
but I had an emergency transceiver. When I activated it, the display
showed no returning acknowledgement. The signal must be being jammed. I
wanted to throw it away in frustration, but returned it to its belt
pouch with shaking hands. My situation was getting worse by the minute.
I would have to do it the hard way: ski all the way home without being
caught. Well, if I had to, I had to - there was no other choice. If I
could not be rescued, the only person I could rely on was myself. And
thinking of communications, if he did spot me, I needed to prevent him
from summoning help. I also had to find a way to impede his pursuit.
Must think clearly. Think and plan. Keep it simple. Don't miss
anything. Yes, I know?

Picking up his rucsac, I retreated to the top of the gully, looking
over my shoulder the whole way. Crouching down, I rummaged through it.
Finding a satellite radio set, I flung it over the cliff. With my
pocket knife, I cut the rucsac's harness straps off, and it followed
the radio. Useless, even if he did find it again. Quickly, I set up a
snow anchor and started abseiling as fast as I dared back down the
gully. All the while I was craning my neck, looking up in fear of
discovery. I was relieved when I reached the end of the rope and pulled
it down after me. But there he was above!

A shot rang out. Chips of rock clattered against my climbing
helmet.

Frantically, I lunged sideways, behind a boulder in the middle of the
gully. His shot was much too close. Heart pounding, I tried to control
my breathing. What now? Must get away. Down to my tent. How? Think,
damn you, think! Must make a belay to continue abseiling. But I needed
a secure anchor point. My hiding place would have been fine, except I
couldn't stand up to secure a tape sling over it without exposing
myself. And even if I used a metal peg driven into the rock on my side
of it, as I descended, I would be in plain view, only fifty metres
below the gully exit. He can't follow me down here, I thought. If he
had any climbing hardware, it's gone with his rucsac. With only skis,
he'll have to descend the far side of the mountain and traverse around.
Meaning a couple of hours' head start. After that, it will be a race.
He can follow my tracks, but if I keep far enough ahead, he won't have
any food or water. I should be able to get away and reach home. Could I
ski for eighteen solid hours having just climbed a mountain? Shut up
stupid, you'll have to. Don't even think about it right now.

By now I had finished coiling the rope and was scanning the far wall of
the gully for suitable cover. I couldn't go down the middle, but I
could keep out of view by hugging the left-hand wall. It curved away,
when seen from above. It was now or never. Shouldering the rope, I
leaped out to cross the open snow between myself and sanctuary.

Crack! Another shot. This time I felt it tug at my neck as I scrambled
into cover, surrounded by dancing snowflakes. No, feathers! My down
suit. The hood perhaps? Too close again, though. Definitely a
professional: no blasting away and wasting ammunition, simply two aimed
shots that had very nearly been on target - and I was easy to pick out
against the surrounding snow and rock. For more than a minute, the
gully was quiet again, even if my heartbeat wasn't. I had just finished
fixing the belay when I heard a dull thud above. It must have been loud
for me to hear it above my own breathing. I looked up - and wished I
hadn't.

Avalanche!

Another second and I was engulfed in a roaring torrent of white,
sliding down the rope from the sheer volume of snow battering into me.
There was nothing I could do except hope I didn't break any bones. I
was completely disoriented, blinded by flying snow. Unable to tell
which way up I was. Abruptly the roaring ceased. I was sliding down the
gully on my own. It wasn't wide or deep enough to hold enough snow to
keep the avalanche going. Only a small one then, I thought stupidly,
because any avalanche can be fatal. The rope had gone. I must have shot
right off the end of it. But my vision was clearing. I was on my back,
head downwards. If I hit something now, it would be all over.

Amazingly, I still had my ice axe. The leash had not been secured
around my wrist, but the tool itself was still in its holster. Urgently
I drove it into the snow at my side. It swung me round until I was
travelling feet first. I managed to roll onto my front and, applying as
much pressure as I could, was eventually slowed to a breathless and
extremely relieved halt.

Look up, quick. Can he still see me? No sign of him. The narrow walls
of black rock twisted to the left as they rose above me. Okay, now find
the campsite and get away before he comes looking. He won't simply
believe I'm dead. He'll want to see a body. Which gives me an idea, but
first I have to get down to my tent. From the surrounding terrain, I
reckoned it could not be more than two hundred metres below. Removing
my crampons and crouching down, I began to glissade, sliding on the
soles of my boots and slowing myself with the ice axe whenever I picked
up too much speed. Even so, by the time I spotted the tent, the urgency
of my descent had made me overshoot by a couple of metres. I rapidly
scrambled back up. There was no time to lose.

After the warm sunshine on the summit, the air was chilly in the
shadowy confines of the gully, but I hardly noticed. I was pouring with
sweat. Slipping off my down suit, I opened the tent and pulled out its
contents as fast as I could, making two piles: things to keep or
discard. The unwanted gear went into a nearby crevasse, except for my
sleeping bag, which I slashed with the knife. If my pursuer gave up and
came here while waiting to be picked up, he would get no shelter from
me. However, the ruined sleeping bag would be great for the idea I'd
had earlier. Stuffing its remains into the down suit, I added my
climbing harness, helmet and ice tools, then slashed the whole thing to
make it look like it had fallen down a mountain - which most of it just
had! I positioned the decoy in plain view at the bottom of the gully.
If I could gain some distance, he might spot it and waste valuable time
climbing up here to investigate.

That left the tent. It was no further use to me, but I was reluctant to
leave it. It had been my father's. I wanted to take it, but simple
logic told me this was ridiculous. It was unnecessary weight. And time
was pressing. With a mixture of anger and regret, I slashed it too,
bent the poles across my knee and cast the whole thing into the
glittering blue depths of the crevasse. I was comforted only by telling
myself it was what father himself would have done.

Packing the remaining gear into my rucsac, and plenty of chocolate into
the pockets of my windproof jacket, I clipped on my skis and was ready
to leave. But I needed something to drink first. My mouth was
desperately dry now, making my tongue felt uncomfortably bloated. My
water bottle was nearly empty. I had drunk most of its contents on the
ascent. There was coffee in my flask and, for a second or two, I
debated taking off my rucsac again and fishing it out, but decided I
couldn't spare the time. Instead, I simply slurped the last of the
water to cool my mouth, then stuffed the bottle full of snow and
trusted it would melt in the afternoon sun. Then I left.

It felt good to be skiing again, especially as this section would be
downhill. Despite the narrow escape, I felt okay. Now it was down to my
skill as a skier - and my powers of endurance. Out on the open slope
there were no more little details to worry about. For better or worse,
I'd made my choices. Given the circumstances, I couldn't think of
anything I'd forgotten. All I had to do was ski for my life! Although
the descent required concentration, for the first time since leaving
the summit, I was able to think of more than immediate survival.

Despite being his immediate target, the scout wasn't really after me.
His main objective was finding my home - and the rest of my family.
Unfortunately, I had no choice but to lead him right to them. In the
same way I had not considered confronting him, it never occurred to me
to sacrifice myself by leading him in the opposite direction. He was a
fully trained assassin and I had no military skills to counter him.
That alternative was certain suicide. I preferred to believe I could
gain enough distance and reach home ahead of him. Then we could leave.
Then we would have to.

In a very real way, of course, my parents were responsible for my
current predicament. They had once been very important people, but had
eventually overreached themselves, until they came to be seen as a
threat to the established order - for it's impossible to achieve
anything in politics, however worthwhile, without making enemies. They
had plenty of supporters certainly, but never enough in the right
places - those people always had too much to lose. And when a political
elite is made to feel insecure, they will ultimately take whatever
measures are necessary to re-establish their authority. Eventually, it
meant eliminating the figureheads around whom opposition to their rule
could rally.

After an assassination attempt on my mother, my parents fled into
exile, hoping that if they were out of reach for long enough, the
initiatives they had launched might eventually succeed, and they would
be safe. It had not happened. The old order had been clever enough to
realize they could not simply re-bottle the genie. The changes my
parents had wrought had been so fundamental and far-reaching that they
could not have been undone by anyone, least of all the reactionaries
who removed them. Instead, they settled on pretence. The pretence that
things were changing for the better, when all the time, they stayed
more or less the same - except for a few well-publicized propaganda
successes. The real improvements were always too difficult and got
delayed?

For all this time, my family had the peace of isolation. We always had
to take great care to ensure our concealment, and if that were not hard
enough, we then had to come to terms with the loss of my father. He had
died in a mountaineering accident when I was only seven years
old.

It wasn't supposed to be that way. My parents were meant to have
defeated tyranny and oppression forever, but instead, they had ended up
here. In exile. Banished under threat of death. All my life I had
yearned to meet new people, instead of always having to hide. But right
at this moment, if I had been offered a life of solitude as the price
of escaping to safety, I would have taken it without hesitation.
Because, as I had just discovered, the only new people I could expect
to meet would be hunting me.

***

The next couple of hours passed quickly. Not having to worry about what
to do, I could concentrate on my skiing and navigation. As I descended,
I even managed some reasonably proficient Telemark turns. In other
circumstances, it would have been glorious. My skis hissed beneath me
as they carved through the firmly packed snow, the afternoon sun shone
warmly down, and the cold clear air blowing through my hair were all
wonderful. It was a beautiful day and I had just climbed The Fang! That
personal victory now seemed small and irrelevant. I simply wanted to
get home. When setting out, I had been looking forward to being on my
own for a few days, but now I felt totally alone. I wanted to be back
with my family. Most of all, I missed my father.

My first objective was to get out of the side valley that led down from
the gully and into the main valley leading home. I had to round the end
of a subsidiary ridge, which would also put me out of sight of my
pursuer. Of course, there were still my tracks in the snow, but
fortunately, the sun was behind me and high in the northern sky, which
made them more difficult to see. Even so, I was careful to stay on firm
snow and leave as little imprint as possible. It would have been ideal
if conditions had deteriorated, but I had planned the original
expedition very carefully and waited for a period of settled fine
weather. Apart from the occasional moderate snowfall, there would be no
convenient blizzard into which I could disappear. There was no point in
my stopping to look around, either. The faster I went the better.

When I reached the junction with the main valley, I began to look for
somewhere to take a break. A fold in the ground seemed ideal, and after
slipping off my skis, poles and pack, I slumped down in the snow. While
rummaging in my rucsac, I found the miniature binoculars I used for
route finding and, scrambling up to look back the way I had come,
almost used them to search for my pursuer. I say almost, for just in
time, I remembered the direction of the sun and put them away
sheepishly. A reflection from their lenses would have given away my
position. With only my eyes, I couldn't see any trace of him. Which was
good in a way - it meant he couldn't be that close.

It was time for the flask of coffee and my packed lunch, but despite
being thirsty, I wasn't all that hungry, even though it was well into
the afternoon. All the pumping adrenaline must be masking my appetite,
as normally, thick slices of cheese on wholemeal rolls would have been
a real treat after a hard morning's climb. But I had to supply myself
with energy for the long trek home, and forced myself to finish every
scrap. I knew that to keep going in this environment, you needed to eat
before you became hungry, and drink before thirst, and then
dehydration, made their presence felt.

Feeling fresher from the food, drink and rest, I set off again. My rate
of progress would depend on how well I could route-find back along the
valley. The ultimate outcome would depend on some good luck too.
Without communications, he could not alert his masters, but equally, he
could not report in routinely either. All I could hope was their
procedures would be sloppy. Once he was overdue, they might put this
down to equipment failure and not be in any hurry to come and find him.
If they did before sunset, I would be in real trouble. After dark I
would hopefully hear an approaching craft in enough time to climb
inside my foil survival bag. Then if I covered myself with snow, I
would not show up on a thermal imaging system.

The afternoon wore on into early evening and I made steady progress,
although by the time the sun was touching the horizon behind me, I was
very tired and in need of more food and rest. Even though I had not
caught sight of my pursuer during the brief intervals I had paused to
unwrap a chocolate bar, I dared not stop before dark. I had run out of
water too. The snow in my water bottle had melted down to a few
mouthfuls, but I would have to melt more on my stove to prevent
dehydration setting in. Determinedly I pushed on, using the basic
Nordic skier's diagonal stride, as the undulating terrain allowed.
However, even the shortest uphill section now made me resort to a slow
waddling herringbone technique, where earlier I would simply have
kicked hard and strode up over it.

Ahead, in the clear brightness of early dusk, I could make out the edge
of the sparse forest that would provide me with cover for most of the
way home. It also meant I had covered half the distance in my headlong
flight from the mountain. The psychologically all-important halfway
point. Until now, I had not even wanted to think about what lay beyond
it. The long lonely kilometres I would have to traverse before I
reached home. Up on the mountain, I wasn't sure I could do it all in
one go, but having covered half already, I was beginning to believe I
would make it.

With renewed vigour I headed directly towards the trees, only to have
my hopes prematurely dashed when I realized I still had the river to
negotiate. It had steep banks and, being fast flowing, did not freeze
evenly enough to justify the risk of crossing it, even in the severest
winters. On my way out here, I had avoided this section by fording it
lower down and making a detour up one flank of the valley, above both
forest and river. Having to pick my way over a boulder-strewn hillside
in the dark meant it was not a route I would be able to retrace.

Annoyed with myself, I skied along the top of the riverbank, hoping to
find a place to get over before the river plunged into a narrow,
steep-sided defile. In the fading light I saw it: a fallen giant fern
tree a hundred metres before the waterfall. It was frozen into the icy
surface of the river and was unevenly covered with snow, but it almost
bridged the gap. In any but my present predicament, I would not have
risked it.

At the base of the tree I took off my skis and poles and strapped them
to my pack. Cautiously, I shuffled along the snow-covered trunk. At the
far end I had to pick my way carefully through the upper branches,
before putting my skis back on to cover the final few metres of uneven
ice to the far bank. I didn't know whether I should move slowly for
fear of disturbing the ice, or just to go for it. I tried slowly -
until there was a loud crack. Then I went for it, flinging myself
across, to finish in a trembling heap against the steep far bank.
Whereupon I started to slide backwards, and had to scramble desperately
to the top with fright-induced strength.

However, I had made it. The nearest trees were only a hundred metres
away, but once I knew I was safe, all my energy drained away and it
seemed to take an hour to get there and ages more to find a suitable
spot to stop. I needed a small hollow where I could set up the stove
without fear of its glow showing, and from where I could also keep an
eye on the surrounding valley. Eventually I found a place and simply
flopped down into it without even removing my skis.

Just two minutes, I promised myself; two minutes to get my breath and
I'll get on with it: take off my skis; put on all my spare clothing to
keep warm; set up and light the stove, gather some snow in a pan and
melt it for a hot drink; melt some more snow and make up a packet of
dehydrated food; check my skis and apply some new wax as I'm sure they
need it; sort my kit into order and repack it; melt yet more snow to
refill my flask with coffee? The list seemed endless, but I lay there
without doing any of it, simply running through what I would do,
visualizing these tasks in my mind, until sheer fatigue had induced me
into believing I could actually be doing these things by thinking about
them?

With a sharp jolt of fear, I sat up. Above me the hard glitter of stars
shone down from an inky black sky through the branches overhead. I was
cold. Very cold indeed. How long had I lain here? There was no way to
tell, for I had not checked the time when I stopped. It could not have
been too long, though. The red hues of sunset's afterglow had faded and
it was quite dark, but the evening star had not yet set. I shook my
head to clear it.

With shivering urgency, I set about my tasks, and for fear of dozing
off again, stayed on my feet until at last I had a mug of tomato soup
to drink while I prepared some food. The label on the meal packet said
beef stew. I knew it would be as unappetising as dehydrated rations
always are, but at least it was something warm and filling. It would
take a long time to thaw out my chills. I wished now I had kept my down
suit, but at the time thought I wouldn't need it, that the exertion of
skiing would keep me as warm as it usually did. I had reckoned without
meal stops and the plummeting temperatures of night.

I wondered how my adversary was faring. It was bad I had not seen any
sign of him, for if he had given up, I might be fleeing with more
urgency and risk than was necessary. Some previously unexperienced
instinct told me he was still after me however, and as determined to
catch up, as I was to maintain the distance between us. Therefore, it
was good I had not seen him. If I had, the gap would already be too
small and, were he to see me ahead, the psychological advantage would
be his, because I was already going as fast as I could.

While I ate supper, I melted more snow to refill my flask with coffee.
After lunch, I had considered discarding its surplus weight, but was
pleased now with the decision not to. I would have no time to keep
stopping to melt snow for drinks tonight.

Once repacked, I set off again and, for the first couple of hours, all
went reasonably well. The terrain was less demanding among the
well-spaced trees of the forest and I made further steady progress,
although my movements were restricted somewhat by wearing every piece
of clothing I had. I'd hoped to remove some, once the exertion of
skiing had warmed me up, but it didn't happen. The combination of
fatigue, insufficient food and the frigid chill of midnight meant I
couldn't ski fast enough to bring up my body temperature. In fact, as I
slowed down through tiredness, I was getting colder, not warmer. My
feet were okay, and so were my legs, even if they did feel increasingly
stiff. My hands seemed fine too; the motion of planting each ski pole
was keeping the circulation going. It was my trunk that worried me
most. My stomach was as empty as I could ever recall it being, rumbling
with each twist of my torso as I moved. And my chest and shoulders
would periodically break into bouts of uncontrolled shuddering. I
couldn't go on like this much longer. I had to do something. I
stopped.

My last chocolate bar disappeared almost as soon as it was unwrapped,
despite promising myself I would keep it for morning. Then as I opened
it, I tried to convince myself I would only eat half of it and save the
rest for later. The same happened to my flask of coffee. After the
chocolate, I simply drank it, four cupfuls in all, and felt a little
better, even if I was ashamed by my own weakness. This time I did
discard the flask before setting off again.

Around me, the silent trees formed fleetingly glimpsed avenues of snow,
as bright cold stars flickered in and out of their upper branches. I
had never experienced such a landscape before and it was, I'm sure,
incredibly beautiful and moving in the right circumstances, but right
then I hated every damned thing about it and every moment of my life it
took to get this awful journey finished. I longed for it to be over and
dreamed of tumbling into bed and sleeping for a week when I got home.
The warmth of my bed with its crisp fresh sheets and the softness of my
duvet seemed so real to me that I snapped back to reality with a start,
convinced I was dozing off again, even while skiing.

The moonlit landscape was boringly repetitive and the navigation
straightforward, that was the trouble. It was difficult to work out how
far I had come, and how far I had to go. The journey seemed endless,
until I felt I could no longer continue. I can't do this, I thought.
But I had to. To keep going through the night I had to fix my mind on
something. Something that would allow me to concentrate and keep
focussed. Yes, I would make plans for what I would do when I had got
myself out of this mess. Except I couldn't. There were too many
uncertainties. I had no idea what was really going to happen, even if I
did reach home in one piece, let alone what I would do afterwards. I
was fearful of speculating about these things because they added to my
current woes.

No, to keep moving despite the tiredness, hunger and cold, I needed
something positive, something to convince me all this effort was
necessary and worth every bit of determination I had. My family - they
were my ultimate reason. If I were on my own, even frightened as I was,
I might have given up eventually, laid down and slept. Dying of
exposure to the cold or an assassin's bullet would have made very
little difference. I would have failed, but beyond my own death, it
would not have mattered to me personally. But letting my family down by
quitting, when I was physically capable of continuing - that was
different. It filled me with dread. A superstitious dread, that in some
afterlife I would meet them again and have to account for my actions
before their reproachful stares. And no amount of excuses or apologies
would be able to change what I had done.

Turning away from these gloomy introspections brought me back to the
present, and to my surprise, I realized it was snowing. I had no idea
how long ago it had started. It wasn't a heavy fall, but the snowflakes
were large and drifted slowly down in the gently moving air. It was
warmer under the cloud of snow, of course. The icy open sky could no
longer suck the warmth from my body and my spirits rose
accordingly.

The dancing snowflakes formed transient patterns in the air around me,
seeming to combine for the briefest instants into fleetingly
half-familiar things before vanishing back into the crystal flurries
they always were. Oddly, I felt I was not alone, but this time I was
unafraid. It was not my pursuer, but another, less substantial
presence. Someone who posed no threat. The reverse in fact. He was away
to one side of me, although on looking round, I could see nothing
except swirling snowflakes. Facing forward once more, I became aware of
him again in my peripheral vision: a dimly remembered figure dressed in
old mountaineering gear. He was standing still, not walking, but he
seemed to keep pace alongside me. He did not speak, but his comforting
grey eyes looked on me with parental fondness and conveyed a clear
message even so. Keep going. You can do it. Keep going. You can do it.
For yourself, for the others I've left behind, for me. Keep going. I
know you can.

His thoughts were hypnotic, I found myself repeating them to myself
with each series of inhalations and exhalations, over and over again,
like some Buddhist mantra, until it seemed the forest was filled with a
chorus of metrical muttering. For there were others with him too. A
gaunt man on skis like mine, but wearing the full body harness enabling
him to tow a huge sled, the food and equipment he needed to traverse an
entire icy continent, not one valley as I was; and another mountaineer,
his thin bearded face pinched with cold, breathing rhythm a series of
desperate shallow gasps in air too thin, as he patiently scaled the
highest peaks; and lastly a skinny, dark-haired teenager with lively
brown eyes - my namesake. Keep going, they chanted, keep going, they
urged, keep going, they implored. We believe in you!

The snow was stopping. And without my being aware of them leaving, my
companions were gone too, although I could still imagine their faces.
Unable to render any physical assistance, they had nonetheless helped
me with their smiling encouragement and honest compassion. It seemed to
me then I had been floating with them among the trees, and was still
drifting along with the remaining snowflakes. Below me, my body, a
frail pathetic thing, struggled to keep moving as what had once been an
elegantly graceful, flowing, precisely co-ordinated rhythm had been
reduced to a desultory, head-down, round-shouldered shuffle. Hands
still planted poles mechanically with each forward movement of a ski,
but there was no backward thrust propelling me onward, it was simply to
keep me balanced lest I fall and have to dig deeper into almost
exhausted reserves. And summon forth the necessary motivation to get up
again and continue. Always continue. I had no choice about that. The
only choices I did have were little things. Shall I go to the left of
this tree? Or to the right? Important in their own immediate way, but
ultimately inconsequential.

With the clearing sky, came the knowledge that dawn could not be far
away, and neither was the edge of the forest. I yearned for both, for
the change of scenery they would bring, although together they would
leave me exposed. Surely by now my follower must have been missed, and
his comrades would soon be coming to look for him. They might spot me
instead. There was nothing I could do to minimize the risk. I couldn't
stop and hide. I had to keep going as fast as I could, although I
didn't want to think about home yet. At my fatigue-reduced pace, it
seemed so far away. One ski-length at a time was sufficient for the
present.

The last trees were upon me. I was only a couple of kilometres from
home, but I had promised myself another break. I was so tired I simply
had to stop and rest, however brief, and something to soothe my parched
and frozen lips. I had nothing left that was edible without
preparation, and no fluids either. But it occurred to me, that if my
family detected the threat for themselves before I reached them, they
might believe me lost and leave without me. They would wait as long as
they dared, I was sure, but eventually there could be no other choice.
They would have to flee before it was too late. I couldn't bear to
think about not reaching home before my family departed, because I had
stopped to melt snow for a drink. I kept going, forcing myself to
continue sliding one ski in front of the other. Out into the bright
sunny dawn of a crisp new day, even though I felt so stale and
weary.

A few hundred metres further on, it struck me it was pointless to
continue carrying the rucsac. What it contained was of no use to me
now. It was time to reduce my burden and strike out on the final leg
homewards. I stopped and slipped the pack stiffly from my shoulders.
The other discarded things I had taken care to conceal, but in the open
meadow there was no such place, no convenient bank of snow to form a
burial. Not that it would make much difference. It was not snowing any
more to cover my tracks. As I stood, slow-wittedly considering these
conundrums, something caught my eye. I let go of the pack and looked
up. A figure was emerging from the trees several hundred metres away. A
black clad figure on skis, moving quickly towards me.

For several seconds, I froze again into shocked immobility as my worst
fears were confirmed. The game was up. He had caught me. I had fought
so hard to stay ahead. It had not been enough. But I didn't want to
die, I thought desperately. Not here and not now. With a sudden rush,
my mind cleared and with it my determination returned. Inside, I felt
myself go hard as iron. I had not come all this way to fail now! I knew
I could still do it. I didn't care how fit or well trained my opponent
was. He had also spent a night of sleepless exertion in sub-zero
temperatures and must surely be in worse shape than I was. I set off
again with as fast a stride as I could muster.

After another few hundred metres I wanted to look behind, but it was
faster to keep going, and in any case I had to find my house. It was
not easy to spot, being mostly submerged in a hillside to conceal it
from the air. I had to find the ramp that led down below ground to the
door. Then I'd be safe. With a grunt, all the breath was knocked out of
me. I'd tripped. I wasn't concentrating on skiing, I was thinking of
doors and safety. Urgently, I got up again. There he was behind me,
catching up. Thankfully, he only had a pistol and not a rifle, for I
would have been within range. Again I set off, every bone-tired frozen
muscle and joint screaming with pain as I forced them into faster, ever
faster motion; all the time tensed-up for the bullet I knew must soon
strike.

The entrance could not be far now. It was always difficult to see until
you were almost on top of it. There? Yes there! There it was. Only a
few metres more. In sheer frantic desperation, I lunged forward, skis
skittering for purchase on the icy crust. I wanted to cry out, shout
for help, but my mouth and throat were so dry that I couldn't utter a
sound.

'Annaliese!'

My name! Someone's calling my name?

There was the crack of a shot and I fell limply to the ground once
more. Then the outside world was completely still. Only the hoarse rasp
of my breathing disturbed the ethereal quiet. I couldn't feel a thing
except the cool sharp pressure of snow crystals against my burning
cheek. My vision had contracted to a red misty tunnel as I lay there,
unable to move, waiting. Waiting for the finishing shot that must now
come.

Crunching. The unmistakable crunching sound of boots on frozen snow.
Coming towards me. Now I could see them. They were oddly familiar. And
more strangely, I felt at peace. After so much fear, so much effort, so
much protracted pain, even though I had nearly succeeded, my only
regret lay in not quite making it. For I had tried. I really had done
my best. The boots filled my vision momentarily, and then were gone,
their crunch-crunch rhythm receding out of view behind me, back the way
I had come. Another booming shot echoed around the valley. I twitched
involuntarily, but it wasn't me. It wasn't me! It was over where the
boots had gone. Then they were back. A hunting rifle was dumped in the
snow beside me. Someone was unclipping my skis, turning me over,
pulling me upwards, into an embrace. Through tear filling eyes, before
the figure picked me up and carried me away, I recognized a face. It
was my mother.

***

Dreamily, I could hear voices. Familiar voices, but speaking to one
another in an unusual staccato rhythm. A rhythm that signified
something important was about to happen. I couldn't make out what they
were saying, and I couldn't be sure it wasn't part of my dream, but it
didn't matter. There were two of them, and they were reassuringly
close. I really was home and safe at last. I had been dreaming we were
flying away to safety. Somewhere they would never find us. Returning to
full consciousness, I knew it was true.

I found myself lying reclined on a couch. Slightly beyond an arm's
reach to my left I could see my mother and sister occupying identical
seats, except they were upright and working hard, bringing our dormant
systems back to readiness, running smoothly and efficiently through the
"plan for two". In case the unthinkable happened, mother had devised
three such plans, so any or all of us could effect an escape.

As I watched their contrasting styles of working, mother briskly
energetic, my sister calm and controlled, I reflected on how different
we were as people. Even so, when we were all together, it would be our
physical similarities that were most noticeable initially. Mother was
the shortest of us and had quite a solid, almost stocky figure. Her
long, dark, wavy hair reached down almost to her waist, and her face
was pleasantly oval, with fine features whose natural expression always
seemed to be a slight frown. Father had been taller and leaner, more
athletic, with a narrower, more ascetic face and shoulder length
mid-brown hair.

Their daughters, although twins, were definitely not identical, I am
pleased to say. Physically, I was more like my mother, although a
little taller, with shoulder length dark wavy hair and deep blue eyes.
My sister more closely resembled father; being taller and slimmer with
his grey eyes and brown hair that was a shade lighter than mine. Her
face had some of his serenity, too. As if most of her thoughts were
calm and untroubled. Only when I frowned did my face closely resemble
my mother's, but most of the time my face held a smile. Mindless,
idiotic joviality, my sister teasingly called it, as if the cares of
our world rested on her alone. Of all of us, she was the most studious,
while I lived for adventure and couldn't take anything seriously for
very long. Many years ago, so mother told me, she had once been a very
fun-loving person too, but I found it hard to believe. The
responsibilities of her old life had clearly made her a very driven
person. Here in exile, even with her unruly brood to look after, she
claimed to have learned to relax again, although her serious side was
never far away.

Despite feeling very weak and dizzy, I tried to move and found I
couldn't. I was securely strapped in; even my arms, there was a fluid
drip in one of them. I felt terrible. My head ached, and my body and
hair were itchily unclean. Worst of all, I smelled of stale sweat. I
was still wearing my skiing clothes. With me unconscious, there had
been no time to change them, and my mother and sister clearly had other
priorities. But although I knew it was foolish and impossible, given
the chance, I would have asked them to delay until I had taken a shower
and washed my hair. It was definitely too late for that though, as my
mother and sister reclined their own couches. I realized we really were
about to leave this place forever. The home where I had spent most of
my life, and where almost everything I owned would be left behind. We
could take with us only the most essential possessions. I regretted not
having had the time to say goodbye to my personal things. But now, here
with my family, I was as safe as I could be, and that was enough.

Gently at first, the whole room shuddered. There came a series of
scraping, grinding, tearing noises, swiftly subsumed by a loud hissing,
which became in turn a crackling, tumultuous roar. Abruptly, I was
pushed hard back into my couch as we surged forwards, faster and faster
in a roaring, rattling, shaking crescendo of noise. All I could see was
the large screen in front of us, which abruptly changed, ceasing to
display status information. In its place, I could look down on a frozen
world of ice and snow. We were airborne!

Moments later, a familiar mountain peak flashed past. It had taken us
less than a minute to cover the ground I had so recently and painfully
traversed. The screen tilted upward to show only blue sky, the roaring
redoubled in volume and I fought to breathe against the weight on my
chest. It went on and on and on, minute after minute after minute,
until I could take it no more and felt I might pass out again. Even so,
the gradual transition of the sky from deep blue to indigo and then
black, studded with stars, was amazingly beautiful.

Eventually the acceleration slackened off as we eased into orbit and I
became light-headed instead. I must be weightless, restrained only by
my seat harness. It was quite relaxing in its way. I would have liked
nothing more than to lie back and enjoy these half-remembered
sensations, things I had not experienced since I was very young. Except
our current situation was far from secure and I wanted to know what we
were going to do about it.

'Mother,' I croaked.

'Oh, you're back with us, Anna,' she said, swivelling her couch round
and releasing my arm restraints. 'How are you feeling now?'

'I? I'm okay, I suppose.' I said tentatively, afraid I was going to be
told off. Mother was always nagging me about how dangerous it was to go
climbing solo, and my response was always that I had no one else to go
with. Worse still, she had expressly forbidden me to climb The Fang,
and so I had not told her exactly where I was going. Better to change
the subject. 'What happened?' I asked.

'You mean the man who was chasing you? I had to shoot him,' she said
grimly, but then smiled at me. 'You did very well getting home without
being caught, Annaliese. I'm so proud of you. One of their scout craft
was closing in on us, but we had to wait as long as we could.'

'Dziekuje, matka,' I replied, with an inward smile. I could imagine
them sitting here, my sister impatiently waiting to continue the
countdown, mother fretting and telling her they were going to wait five
minutes more for me. Then another five. Until my sister's normally cool
demeanour was in danger of exploding. I glanced across to thank her
too, but she was busy at the navigation panel, concentrating on the job
in hand.

'Wy jestescie pozadani, c?rka,' she replied, squeezing my hand.

'What are we going to do now?' I asked, relieved I wasn't going to be
blamed for any of this.

'We'll have to leave. We can't stay here. We'll rendezvous with the
second moon, board our ship and be on our way. Fortunately, their
orbiter passed overhead before we launched and they're most of an orbit
behind now. They won't be able to intercept us, once we're under way.
They'll need to stay to pick up the other scouts they've landed. All
you need to do is relax and let your sister and I take care of
everything.'

'But where will we go?'

'I've been thinking about that for a long time,' she replied, fixing me
with those deep blue eyes of hers. 'Wherever we go, they'll find us
eventually, kill us and no one will know or care. We'll always have to
run, always have to be on our guard. In fact, there is only one place
we can go, where we won't have to live with such fear.'

'Where?' I asked. 'Surely, you don't mean?'

'I do. Back to Earth. We may not be welcome, but at least public
opinion will not allow us to be summarily executed. And the situation
may have changed for the better by the time we get there, you never
know. What I do know, is I'm thoroughly fed up with living like
this.'

But I had stopped listening as soon as she mentioned Earth. Earth! A
planet at once familiar and mysterious. Familiar, because I knew
everything about it from the records in our library. And mysterious for
the simple reason I had never actually been there. In terms of real
experience, I knew nothing about it whatsoever; everything was
second-hand. What would happen when we got there? I simply lay back and
thought about it. For some reason I felt an unusual excitement, the
opposite of any fear of the unknown I might have expected. Then I knew
what it was. There were men there. I was twenty-six years old and I had
never met a man. Apart from my father of course, and the one who had
chased me today - but he didn't count. Mother had often talked to me
about men, naturally. Dreamily, I wondered what they were really
like.

***