The drop dangled from his bowed finger for an impossibly long time before tumbling headlong toward its gelid kin. The drop splattered in a perfect ring in the frost, as if in slow motion. One bristly eyebrow stabbed upward, making my tentacles quiver in excitement, like juveniles do when a mating one passes by.

His gnarled fingers caressed the block, probing the flat surface. Finally, Alberto put his hand back in a thick glove. "Where did it come from?" His voice was high pitched now, bent by time. When I was young, his voice was as deep as the bray of the Selach that pull my sleigh.

"High in the Queztal mountains, there is a lake that comes every summer day. I cut this halfway to its center just before the dawn."

He grunted. "It shows promise."

I almost suged. "I will inform the Host."

"Wait!" Alberto said. "The surface is the first test, but that is not enough for the Emperor."

Light flashed and I jumped, as we all do when steel is near. It arced high over his head and his powerful arm smashed the chisel into the block. White spray spattered on me. I skittered to the corner and looked down my body. "Are you mad?! You could have killed me!"

Alberto's voice was deathly serious. "No more than you could have killed the Emperor if this block was no good. It must be flawless."

His words burned me like the Skyflame at the high point.

The long, flat blade was in his hands. He gripped the wooden handles on each end and slid its metal edge along the block. White shavings tumbled down like snow. He moved the blade over the block, each time removing more of the square corner made by the stone saw at the lake. His eyes almost glowed with intensity, fixed on every crystal falling through the air. Between slides, he painstakingly ran his bare finger over the surface of the block.

"Good," Alberto finally said. He held out the steel blade. "Now, do as I did."

"What?!"

"Take the drawshave. Hold the wood, not the metal."

A quivering tentacle reached out. I touched the wood. It was so rough! I would surely die!

He asked, "Have you not noticed how different your tentacles are than they used to be?"

I held them in front of my eyes. They were covered with a thousand tiny scars from the handle of the stone saw. Each cut had been too small to spill me, but only just. Had Alberto sent me on a hundred trips all over the planet for blocks just to toughen up my outer coating?

He smiled at me. "Even my fingers cannot feel a surface smooth enough for the skin of the Emperor. It must be you who makes the vessel."

I took the drawshave by the handles. Summoning all the courage I had, I slid it along the block. It dug in and a jagged, frozen chip of the size of my eye flipped out, missing me by a hair's breath. I again ran for the corner. He laughed.

"You must lower the angle of the blade until it shaves. Then, you will be safe. These crystals are a size that won't cut your skin. This is why you had to look so long for the perfect ice."

I tried again, holding the blade almost flat against the block. Tiny 'snowflakes' drifted down, brushing over my tentacles without harm. I had never felt such relief or felt so… chosen in all my life.

He was ancient. He looked out from the aftcastle… and smiled. I couldn't remember the last time Alberto smiled. All was ready, from the mizzen to the elegant statue beneath the beakhead. He said it was the most beautiful female of his species. The illumination shaft he finished this morning in the cavern ceiling made the vessel glisten as if covered in a thousand jewels.

I wept with joy.

The Imperial Guard skittered in, poison stingers at the ready. Behind, the horrible, wonderful, tracks of the bullet-shaped Host rumbled into the cavern and paused in front of our work—a full-sized sailing ship carved out of ice.

The crystal transmitters by the cavern entrance and throughout the world said, "I AM PLEASED."

Just above the left track, a clear tube extended toward our vessel, meeting up with what Alberto called a "gun port".

Pink fluid lurched uneasily through the tube into our vessel. It began to pool up from the bottom, filling the hollow space inside our frozen hull.

I gasped. "The Emperor is spilled!"

"No." Alberto was beside me. "He lost his tentacles, but the Emperor does have a coating, but one thinner than a newborn's. Now you understand why it had to be so smooth, so he would leave the Host."

The empty tube stayed connected to the "gun". Inside the vessel, I saw the enormous bulk of the Emperor ebb and flow, searching his surroundings.

"I have kept my bargain. Your vessel is everything I promised. Beauty and comfort."

"REJOIN THE HOST, THEN."

Alberto paused by the metal entrance port, his gnarled fingers caressing the frame. "Ready to return to Earth, honey?"

The Emperor laughed. "IT TOOK YEARS TO LEARN TO MOVE IT WITHOUT YOUR CONTROLS."

My friend and teacher opened the door, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. The controls and interior were gone, dissolved by the Emperor's fluids to the connection ports on the frame.

"THIS MAGNIFICIENT ICE SHIP WILL HOUSE ME, BUT YOUR HOST WILL REMAIN MY ROLLING FORTRESS FOR BATTLE. KILL HIM."

The poison strike of the guard was instantaneous. As he sunk to his knees, Alberto smiled at me and whispered, "Do you remember where the ice came from? The lake that formed in the midday sun?"

His eyes pointed to the new skyshaft… directly over the ship. "Farewell, my friend. I would have taken you with me."

"If you survive the day, create!"

Blue is the color of the Blood That Froze, in the veins of the Source that Whelped us all.
The tale begins with Methane pure, when the summer light comes to crystals pure.
All souls began in the Pool of Life, when Refraction heated Ice into the Water of Life.
Mere hours remained until it froze, so it scrambled hard to make its way on the land.
Life finds a way when the going's tough, so it coded Mind to spread back to the Pool.
Next to Spawn had the Memory intact, so it built its life on naught but that but Mind Alive.
Look how the Sun bristles bright, on the glacier walls, in the tundras and cliff faces clean.
Ice is tighter than Water based Life, so there's a plan that gives us Life and keep us safe.

So what of now that we have evolved, to eat and mate and carry our message onward?
Blue is the mood of Life serene, that has matured past Whelps to have time to think.
Hours a day is all we can spare, from the cold blooded sleep that keeps us safe,
What shall we do with that precious time, that is our chance to grow and prosper so?
We have a chance to achieve the Stars, if we mind our past and the needs we hold.
Methane has Carbon and that's the key, it can form our soul if only we mold it pure.
Alcohol is a fuel that can propel us out, among the worlds with a Bio-Ship if we build it so.
But care must we take so as not to fade, from exertion strong past our limits to grow.

With Patience and care we can pass the Sun, but we must not hurry the Glacial Flow.
In Time it will Come to Fatefully Pass, that we'll surpass our caves of glistening snow.
Toil we must, heat the Pool each day, to make a new life, to make a new prodigial Man.
Encapture Progress is the way forward, to save each new step as it happens on Plan.
Carbon Fuses, Matter Bursts, Atoms Race, Stars Apace, Fusion Breeds, Ships apace.
This is the source of progress real, that can free us from the lattice mold of ice so cold.
But it's so much work, it's so much risk, how can we make each precious hour go?
According to Plan, when it all blinks out, in a time of drought, not of fire but Mind, not soul but kind.

Records recevied, messages deciphered, a meter broken, a tradition passed in Future's name.
These are the ways we can carry on, when all hope is lost and the future is bleak.
There are asteroids nearby, that can fuel our race, that are not as barren as the Holy Place.
From there the Scientists can develop stocks, that are crucial to progress before all is lost.
We have a chance and the Time is Now, so use it we must to ensure our Plan is Complete.
For our Wise Men have decreed it so, that somewhere out beyond the Star's own edge -
Are worlds rich in Metals and Minerals, that we so desperately need to grow, to nourish Souls.
So leave we shall on an Exodus Holiest, in a single chance to meet our Fate and hope it's well.

Ahoy on deck! A signal comes through our Comm. It's a race that breathes in the gaseous form.
Rumors were heard, and thoughts were shared, in the Pool of Science that such life might exist.
Glad then we are to meet you folks if you'll bear with us, our habits strange and our Culture Cold.
Our Meter expands to meet your kind, we shall try, First Contact strange yet wonderfully grand.
We are sending light, in signals Code, do you read our message or must we Modulo betwixt?
We would like to trade, for you have much to share, but we must think a moment what we have for you.
What would you want of a race so old, full of starts false and errant, with so much time lost to waste?
Though I daresay our Music is a place to start, what better way to structure than to be Crystal Born?

Excuse us now, for we must encapsulate, all the news and hope before the day grows too cold.
We must sleep twenty hours of your day, we know it is tough for us to meet and share and say.
But such is our lot, we are content by now, it is the way we're raised, it is how we're made.
It is how we make our way in the Fateful way, in the Lineage of Cold, in the Crystal Way.
Each day's news must be converted twice, to keep it safe from the melting of our ice out here in space.
But what we lack in time, we made up in Scribes, for all of us know to record each hour, not a moment lost.
We shall see you tomorrow, it has been grand, to meet a new race such as you of the air-gas.
So fluid and free, how do you organize, without a Matrix mind and a Crystal Hive?

Norman, the King's ambassador, approached the royal guards.

"State your business." said the guard on the left, in a bored tone of voice, his pike, with its sharp blade of ice, blocking the doorway.

"My business is the King's." replied Norman, in the ancient formula.

"And of what nature is this business?"

"It regards the negotiations with the Hot Ones."

"Is your business of benefit to the King?"

Norman had been wondering about this for some time; the Hot Ones were very mysterious, and he did not understand them at all. "I believe so."

"Then await the pleasure of His Majesty." intoned the guard, before adding in a less formal voice "You'll have to wait until he gets out the bath. He's just warmed up the oxygen."

"My business is not urgent." intoned Norman. "I shall await His Majesty's pleasure."

It took His Royal Majesty, David the Nineteenth, about fifteen minutes to finish his bath; after which Norman was announced, and stepped into the presence of the King, the Ruler of the State of Terp (at least in theory). Said Ruler's face creased into a smile, and he cried out a happy "Normie!", raising tentacles still wet with liquid oxygen.

"Greetings, Your Majesty." replied Norman, bowing to both the young King and the Regent who would be handling the actual business of the day.

"And how goes the negotiations with the Hot Ones?" asked the Regent, sonorously.

"We have learnt more of the languages of each other." replied Norman. "I have not yet learnt from whence came their marvellous flying house; they retain yet the absurd tale of an origin in the sky, which all know is frozen and peopled only by terrible demons."

"So either they are demons or they lie." replied the Regent. "This is not an auspicious sign."

"If they lie, then they lie blatantly." argued Norman. "They also say that they are not demons."

"Perhaps they are demons who cannot tell the truth?" asks the Regent.

"But then they would not come from the sky." replies Norman. "It is clear that some of their statements are not truthful, but it is not clear which are not truthful."

The Regent mused on this for a moment. His Royal Majesty, used to being ignored when the Regent was talking to visitors but not liking it, managed to hit the Regent just below his upper left eye with a small toy. The Regent bore this stoically. "What did they say they wished?" asked the Regent at last.

"They wish to create a - building of some sort. The details were not clear to me, sir. But the size was twenty metres by twenty metres, and the height was twenty metres; and they will make it a cube."

"And where do they wish to create this - this block?"

"They say that it must be a place where the ground is firm, sire, and does not move."

A faint trace of amusement passed over the Regent's features. "The ground moves where they come from?" he asked. "And will the block have the intense heat that emanates from their bodies?"

"They say not, sir."

Meanwhile, on board the S.S. Iceworld, the same deal was being discussed.

"Hey, Johnson! How's the negotiations going?"

"Too slowly, Tom." replied Johnson mournfully, sitting down with a glass of water. "Do you know that half the buildings here are made of water?"

Tom sighed. "Yes, yes, very interesting. This planet's supposed to be too cold to support life, and you know that. I mean, they swim in liquid oxygen. They can't even touch the supercooled exterior of our suits without injury. How are we supposed to deal with people like this?"

"If we want to build the largest superconducting computer in the solar system, we either talk to them or find some way to build a more efficient cooling system." replied Johnson, firmly. "And you know no-ones been able to do the second yet. Look, this place is perfect. Tectonically stable, absolutely freezing. Once we have the permission of their head honcho, we can go ahead and put up the computer, with nice thick walls in case any of the natives get curious, and we can talk to it from then on purely by radio. We won't need to set foot on this place again."

"And what if they say no?" asks Tom. "We don't have enough fuel to go hopping round the planet looking for a more amenable kingdom. And you know as well as I do that we've sunk every cent into this venture as it is."

Johnson took a deep breath. He knew that Tom was thinking of the ship's booster rocket system; usually used only in deep space, where anti-gravitics were useless, but here capable of wiping out any native objectors with a few second's burst… he was thinking of it himself… but all he said was "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Tom. If we come to it."

The Regent considered the question that evening, as he played catch with the King. He wasn't sure that he trusted these strangers, but their request was not unreasonable in and of itself. He wondered whether to grant it…

Btew was going along the main street of the mining village of Snowy Lake.That was the last Hu-jun run outpost in that region, just before the Lands of Perennial Ice which ruled over the northernmost part of the planet.

Actually, the whole Gu-ug world was mostly covered in ice, except the thin line which crossed the middle of the planet southwards that was almost milder, especially during the hottest summers.But on the rest of the whole globe ice formations were the common rule…

In those extreme northern areas life was troublesome,according to Hu-jun anyway.There was only a people strong enough to live in such a terrible climate (frequently dropping 100 degrees below zero): the Gu-ug,the native species of this world.

They called themselves "the first inhabitants of Ice" and were believed to be the only intelligent local species who had been living on the surface since ancient times,long before the first Hu-jun colonists came from their homeplanet more than 10 years ago.

Hu-jun settled vast parts of this world, creating a new civilization thanks to their technology.They installed farms under domes and set up mines almost everywhere,so the planet natives were forced to move northwards: they resettled again within the icy boundaries of those secluded regions.

Now the bristly Gu-ug were angry with the Hu-jun and thought they had been deprived of their own world, refusing to live in the vicinity of the "Invaders from the sky", as they commonly called them.The natives had inhabited even the southern regions of this world in the past, a fact which looked weird as they looked more at ease under colder climates, but some scientists had cosidered that the entire planet had undergone recurring Ice Ages in the past which had made the planet entirely covered in a white layer up to one mile.The causes of such climate change were not well known so far, but the science community thought they were related to some unusual sun activities.

Hu-jun were well fitted to ice,too:they had furry faces, pudgy noses, four narrow eyes and a hairy back, even though they always wore heavy garments protecting themselves from the cold waves outside.Even though perfectly capable of living at an average temperature of 30 degrees below zero, which was usual on their homeplanet for 11 of the 13 months of their calendar,at times the icy winds and heavy snowfalls could make everyday life intolerable even for the colonists.

Today,notwithstanding his clothing, Btew found difficult to resist in open air, maybe cause of the wind blowing harder than any other morning.The ice was covering his blonde furry hands and gave poor visibility, so he tried to reach the nearest store as soon as possible in search of a hotter temperature inside.

Walking with great difficulty, the Hu-jun mineralogist went past the square before the shops lane, but something drew his attention unexpectedly.On top of the hill,next to the village, there was an icy tall structure standing, a sort of statue carved in ice.

He stopped only a while to consider it, then thought "That should be one of the Sacred Icy Poles the Gu-ug place at times near the northern Hu-jun outposts…it's a way to dismay us and a try to chase all the Hu-jun colonists away, as somebody says, anyway it looks only ugly…"

Btwe shook his head, looking with a condescending air.He really doubted such a thing could be useful for the Gu-ug in order to regain a planet they had already lost…

The bristly snout of the Gu-ug scout named Gggggu,only 4 feet tall, was looking at the Invaders' village in the distance, in silence.

The placing of the Sacred Icy Poles was going on, little by little…for more than ten years his people, the true inhabitants of that world, had kept quiet, waiting for the right time.They had been carving day after day all the poles they needed before bringing about their secret plan…

The Hu-jun Invaders had always believed his people placed those primitive structures just to prevent strangers from entering their own territory.That wasn't true.

The Gu-ug native civilization was not so evoluted as the Invaders', they did not possess starships, but relied on their traditions and beliefs.Even if the Gu-ug had had some science useful discoveries during their history, such as sleds powered by ugggn (which was a valuable mineral present in the underground, very energetic), they had remained a population very fond of their history and spiritualism.The magic, related to ugggn mineral, had always been part of their life.And it was going to save them this time, too.

As the ice magic had always been a powerful ally of theirs!

The Gu-ug shamans had begun carving the Sacred Icy Poles, which had to turn the entire world's climate into one of the worst Ice Ages the globe had ever seen…that was the cause of all the past ice expansions the planet had sufferred since ancient times, since it had been inhabited by Gu-ug species…Their ancestors had done that way before, just to get rid of previous invaders from some other planets in the sky who had already tried to conquer their world.

His people had remained within the Lands of Perennial Ice, just enough to carve the poles they needed to place all around their lands, in order to create a magic circle surrounding the northernmost region of the globe, which would have been soon activated,releasing everywhere the powerful icy energy the shamans had been breathing into each Sacred Icy Pole…Only the Gu-ug would have been able to survive in the resulting Ice Age!On the other hand, the Invaders would have been excaping to the sky or running away, never to be back.

This time the Gu-ug would have had their victory, again.

"It's just the eyes, Bal – that's what gets me – the eyes." Gerree sighed and then squashed back into his seat, watching the planet C-421 grow in size until it filled the viewing screen.

"Come on, Ger, this run is almost over. We dock, herd the product into the holding pen, collect our credits and leave. One more trip after this and we have enough in our accounts to retire for good. Not too bad for two guys in their 30s."

"But why must the product have faces? - faces with eyes? I've been having nightmares."

"The pigs have faces because the Efians prefer their meat to be fresh. As long as there is Ottic matter in this planet, and the Efians can bring it to the surface – the Efians will get whatever they want . Period."

Gerree let the idea settle in. Both men felt the outdated starship shimmy a little as it landed on the planet's frozen surface. They both relaxed a little.

Bal looked over at the small man sitting beside him. "Gerree, think of it like this: a man plants a tree and waters it as it grows. Doesn't that man have the right to cut it down eventually and use its wood? This is the same thing – these pigs were cloned by the Cindize Company. The company has the right to use them however they want." Bal looked at his partner as if what he was saying was a no-duh statement. "Remember Dolly – the first cloned sheep? She was studied for a while and then what happened to her?"

Gerree shrugged.

"No one knows because no one cares what happens to clones."

"But the nightmares…"

"Have you been taking your pills?" Bal reached over Gerree, grabbing the green and gold tablet sitting on the console in front of him. "What the hell is this? We have a schedule for taking these things."

"I'll take it, Bal. Just give it back." The pill changed hands. "It is amazing that there are 50,000 Efians living in a city under this ice."

Bal nodded yes – happy to change the subject. "At one time this planet was as green as any in the galaxy. C-421 got hit by an asteroid and thrown off its orbit…just a little. Now the inhabitants live below ground, sleep in boxes, and have their meals shipped in."

A comforting female voice broke in, giving instructions.

"They're ready to receive the product, Jer. Time for you to go downstairs and herd those suckers out."

Ger started to balk.

Bal looked straight at him. "Just go downstairs and do your freaking job. I can't leave the controls. Do your freaking job."

Three minutes later, the little man in overalls was on the cargo deck, looking at the pigs from behind an unbreakable window. A hologram of the holding room shone before him. On his left a door opened and swine began to back away. He took his right hand and "pressed" on the hologram and the back wall of the deck began moving forward. Pigs started falling out the open door. The ones in front seemed to scream as their pink bodies were shoved into the Efians underground compound. The holding pen kept getting smaller and smaller as Gerree's hands got closer together.

Suddenly a pig jumped up on the window, his hands leaving streaks of blood as he fell back into the rest of the swine. And then another pig jumped up, and another.

"Gerree! What is going on down there?! Get that back wall moving again before the Efians come into the pen and get the product themselves!"

Then, almost as if the inhabitants had heard him, the Efians were flying through the door – grabbing the product, ripping their throats out with bared teeth. Everywhere there was blood. It was squirting onto the window until the scene inside the pen was hidden behind a thick cover of red."

"Damn it, you idiot! I'm coming down there myself!"

"Bal. Bal. They're not pigs," whispered Gerree in shocked revelation. He felt his knees give out two seconds before his head hit the floor.

Six hours later

The office of the Efian diplomat was luxuriant. The couch seats were deep and soft. The tables were made of thick, rich oak. From this location, Bal could see the city's high-rises out the window, shuttles rising and falling from the streets 12 stories below. The city was alive with life, even this late at night – even 200 feet below the ice-covered surface.

The ambassador who entered was tall and welcoming. "I trust your partner will fully recover." He smiled broadly before handing the human a stemmed glass filled with a chilled, white beverage.

"He'll be fine. I do apologize for any inconvenience, your grace."

"Please, please – call me Logi – no reason for such formality." The diplomat took a seat behind the large, box-shaped desk, and motioned for Bal to take the chair across from him.

The Efian shrugged his shoulders and gave out an embarrassed chuckle. "It had been a long time between deliveries and I'm afraid some of my people were overcome with hunger. We apologize for our lack of dining manners. My higher-ups have always been impressed by your company's commitment to excellence. We appreciate your continued service."

"No harm done, I assure you. I'll be sure Gerree takes his pills next time out."

"I suppose it's only a matter of the credits then," said the diplomat, giving a little bow before leading the human out of his office.

Six weeks later

The planet C-421 hung in the viewing screen, growing larger by the second. Captain Bal looked over to his 2nd in command. "Have you taken your pill, Gerree?"

"I will, Bal – I will."

"I'll get you a glass of water," said Bal – getting up from his seat.

Snow was general over the land, as it always was. It was early Spring, so the icy water hybrid was fluffy and light. There are over ninety words for categories of snow, slush, and ice in my people's lexicon. Not so much amongst the city dwellers in their ice houses behind stone walls. Today, they were my cargo, not the makings of those ramparts. I wore my tinted glasses to prevent against snow-blindness. I am a stone-cutter guild-man -- as well as a transporter of rock, but it was that second knowledge which found me here -- as guide to a Royal and Religious expedition.

Our Monarch's daughter's hair was even blonder than the twin-trunked woolly mammoth she rode; or rather sat upon in her canopied howdah. It protected her from the wind and drifting watery dander. She was lovely, with a pronounced eyebrow ridge and a long, tapering jawline. Her neck was decorated by multiple strands of tooth necklaces. Both of people's and animal's. I noted several of the the four-fanged sabre-tooths of the snow-tigers. Myself, I rode bareback on my favorite mount, Shelagh, with my ankus crooked baton in my hand. She reached back with one of her two trunks. I gave her a rare peanut that I had gotten from a royal quartermaster.

The Temple Grenadiers marched at our sides; they were large, each of them towered over five-and-a-third feet, almost as huge as a cave-bear. Well, taller than I, at least. Their huge hands hung nearly to their knees. A sign of masculinity that my mid-thigh length arms could not match. Each carried a long musket, too. I knew their explosive black powder was saltpeter, sulfur and charcoal. (But the formula was as secret a as any foul spell of the Heliolater Sun Cult of the far South). I have envied these monkish soldiers' iron guns, but it would take eight summer seasons to purchase one. And that does not include the powder, mini-balls, or the hours of daily training. They did not even own their weapons. The Temple did. No, I will trust to my crossbow with its obsidian-pointed quarrels Its string was made with summer hemp and the arrows had colorful stabilizing lizard feathers, which came from the equator's quasi-warm blooded beasts. The wooden stock made from the Evergreen forests was expensive enough. But transporting massive granite stone blocks (cut from cooled volcano spew) was itself profitable. It is how I make my livelihood.

Our royal guards were less elegantly armed. They carried heavier crossbows than my little bolt-caster, and long javelins with spear-throwers to increase force and velocity. For close work, stone chipped war-hammers graced their hands. One even wore a bronze sword, almost as expensive as a firearm. Higher ranking officers might have gotten iron or even highly prized steel.

The small white dot that was the Sun settled on the horizon. I began to release the ropes to the sleds the mammoths pulled. We would spend the night here. We were at the base of the fire pits. The volcano mountains were a battle-scene of fire and ice, as the melted stone met the glacier and breathed mist and fog. Granite chunks from the spitting maw were building materials I cut to sell to the city dwellers. At least on any normal visit to this place. Tomorrow, instead, we would save the world. I collected the fresh snow into my water-skin. Newly fallen powder made the best potable drink.

The Princess Keilah came up to me."Quillan. Is that a black or brown bear? It's clearly not one of the great white polars."

I glanced out across the clean sheen of the snow. "No. It's a giant beaver. You can tell by the tail. They're the same size, roughly. Though some toothy beavers are bigger!" I replied.

But wait! I wore a twin brimmed deerstalker cap, ear flaps down to warm my long earlobes. I am no ascetic. My cap's name had become prophesy -- a small herd of tri-horned reindeer grazed on the tall grass that grew in the warmth of the lava stream. The large hart had a full thirty-nine points. I tossed the upper flap of my hare-fur lined cloak over my shoulder, and I pulled a bollo from my belt. It was made of three good stones and connecting twine to bind the prey. If I threw well, we would eat venison tonight. I released the twirling mass. And (YES!) we would eat well for dinner. We would cook it in a cast-iron oven-pot with hot lava ash under the bottom and loaded upon the lid. Camp chow loses its epicurean charm quickly.

"Dinner's ready," I said to the monks. They wore long black cassocks, and heavy leather boots. Unseen tonsures rested beneath their skullcaps. "I'll take the watch so you two can eat. Won't I need two weapons? One to warn you, and one to defend myself." I took their guns.

The High Priest Ulmer began to speak. "Come here - have we. Because the hot springs that supply our City has dried up. The fire Gods must be appeased, A sacrificed is demanded."

Keilah, our princess, stepped forward.

Ulmer spoke: "We thank our most gracious Highness for volunteering for this most holy task."

"Any sacrifice will be yours," she said."Our people appreciate it."

The Temple Grenadiers raised their muskets. The guns would not blast. The new snow is damp and black powder saturated with it will not fire. But crossbows and javelins do fly. Now the only guards were hers.

"Our men of science, alchemists and astrologers, have examined the aqueducts and found traces and evidence of the temple's black powder. It was not the fire Gods. It was your doing. And so you must be the sacrifice."

Keilah turned away, leaving the rest to Ulmer and her guards.

"Damn, I cut myself." Sweet, my blood is a bluish color and sweet. Some trainer I am. I cut myself. They look at me as if I'm some sort of clumsy old one. I watch as the skin seals itself against the cold. There are no visible signs of an opening. Good, the quick healing is a sign that I am healthy. "Let's move on with the task at hand. Where did you say this object was?"

"Beyond the exposed ridges, above the solidcold line," answers the young one who came to me with the find.

I look around at the young ones. They're all excited about this discovery. They have no cares, jackets flying open in complete disregard of the weather. Light hats on some. A few will get sick and learn. The world is a cold solid mass and we are the only intelligent beings here. We've been here forever or so our myths indicate. There were others, it was said, but they disappeared. What junk. I believe none of that. Show me!

Our bodies are made for this. Our blood doesn't solidcold like some animals we've captured from warmer regions. Warm is a euphemism. Up here we get little light and heat from the local star. The south gets more. Our heat and energy come from the underground furnaces that the planet provides all of us. The industry and technology is planet based and our lives are rather complete. Travel is created through thermal driven vehicles. The core almost liquid, is mined and the hot mass is used as a catalyst to turn all this solidcold into steam to drive our vehicles.

The animals we hunt in the south have a different mixture of bodily fluids and they solidcold at the slightest drop in temperature that we can run naked in. "We know they are an older species, evolving from a line that just barely survives and will eventually die out. Why we know that? Look, as I cut one open that we've brought along for food, a red fluid, good to eat, but not at all sweet. And, it solidcolds almost instantly. You see that boys and girls. If you see red, it's not our kind."

"Okay young one, where did you see this thing?"

"Just beyond that peak."

"You all stay here, but You, the finder, you come with me. This is your find." He's all puffed up and proud. Can't say I blame him, especially if he's correct. The pac and solidcold are thin in this area. I can see the rocks below the solidcold. We're a few feet above the ground. Most of the time the ground is miles below.

As the two of us round the peak I stop dead in my tracks. Hairless, solidcold and small. An arm reaches through the solidcold. Oh my, this is real. "Get the others, now!" I command.

He's off and running, jacket open flying in the breeze. Kids. I didn't have to tell him twice. And they're all here surrounding what will be a momentous find.

"Who has the digging tools?"

"You three, start 3 measures out and dig around this thing. Keep it encased. Then we'll decide what to do. Finder, you're in charge."

They are yelling and sweating as they dig. The others watch. They switch places after a while.

The time is now High Star, and the two moons are out. They are finished and we look. It's tiny by our standards, bipedal with material covering its body. "Can they really have lived here," someone asks?

"How old is it?" comes another inquiry followed by myriad others.

"It's female, look!" shouts one

I hold my hand up, which is at least 2 times as large as the beings face I'm standing over. "I really have no idea. This is new and will be news to all of us throughout the world." I think to myself, this changes many a thing, maybe. Looking at the material on the encased being I do notice a degree of sophistication in design pattern and material.

We have all examined this find. We have gone back with sophisticated mining tools to discover any other remains and artifacts. All the artifacts are useless, and so tiny too. A few pieces are large, bulky and unopenable. It takes 4 to carry the large one.

Our legends tell of beings that could fly and manipulate the cosmos. Then came a great catastrophe. The tools that this female had were well made, of metals we've never seen and their use can only be guessed at. We wonder about this.

"I think that they may have been another line of being that died out. Or from out there," pointing up. "This place is not for such a small being. Look, phase transition! WE DON'T," calming down, "go through that," I declared.

"Can anyone tell if it's glycol based?" I was asked.

"It's not, obviously. What a waste of time this is. Throw it into the core with the tools it had. They are of no use to us. This is a dead end and is no relation to anything were are, were or will be."

A vote was held. The Finder was give the status and honor of the find and was allowed to throw the being into the heat source. It was melting and stinky too. The tools and all the artifacts were next.

Sometime Later:

We are back to our lives. Most have forgotten the biped incident.

"What a noise?!"

"It's coming from the core," someone yells

A great blow up is occurring. In all our time here we've never had this.

Our factories are destroyed. Rock and ash are tumbling out of the sky. Homes are melting from the heat.

"This is impossible!" I shout refusing to believe this reality. "The artifacts, that bulky object, my god, that's what caused this!" I take what I know to be my last look at our twin moons. The planet is dying.

"Heresy! Char-Less. That's what they'll call it!"

"But you don't call it that, do you Pater? You've seen the trees buried in the ice. You've seen them!"

The old man looked away. Ashamed? "Yes, I have. But the ICE-Goddess is all I've ever known, son. Perhaps some will say that this is a trick of the Sun-Demon. He put those trees in place to test our faith. To make us doubt."

There was a sharp jolt as the huge, wind-driven ice skimmer hit a rough patch, though neither of the men seemed to notice. They'd been on this ship for over a year, exploring the equator. The sailors and the Captain of the vessel had never failed in their duty to take them where they needed to go. And now they were heading home. To The Dome.

"And if we find more? What then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Pater, the whole reason we are on this voyage is because over the last thousand cycles, the temperatures outside The Dome have been rising. The ICE-Goddess Herself instructed us to track temperatures, and to explore our world once it was safe. Once more ice has melted, we may uncover vast tracks of land where it is obvious that this world has not always been frozen, that it once supported life without the assistance of the ICE-Goddess."

"I am aware of the Heresy, young man. But I also know my Book. And in Genesis…"

"And lo, the World was Ice, and Ice was the World. And the ICE-Goddess spake into being, both man and woman. And She gave to them The Dome, so they may thrive. And in The Dome was warmth, and light and many trees, plants and fishes that they may eat." The naturalist would have continued with his quoting, but for the impatient scowl on the good Pater's face.

"The Book says quite clearly that this is not a so called, ‘Ice Age.' You know that, Char-less. Our world is Ice, has always been Ice, and we were made by the ICE-Goddess to populate it, when we have been deemed fit, and may leave The Dome."

"Pater, you have spoken to the ICE-Goddess, I have not. But I've read the manuals she prints for us to maintain The Dome. Surely you've heard her call herself the Integrated Computer Entity. The Book, for all its wisdom, was not written by Her. It was written by people like ourselves during the Dark Times, when Her Holy Interface was not functioning. It was the great Leonardi himself, who repaired it. She's been accessible to us for over five thousand cycles, and yet my understanding is that She, Herself, denies The Book, in its entirety."

"Her ways are not our ways, my child. We must have faith. And you would be well advised not to repeat idle gossip as to the nature of the pronouncements that the Church receives from the Holy Interface."

"Yes Pater."

There was an uncomfortable silence as the two men sipped hot tea. The wind howled outside and the sounds of sailors scurrying over the topdeck could be heard. The skimmer was the largest, most complex of its kind ever built. All by the direct instructions and plans printed off by the ICE-Goddess, Herself.

Finally, the younger man ventured the question that both men had been pondering since the first sign of trees beneath the ice was discovered.

"But Pater, what if we find evidence of prehistoric people living outside The Dome, once the ice recedes? How would such news be received? It may not be in our lifetimes, of course, but what if?"

"You come dangerously close to the Heretics' point of view, boy. You should be careful. Careers have been shattered, for less."

"Pater, the Heretics have been driven into hiding, but we both know they still exist. My fear is that they would seize upon our findings for their own purposes. Just because there were trees beneath the ice, doesn't mean that the ICE-Goddess is merely a sophisticated machine, built by our ancestors who came to this world from a mythical paradise, called Earth. But they could use our findings to cast doubt. And if we—Goddess forbid—were to find old human settlements beneath the ice, I don't know how we could counter their arguments."

"The ICE-Goddess will provide, my child. She always has. She gives us warmth through the geothermals, regulates our temperature, the rain that falls from Her spouts, and even allows us the gift of marriage in order that enough children of the right mix are born to us, each generation. She molds our lives and determines what work we do for the good of our society. All life within The Dome comes from The ICE-Goddess. This question will not be beyond her."

"But know that I share your fears, and I will discuss them with the Church Elders, when we return."

"Thank you, Pater. May I ask you a question about this ship?"

"I know almost nothing about its construction, Char-less. I only know that The ICE-Goddess commanded us, directly, to build it and to send this expedition to the equator. It was begun in my father's time."

"Of course, Pater. But did The ICE-Goddess also name this ship in her detailed instructions?"

"The ICE-Goddess names us all, son. You know that. Her ways are mysterious, indeed. I don't know why She named this good ship the HMS Beagle, nor you Char-less Dahrween, for that matter."

Our evolution on Hielo had been slow, generations slow – just as the snows and ice had slowly, inexorably covered our glistening planet in thicker and thicker layers of ice. For centuries we had worn the skins of animals to protect us but eventually there was no need.

The far distance of our sun, slipping from us infinitesimally year by year, century by century, allowed us to bleach purely white and when we shed the animal

fur we grew hair, also white, over every part of our bodies. We could live without extra protection, except on deep dark nights when we were forced to seek shelter in our ice homes.

Our white body covering allowed us to move almost invisibly among the snow banks where we captured the small hares and larger animals that we consumed. We had created underground gardens beneath large ice buildings and there we grew legumes and green vegetables that balanced our diet. Our lives were harsh, but they had become balanced, too. Comfortable. Familiar. Then came the Others.

The Others, beings rumored to be not white-furred, not like us – not perhaps of our species – aberrations, mutants. These Beings banded together on the furthermost edge of our civilization, in the range called Brown Earth. That was what they called their land and themselves they called Brown Earthers.

They believed the radical philosophy of a discredited scientist who claimed the planet's only hope against the doom of our withdrawing sun was to warm our planet, to begin to melt the ice. It was a heretical stance and one that had to be dealt with, eradicated, stamped out – the sooner the better.

As commander of the 35th Ice Brigade, I had been given the task of ridding our planet of the heretics who, it was said, had created huge heat turbines designed to thaw out the land. Insane though that was, they supposedly had a trickling of adherents in the Ice Cities who had fallen sway to the absurdity of that ridiculous point of view. As leader of the 35th IB, I intended to put an end to the rebellion and its pernicious philosophy, post haste.

Using heavily fortified Ice Strikers and fast, mobile Snow Skimmers we made our way to the brown land in less than ten days. As we neared the heretical zone, the ice beneath us thinned but not enough to slow our advance. But when the brown earth appeared, we slogged to a slow, stop.

I ordered the troops to continue on foot and within a day were in sight of the rebel stronghold. Sure enough, there was an array of huge turbines there, running it seemed – and of all things – on ice and snow. The turbines pumped out massive blasts of warm air that nearly suffocated my men. We dropped back to the ice edge to rethink the situation and prepare a new ploy.

The Quartermaster came up with an ingenious plan to keep our men cool and the engineers a way of getting the heavy armament to where it could take out the enemy turbines. Each man wore a specially designed suit fitted with ice so that body temperatures would remain cold enough for battle and ice rails were cut and positioned in order to move the Strikers within firing range. On the following day, upon reaching our goal, I used an Ice-o-phone to call on the rebels to quit their posts. They sent out an emissary.

"You have one hour to remove your people," I told the beastly looking thing – it had almost no hair on its body and a disgustingly splotchy skin that was more than off-white – "before we destroy your turbines."

"Commander," the thing answered back, surprising me with its ability to speak intelligently, "you people don't know what you're doing. Heating the planet back up is our only hope of survival. It's the only way for us to exist as a species in the future."

"Specious reasoning," I replied, marveling at the unkempt, rebel barbarian's inclusion of his "species" with mine, "we have evolved to meet all the challenges that our planet has given us."

"Not this time," he contradicted me. "There's no longer enough time. Our sun grows too distant. We must act quickly or die."

"On that we agree," I said.

"You don't understand," the rebel said.

"No," I countered, "it's you that doesn't understand. Now, will you go back and tell your ‘people' of my warning or will you let them die for nothing?"

"If you destroy the turbines, Commander," the rebel warned me, as if it had a valid point, "you'll kill us all. Your people and, as you say, mine."

"The choice is up to you."

"You can't do this. You're completely in the wrong."

"No more discussion. One last chance."

The rebel waved his arms towards the offending turbines and a throng of people poured out of the huge structures. I waited until it seemed that all of these awful looking things had cleared the area. Then I gave the order.

"You're setting us back decades," the rebel emissary cried out. "You may be dooming us all."

"Fire," I ordered, then again: "Fire."

The strikers let loose with a barrage of long range cannons and missiles. In moments, shattered piles of the turbines were strewn across the dirty brown earth. A mournful cry rose from the surviving rebel creatures. It had the high, lonesome sound of an animal trapped and dying alone in the wilderness. My men easily rounded them up with only a few casualties among the ranks of the beastly things.

Marching the rebels before us, I ordered the unit to return home. It was a long way to the capitol. The leaders would be glad to hear the rebellion had been defeated and the rebel beings would make for good conversation in town. Their now discredited, pathetic beliefs would provide a most entertaining subject for the well-to-do at their fancy cocktail parties, a most entertaining subject indeed.