Between the Strokes of Night

Elissa followed the other’s gesture, and found that the floor beneath their feet was transparent. She was looking directly down toward Earth, following the line of a giant silvery cylinder. As she watched, the doors of the chamber closed and they began a smooth, accelerated descent, their car riding an invisible path along the side of the cylinder.

“Peron.” Elissa leaned close to him so that he could hear her above the clamor. “What’s going on here? Look at them. They’re like the mob at the end of Planetfest. And where are we going?”

Peron shook his head. “It’s our own fault. I realized it as soon as we came out of the tanks there — we should have known we’re no different from anyone else. Don’t you see? Everybody from the planetary colonies and arcologies has been told about Earth since they were small children. They all want to visit. No wonder de Vries was amazed when you asked if he was coming with us — I bet people who live in the Sol system get tired of explaining things to the simpleminded visitors. Better face it, love, we’re just part of the tourist crowd.” Elissa looked around her at the restless, exuberant travellers. “You’re right — but they’re all having fun. You know what? I feel wonderful. I’m going to postpone solving the mysteries of the universe until we get back into orbit.” She grabbed Peron’s arm and pulled him closer. “Come on, misery. Let’s get into the spirit of it. Remember, a week down on Earth will only be five minutes in S-space — they won’t even notice that we’ve gone.”

They bent forward to look down through the floor. Although the cylinder was rushing past them as one continuous blur of motion, Earth was not perceptibly closer. It hung beneath them, a glittering white ball blocking out over fifteen degrees of the sky.

“I wonder how long the journey will be,” Elissa said. She reached out to the miniature information outlet built into the arm of her seat, and switched it on. “Speed, please, and arrival time.”

“Present speed, forty-four hundred kilometers an hour,” said a cheerful voice. The vocal reply system had been chosen with as pleasant and soothing a tone as possible. “Arrival will be three hours and forty-one minutes from now. We are still in the acceleration phase. We have thirty-three thousand four hundred kilometers to go to touchdown.”

“Where will we land?”

“Half a degree south of the equator, on one of the major continents.” Peron was still staring down at the globe beneath them. “This doesn’t look the way I expected — it’s too bright. Why so much cloud cover?”

There was a silence for a split second, as the on-board computer called back up to the synchronous station above them for assistance with the answer. “There is less cloud cover than usual today. You are probably mistaking snow cover for cloud cover.”

“But that would mean there’s snow over two-thirds of the surface!” “Correct.” Again the machine hesitated. “That is not unusual.”

“Earth was not snow-covered in the old days — is this a consequence of the old war?”

“Not at all. It is a result of reduced solar activity.” The information system hesitated for a moment, then went on: “The amount of received radiation from the Sun has declined by a small fraction of a percent over the past fifteen thousand years. The increased glaciation is apparent even from this distance. It is predicted that this Ice Age will persist for at least ten thousand more years, to be followed by an unusually warm period. Within fifteen thousand years there will be partial melting of the polar ice caps, and submergence of most coastal lands.”

Elissa reached out and switched off the set. She looked at Peron. “You don’t mind, do you? I had the feeling it was just getting into its stride. I hate being burbled at — whoever programmed that sequence needs brevity lessons from Kallen.”

Peron nodded his agreement. The view below was enough for their full attention. From the poles almost to the tropics, blue-white shining glaciers coated the land areas. The old outline of the larger land masses was unchanged. Soon Peron could see where the Skyhook was tethered. It met the surface on the west coast of the continent that had been known as Africa. They were descending rapidly toward that touchdown point, a couple of hundred kilometers from the place where the region’s mightiest river flowed to the Atlantic Ocean.

“We ought to decide what we really want to see,” said Elissa. “If we have a choice, I don’t care to travel around in the middle of a mob of sightseers.” “So let’s find out what the options are. Can you stand to have the information service on again for a couple of minutes?”

He touched the switch and spoke into the tiny microphone. “Will we be free to move as we choose when we reach the surface?”

“Of course.” The cheerful but impersonal voice answered at once. “There will be air and ground vehicles at your disposal, and personal information systems to go with you and answer any questions. Your account will automatically be charged for services.”