She staggered in a blinding blaze of pain and then hurried on, holding tight to Billy’s hand, the wind cutting like knives of ice through her thin clothes and blood running in a trickle down her cheek.
“He hit you,” Billy said. “He hurt you.” Then he called the Gern a name that five-year-old boys were not supposed to know, with a savagery that five-year-old boys were not supposed to possess.
When she stopped at the outer fringe of Rejects she saw that all of them were out of the cruiser and the guards were going back into it. A half mile down the valley the other cruiser stood, the Rejects out from it and its boarding ramps already withdrawn. When she had buttoned Billy’s blouse tighter and wiped the blood from her face the first blast of the drives came from the farther cruiser. The nearer one blasted a moment later and they lifted together, their roaring filling the valley. They climbed faster and faster, dwindling as they went. Then they disappeared in the black sky, their roaring faded away, and there was left only the moaning of the wind around her and somewhere a child crying. And somewhere a voice asking, “Where are we? In the name of God—what have they done to us?”
She looked at the snow streaming from the ragged hills, felt the hard pull of the gravity, and knew where they were. They were on Ragnarok, the hell-world of 1.5 gravity and fierce beasts and raging fevers where men could not survive. The name came from an old Teutonic myth and meant:
And Dale was gone and she and Billy would die helpless and alone …
“It will be dark—so soon.” Billy’s voice shook with the cold. “If Daddy can’t find us in the dark, what will we do?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “There’s no one to help us and how can I know—what we should do—”
She was from the city. How could she know what to do on an alien, hostile world where armed explorers had died? She had tried to be brave before the Gerns but now—now night was at hand and out of it would come terror and death for herself and Billy. They would never see Dale again, never see Athena or Earth or even the dawn on the world that had killed them
…
She tried not to cry, and failed. Billy’s cold little hand touched her own, trying to reassure her.
“Don’t cry, Mama. I guess—I guess everybody else is scared, too.”
She was not alone. How could she have thought she was alone? All around her were others, as helpless and uncertain as she. Her story was only one out of four thousand.
“I guess they are, Billy,” she said. “I never thought of that, before.”
She knelt to put her arms around him, thinking: Tears and fear are futile weapons; they can never bring us any tomorrows. We’ll have to fight whatever comes to kill us no matter how scared we are. For ourselves and for our children. Above all else, for our children …
“I’m going back to find our clothes,” she said. “You wait here for me, in the shelter of that rock, and I won’t be gone long.”
Then she told him what he would be too young to really understand.
“I’m not going to cry any more and I know, now, what I must do. I’m going to make sure that there is a tomorrow for you, always, to the last breath of my life.”
*
*
*
The bright blue star dimmed and the others faded away. Dawn touched the sky, bringing with it a coldness that frosted the steel of the rifle in John Prentiss’s hands and formed beads of ice on his gray mustache. There was a stirring in the area behind him as the weary Rejects prepared to face the new day and the sound of a child whimpering from the cold. There had been no time the evening before to gather wood for fires—
“Prowlers!”
The warning cry came from an outer guard and black shadows were suddenly sweeping out of the dark
