stood Zernov's psychological manoeuvre: he wanted to calm me down and create a proper atmosphere for conversation, for I was obviously upset. At table, where we greedily devoured Tolya's lousy omelette, the head of the expedition related what had taken place immediately following the accident on the plateau. When the tractor had plunged into the crevice, breaking through a treacherous crust of frozen snow and had got caught a relatively short distance from the top and pressed between jags in the icy ravine, only the outside glass of the window was slightly damaged despite the force of the impact. The light did not even go out in the cabin. Only Dyachuk and I lost consciousness. Zernov and Chokheli held on with only a couple of scratches. They tried to bring Tolya and me around first. Dyachuk came to immediately. But his head was going round in circles and his feet felt like cotton. "A concussion of a sort," he said. "That'll pass. Let's see what's wrong with Anokhin." He was already getting into the role of doctor. They pulled him over to me and the three of them tried to bring me to. But neither ammonia salts nor artificial respiration helped. "He seems to be in shock, if you ask me," said Tolya. Vano, meanwhile, had made his way through the upper hatch and from the roof of the "Kharkovchanka" reported that it was possible to get out of the crevice. But Tolya was against trying to get me out. "The main thing now," he said, "is to protect him from the cold. I believe that shock passes into sleep and sleep will set up a protective inhibition." At this point Tolya almost went out again, and it was decided to start the evacuation with Tolya and leave me in the cabin for the time being. They took skis, sleighs, the tent, a portable stove and briquettes for heating, a lantern and part of the food supply. Though the machine was in a stable position and there was no more danger of it falling farther, they did not want to stay any longer hanging over the precipice. Zernov recalled the cave in the ice wall a short distance from the site of the accident. So they decided to transfer all the equipment there and Tolya too and then set up the tent and stove and return for me. In half an hour they had reached the cave. Zernov and Tolya, who had meanwhile regained some strength, remained to set up the tent, while Vano returned with empty sleigh to fetch me. It was then that the event took place which made them think that he had momentarily lost his mind. Hardly an hour had passed when he came running back with mad eyes, in a state of strange feverish excitement. The machine he said was not in the crevice but on an icefield, and what is more, there was another one just like it alongside, with the same dent in the front glass. And in each one of the two cabins he found me lying on the floor unconscious. At this point he cried out in terror, figuring that he must have gone mad, and ran back. there he drank down a whole glass of spirits and refused point blank to go after me, saying that he was used to dealing with human beings and not snow maidens. Then Zernov and Tolya set out for me. In response, I told them my version of the story, which was still more remarkable than Vano's ravings. They listened avidly, credulously, the way children listen to a fairy story, not a single sceptical snicker, only Dyachuk hurried me on now and then with "and then what". Their eyes shone so that I felt they both ought to repeat Vano's experiment with the glass of vodka. But when I finished they both were silent for a long time, hoping, I imagine, for an explanation from me. But I was silent too. "Don't be angry, Yuri," Dyachuk finally mumbled. "Scott's diary, or something like that. Well, what I mean is self-hypnosis. Snow hallucinations. White dreams." "And how about Vano?" Zernov asked. "Well, of course, as a doctor I-" "You're a hell of a doctor," put in Zernov, "so let's forget it. There are too many unknowns to try and solve the equation straight off. Let's begin from the beginning. Who pulled out the machine? From a three-metre-deep well, and wedged into a vice that no factory could have made. Yes, and weighing thirty-five tons. Even a whole tractor train would probably not be strong enough. And what did they use to pull it out? Cables? Nonsense. Steel cables would definitely leave traces on the body of the machine. But there aren't any, as you can see." He got up without saying a word and went into the navigator's room. "But that's sheer nonsense, madness, Boris Arkadievich!" Tolya yelled after him. Zernov turned round. "What do you mean?" "Why all these adventures of Anokhin, the new Munchausen, all these duplicates, clouds, vampire flowers and mysterious vanishing." "Anokhin, didn't you have a camera in your hand when we came up?" Zernov asked. "You must have been taking some pictures." "Yes, I photographed everything I could, the clouds, the double machine and my counterpart. I shot for about ten minutes." Tolya blinked his eyes, but was still ready to argue, not at all about to give in. "It's still a question what we'll see when he develops it." "You'll see in just a minute," came Zernov's voice from his quarters. "Look out the window." Coming towards us at half a kilometre altitude was a tightly wound up crimson pancake. The sky was already covered over with white fleecy wisps of cloud, and on their background it appeared to be less of a cloud. As before, it resembled a coloured sail or an enormous kite. Dyachuk cried out and ran to the doorway, we followed. The "cloud" passed over us without changing course, heading for the north to the turning of the ice wall. "Towards our tent," Tolya murmured and stepped towards me. "I'm sorry, Yuri," he said and extended his hand, "I'm the poor fool this time." I was in no mood to celebrate my victory. "That's not even a cloud," he continued thoughtfully, summarizing certain ideas that had been worrying him. "What I mean is the ordinary kind of condensation of water vapour. These are not droplets and they're not crystal either. At first glance, at any rate. And why does it hug so close to the ground, and that strange colour? A gas, it can hardly be a gas. It's not dust either. If we had an aircraft I'd take a sample." "They'd be eager to let you have some," I remarked recalling the invisible barrier and my attempts to get through it with my camera. "It presses down to the ground mighty hard, I thought the soles of my shoes were magnetic." "Do you think it's something living?" "Might be." "A creature of some kind?" "That's hard to say, it might even be a substance." I recalled my conversation with my double and added: "Probably controllable." "How?" "You ought to know, you're a meteorologist," "But are you sure it has some connection with meteorology?" I said nothing. And when we returned to the cabin, Tolya suddenly expressed a really crazy idea. "Suppose those are some kind of inhabitants of the ice continent unknown to science?" "Brilliant," I said. "In the spirit of Conan Doyle. Courageous explorers discover lost world on Antarctic plateau. And you're Lord Roxton?" "There's nothing funny in that. What's your hypothesis if you've got one?" Stung, I said the first thing that came to mind. "Cybernetic robots most likely." "Where from?" "Oh, from Europe or from the United States. Just tests that's all." "But for what purpose?" "Oh, say, for excavation purposes and the hoisting of big loads. The 'Kharkovchanka' machine was an ideal item for experimentation. That's why they hauled it up." "But what sense is there in duplicating it?" "It might be that these are some kind of ingenious devices for reproduction of atomic structures, whether protein or crystalline." "Yes, but the purpose. What's the idea? I don't get it." "According to the findings of Bodwin, an underdeveloped cerebellum reduces one's ability to comprehend by 14 to 23 per cent. Give that some thought and I'll be waiting. There's another element of the hypothesis and a significant one." Tolya was so eager to figure this out that he swallowed Bodwin and the percentage without a word. "I give up," he said. "What element?" "The counterparts or doubles," I pointed out. "You were on the right track when you spoke of self-hypnosis. But only on the track. The truth lies in a different direction and on another route. It's not self-hypnosis, but intervention in the processing of information. Actually, there were no duplicates at all, no second vehicle, no second Anokhin, no duplicate clothing and things, like say my jacket or camera. The 'cloud' reorganized my psychic state and created a dichotomous perception of the world. And as a result, a splitting of the personality, a twilight state of the soul." "Still and all, your hypothesis lacks the most important thing: it does not account for the physico-chemical nature of these devices, nor does it explain the technical workings or the purpose in making them and using them." To call my ravings a hypothesis was of course sheer nonsense, to say the least. I concocted it on the spur of the moment and persisted in developing it only out of stubbornness. It was perfectly clear to me myself that it accounted for nothing, and, what is most important, it did not answer the question of why it was necessary to eliminate the doubles that had existed only in my imagination or why I was not allowed to approach the mysterious laboratory. Of course everything depended on the developed film. If the cine eye caught what I saw, then my hypothesis was hardly more than a Joke. "Boris Arkadievich, we need help," Tolya implored. "In what?" Zernov said. He obviously hadn't been listening. "Anokhin has a fine imagination, it's a wonderful quality for painters and scientists." "He's got a hypothesis." "Every hypothesis requires verification." "But every hypothesis has a limiting probability." "The limit of Anokhin's," Zernov agreed, "is in the state of the ice of this region. It cannot explain why and for whom all these tens and perhaps hundreds of cubic kilometres of ice are." We didn't grasp the meaning and so Zernov patiently and condescendingly explained. "Before the accident I called your attention to the flawless profile of the wall of ice that starts god knows where and stretches for I don't know how long. To me it seemed to be an artificial cut. And under foot the cut was just as artificial. Even at that time I noticed how insignificant the density and thickness of the snow cover was. I can't help but feel that a few kilometres from here we might find a similar wall parallel to this one. It's sheer conjecture of course. But if it's right, then what kind of force could have extracted and transported such a layer of ice? A cloud? Perhaps. After all, we do not know its capabilities. But of European or American origin?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Then you tell me, Anokhin, what were these millions of tons of ice for and where have they disappeared to?" "But was this an excavation, Boris Arkadievich? You say there are two borders to an extracted layer. Why?" I exclaimed, "Where are the transverse cuts? Besides it is more natural to perform the excavation in the form of a crater." "That is, if you are not concerned about movements over the continent. Apparently, they did not want to interfere in such movements. Why? The time has not yet come for conclusions, but I think that they are not hostile; on the contrary, they appear to be friendly. Then look at it this way: for whom is it more natural to excavate ice precisely in that fashion and not otherwise? For us? We would have put up a fence around the site, nailed up directions and instructions, announced the business over the radio. But suppose they couldn't or didn't want to?" "Who are these 'they'?" "I am not making any hypotheses," Zernov answered dryly. Chapter V. SLEEP WITHOUT DREAMS I took along my cine camera on our journey to the tent but no "cloud" put in an appearance. At our little council we decided to move to the cabin of the tractor, make the necessary repairs and then move on. We received permission to continue the search for the rose clouds. Just before our discussion, I connected Zernov with Mirny. He reported the accident briefly, mentioned the "clouds" we had seen and also the first movies I had taken of them. He did not say anything- about duplicates and the other mysteries. "Too early," he said to me. They selected a nice site at a distance of a quarter of an hour on skis with a wind at our back. The tent was up in the cave, which was protected from the wind from three sides. However, the cave itself produced a strange impression: a cube of ice had been carefully cut out and had left perfectly smooth walls, as if they had been planed by hand. No icicles, no accretions of ice. Zernov, without saying a word, punched the tip of his ski stick into a geometrically regular cut of ice, as if to say that nature had nothing to do with that. We didn't find Vano in the tent, but everything was in disorder-an upturned stove and the box with briquettes, skis thrown about, and the leather coat of the driver at the entrance way. This was surprising and suggested danger. Without taking off our skis we went in search of Chokheli and found him right near the ice wall. He was lying in the snow with only a sweater on. His unshaven face and black cap of hair were covered with a thin fluffy layer of snow. In one hand, thrown to the side, he clenched a knife with traces of caked frozen blood. On the snow near his shoulder was a spread-out rose-coloured spot. The snow about had been stamped on, and as far as we could make out, the tracks were those of Vano, for he wore enormous-size boots. He was alive. When we raised him, he moaned but did not open his eyes. Being- the strongest, I lifted him onto my back. Tolya supported him from behind. In the tent we carefully removed the sweater and found the wound to be quite superficial. There was little loss of blood and the blood on the knife was most likely that of his opponent. We were not so much afraid of the loss of blood as of overcooling. We did not know how long he had lain on the ice. But luckily it wasn't very cold and he was tough. We rubbed the boy with alcohol and, pulling open his clenched teeth, we poured some inside. Vano coughed, opened his eyes and muttered something-in his native Georgian. "Don't move," we cried, bundling him up in the sleeping bag like a mummy. "Where is he?" Vano asked suddenly, coming to. This time he spoke Russian. "Who? Who are you talking about?" He did not respond, his strength was giving out and he began to rave. It was impossible to make anything out of the gibberish of mixed Russian and Georgian words. "The snow maiden," was what I heard, at least that is what I thought I heard. "He's delirious," Dyachuk said grieved. Only Zernov was calm. "That guy's cast iron," it was said of Vano, but it could have been said of Zernov himself. We decided to wait till evening before starting on our journey, all the more so since both day and evening were just as light. And Vano needed some sleep too: the alcohol was beginning to take action. A strange torpitude took hold of us as well. Tolya grunted, climbed into his sleeping bag and was soon asleep. Zernov and I tried our best to stay awake, smoke a cigarette, but finally gave up. We spread out our sponge mat and slithered into our sleeping bags. "We'll take an hour off and then start on the trip." "Okay, boss, one hour of sleep." There was silence. For some reason, neither he nor I expressed any ideas about what had happened to Vano. As if in conspiracy we refrained from any commentary, though I am sure we were both thinking about the same thing. Who was Vano's enemy and where did he come from in this polar desert? Why was Vano undressed and outside the cave, he had not even had time to put on his leather coat. This means the fight began in the tent. What came before that? And why the blood-covered knife in Vano's hand? This was surprising especially since Chokheli never used weapons, despite his excitable nature, unless truly forced to it. What made him do it-did he try to defend someone or was it simply a marauding attack? But that is certainly funny, robbers beyond the Antarctic circle where friendship is the law of every encounter. But perhaps he was a criminal escaping justice. Again obvious nonsense. No government would exile anyone to the Antarctic and to try to escape to this icy continent by one's self would be practically impossible. But it might be that Vano's opponent was a shipwrecked sailor who had gone mad from unbearable aloneness. But we had not heard of any shipwrecks near the Antarctic coasts. And of course how could he have found his way so far into the interior of the icy continent? Zernov was most probably asking himself those very same questions. But he kept silent and so did I. It was not cold in the tent, for the stove was still giving off some warmth, and it was not dark. The light coming through the mica windows did not really illuminate the objects within, but it was enough to distinguish them in the dim twilight. However, gradually or at once-I did not notice how or when-the twilight did not exactly get denser or darker but somehow turned violetish, as if someone had dissolved a few grains of manganate. I wanted to get up, and push Zernov and call him, but I couldn't-something was pressing on my throat, something pressed me to the ground, just as had happened in the "Kharkovchanka" when I regained consciousness. But at that time it seemed to me that somebody was looking through me, filling me full and merging with every cell of my body. Now, if to use the same picturesque code, somebody had looked into my brain and then let go, enveloping me in a violet cocoon. I could look but I didn't see anything. I could think about what was occurring but I could not understand it at all. I could breathe and move but only within my cocoon. The slightest penetration into the violet gloom called forth a response like that of an electric shock. I do not know how long that continued, for I didn't look at my watch. But the cocoon suddenly opened up and I saw the walls of the tent and my comrades asleep in the same dim, but no longer violet, twilight. Something hit me and I climbed out of the sleeping bag, picked up my camera and rushed out. Snow was coming down, the sky was covered over with turbulent cumulus clouds. Only somewhere in the zenith did the familiar rose-coloured spot fleet by. It flashed across and vanished. But perhaps that was all a dream. When I returned, Tolya, yawning broadly, was seated on the sleigh and Zernov was slowly climbing out of his sleeping bag. He glanced at me, at my cine camera and, as is usual with him, said nothing. Dyachuk said through his yawn: "What an awful dream I had, comrades! As if I was asleep, and not asleep. I wanted to sleep, yet I couldn't fall asleep for anything. I was just lying there in forgetfulness and couldn't see anything, no tent, nobody. Then something sticky, dense and thick like jelly plumped onto me. It wasn't warm, it wasn't cold, I just couldn't feel. It filled me up right to the ears, complete, as if I were dissolved, like in a state of weightlessness, you float or hang in space. And I didn't see myself or feel anything. I was there and yet I wasn't at all. Boy, that's funny, isn't it?" "Curious it certainly is," said Zernov and turned away. "Didn't you see anything?" I asked. "And you?" "Not now, but in the cabin, just before I woke up I felt exactly the way Dyachuk did. Weightlessness, no sensations, no dream, no reality." "Mysteries, all of them," Zernov muttered. "Whom have you found, Anokhin?" I turned round. Throwing back the canvas door of the tent, obviously right behind me, came a robust man in a cap with high standing artificial fur and in a nylon fur jacket with a zipper. He was tall, broad in the shoulders and unshaven and appeared to be terribly frightened. What could have frightened this athlete is hard to imagine. "Anyone speak English here?" he asked, chewing and stretching the words as he spoke. "Not one of my teachers ever had a pronunciation like that. A southerner, probably from Alabama or Tennessee," I thought. Zernov spoke the best English among us and so he answered: "Who are you and what do you want?" "Donald Martin!" he yelled. "Flier from MacMurdo. Got anything to drink? As strong as you've got." He drew the edge of his palm across his throat. "Very necessary." "Give him some spirits, Anokhin," said Zernov. I poured out a glass and gave it to him. Though very unshaven, he couldn't have been older than me. He took the whole almost at a single swallow, coughed, his throat constricted and his eyes filled with blood. "Thank you, sir," he said finally when he could catch his breath. Then he started to tremble. "I had to make a forced landing, sir." "Skip the 'sir'," said Zernov, "I'm not your superior. My name is Zernov. Zernov," he repeated each syllable. "Where did you land?" "Not far from here. Almost alongside." "Without mishap?" "No fuel, and the radio's on the bum." "Then you can stay here. And you can help us move over to the tractor." Zernov stopped, trying to get the proper English pronunciation, and, seeing that the American wasn't sure, he added: "Oh, there's place enough and we have a radio set." The American continued to hesitate, as if not decided yet that he would speak, then he pulled himself up and in military fashion said: "Please arrest me, sir. I have committed a crime." Zernov and I exchanged glances. Perhaps the thought of Vano occurred to us at the same time. "What kind of a crime?" Zernov asked guardedly. "I think that I have killed a man." Chapter VI. THE SECOND FLOWER Zernov walked over to Vano who was all covered up. He threw back the fur from his face and sharply asked the American: "Is this the man?" Martin cautiously and, what appeared to me to be in a frightened manner, approached and said rather unconvincingly: "Nnnoo." "Take a better look," said Zernov still more sharply. The flier shook his head uncomprehendingly. "Not at all like him, sir. Mine is in the plane, and what is more," he added with care, "I still don't know whether he's a human being or not." At that moment Vano opened his eyes. He glanced at the American who stood near him, his head rose above the pillow and then he fell back again. "That's ... not me," he said and closed his eyes. "He's still delirious," Tolya signed. "Our comrade is wounded. Somebody attacked him. We do not know who it was," Zernov explained to the American. "And so when you said ..." he delicately dropped the subject. Martin pulled over Tolya's sleigh and sat down, covering his face with his hands and teetered back and forth as if in unbearable pain. "I don't know whether you'll believe me or not, it's all so unusual and unlike the truth," he started to relate. "I was flying a oneseater, a little Lockheed, a former fighter plane, you know the kind. It even has a double machine-gun for circular fire. One doesn't need it here, naturally, but the rules state that you have to keep the gun in order, just in case. And there was a case only it didn't work out. Have you people ever heard of rose clouds?" he asked suddenly, and without waiting for an answer he continued, a cramp deforming his mouth for a moment. "I caught up with them about an hour and a half after take-off." "Them?" I asked incredulously. "There were several?" "A whole squadron. They were flying low, about two miles below me, large rose jellyfish. Maybe a dark red, crimson, say. I counted seven of different shapes and hues from the pale rose of not-yet-ripe raspberry to a flaming garnet. Now the colour was changing all the time, getting darker or thinning out as if diluted with water. I cut speed and plunged, calculating on getting a sample. I have a special container under the undercarriage. But it didn't work, the medusas escaped. I caught up with them but they escaped again, without any effort, as if they were playing hide and seek. And when I increased my speed they rose and scudded away above me. Light large and flat, like a kid's balloon. But are they fast, why they'd outstrip a four-engine Boeing. They led me on as if they were living beings. Only a living being can act that way when it feels danger. And so I thought, if that's the case, they themselves may become dangerous. I figured I ought to get away. But they appeared to guess my manoeuvre. Three crimson jellyfish rushed out at a terrific speed and swinging round without cutting speed they plunged for me. I didn't even have time to yell, the plane was enveloped in a fog, not even a fog, something slime like, thick and slippery. That's when I lost control completely-speed, control and visibility. I couldn't even move my foot or hand. I figured that's the end. The plane wasn't falling, it was sliding downwards like a glider. Then it landed and I didn't even notice how it landed. The sensation was like sinking into a reddish slime, choked but not dead. I looked around; snow everywhere and a plane next to mine, a copy of my little Lockheed. I got out and went up to it, and coming out of the cabin was another great big guy like me. I don't know, he looked familiar. Couldn't figure it out. So I asked him: "Who are you?" "Donald Martin," he says. Looking at him was like looking in a mirror. "And you?" "No, I said, I'm Donald Martin." He struck out at me, I ducked and sent a left to the jaw. He fell and hit his head against the door, an awful bang! There he was lying still. I gave him a kick, but he didn't move. Then I shook him. His head just dangled. I dragged him over to my plane and thought I'd get him to the base for help, but when I checked the gas, there wasn't a drop. So I went to radio the news but the set wouldn't work. I must have gone out of my head then, because I just jumped out and ran for all I was worth, no direction, no aim, I just ran, because I couldn't stand the crazy house any longer. I even forgot how to pray, all I could say was Jesus Christ. Then I saw your tent and here I am." Listening to him I recalled my own trials and tribulations and now began to realize what had happened to Vano. What Tolya was thinking, with his eyes bulging out, was hard to say; he was probably doubting and double checking every word Martin uttered. He was about to start with questions in his school English, but Zernov got in ahead of him: "You remain here with Vano, Dyachuk, and Anokhin and I'll go with the American. Let's go, Martin," he added in English. Instinct or premonition-I don't know what psychologists would call it-told me to take my cine camera, and I was thankful for that subconscious idea. Even Tolya looked surprised-the body for the inspector or the behaviour of the murderer at the sight of the body? The pictures I took were different, however, and I began to shoot as we approached the site of Martin's accident. There were no longer two planes, but one-Martin's own silver canary, his polar veteran with swept wings. But right next to it the familiar (to me) bubbling crimson hillock. It smoked, changed shades of colour and pulsated in a strange manner, as if it were indeed breathing. White elongated flashes broke out from time to time like sparks in welding. "Don't go near," I warned Martin and Zernov as they ran past me. But the upturned flower had already extended its invisible shield. Martin who was in the lead strangely slowed down, and Zernov simply went down on his knees. But both of them pushed forward overcoming the force that pulled them groundwards. "Jesus!" yelled Martin turning to me, and he fell to the ground. Zernov retreated, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Meanwhile I was shooting all of this; I moved round the crimson hillock and bumped into the murdered man, or perhaps Martin's double who was only wounded. He was lying in the same nylon jacket with synthetic fur covered over with a fluff of snow some three to four metres from the airplane where Martin had dragged him. "Come on over here, here he is!" I cried. Zernov and Martin ran over towards me, rather they seemed to skate over to me, balancing with their hands, as one does when walking on ice without skates. Here too, the big flakes of snow had powdered the smooth thickness of ice. Then something utterly new happened that neither I nor my camera had ever recorded. A crimson petal separated itself from the vibrating flower, darkened, curled up in the air and stretching out into a living four-metre-long snake with open jaws covered the body lying before us. For a moment or two this snake-like tentacle sparkled and boiled and then tore off the ground and in its enormous two-metre maw we saw nothing-only a violet emptiness of an unnaturally stretched-out bell that before our very eyes changed shape from cone to rippling petal. Then it merged with the cupola. The only thing left on the snow was a trace-a formless silhouette of the man that had just lain here. I continued filming all this in a hurry to catch the latest transformations. It had begun. The whole flower had now detached itself from the ground, and as it rose the rim curved upwards. The bell, spread out in the air, was likewise empty: we could clearly see that there was nothing whatsoever inside, we saw the rose coloured interior and the delicate expanding edges. It would now turn into a rose "cloud" and vanish beyond the other real clouds. And on the ground there would be only one airplane and one pilot. That is exactly what took place. Zernov and Martin stood silent, stunned, just like I was the first time that morning. I think Zernov had already come close to deciphering the puzzle which to me was still only a faint glimmer of a possibility. It did not shine, it only suggested the outlines of a fantastic but still logically admissible picture. Martin was simply crushed not so much by the horror of what had occurred but by the single thought that this was only the fruit of a disturbed imagination. He obviously wanted to ask about something, his terrified look restlessly flitted from me to Zernov until, finally, Zernov smiled as if to say, go ahead. And Martin put the question. "Who was it I killed?" "We can take it that it wasn't anybody," Zernov smiled again. "But that was a real live man," Martin repeated. "Are you sure?" Zernov asked. Martin was confused. "I don't know." "That's just it. I would say temporarily alive. The same force created it and wiped it out." "But why?" I asked cautiously. He answered with exasperation-not like him at all. "You think I know more than you do? Let's develop the film and see." "And you think we'll understand then?" I no longer tried to hide the irony. "It might be," he said deep in thought. Then he went out ahead without even inviting us to come along. We exchanged glances and followed together. "What's your name?" Martin asked familiarly taking me by the arm. He must have seen we were of the same age. "Yuri." "Yuri, Yuri. Mine's Don. Do you think that thing was alive?" "Yes, I have an inkling it was." "Something local?" "Don't think so. No expedition has ever encountered anything like it." "Then where did it come from?" "You'll have to ask somebody smarter than me, I don't know." He was already getting under my skin. But he didn't seem offended. "What do you think it is, jelly or gas?" "You tried to take a sample, you should know." He laughed. "I wouldn't advise anyone to try. I wonder why it didn't just gobble me up there in the air? It swallowed me and then spit me out." "I suppose it didn't find you very tasty." "Did he swallow him up?" "I don't know." "But you saw what happened." "I saw it cover him up, but I didn't see it swallow him. Rather it dissolved or evaporated the thing." "What kind of temperature is needed?" "Did you try to measure it?" Martin even stopped, struck by the enigma. "To melt a plane like that? In three minutes? Ultradurable duraluminum, by the way." "Are you sure it was duraluminum and not a hole of a doughnut?" He didn't understand and I didn't try to explain; from there on we didn't exchange a word till we got to the tent. Here too things were happening. I was struck by the strange pose Tolya had taken, doubled up on the box of briquettes and clicking his teeth from horror or from the cold. The stove had already cooled off, but it didn't seem to be very cold in the tent. "What's the trouble, Dyachuk?" Zernov asked. "Heat up the stove if you're cold." Tolya did not answer; like one hypnotized, he Sat down near the stove. "Going nuts a little bit," said Vano from under his fur protection. He seemed to be gay enough. "We had some visitors too," he added and nodded in the direction of Tolya. "There wasn't anyone here. Speak for yourself!" he shrieked and turned to us. His face was twisted, distorted, almost about to cry. Vano put his finger to his head as if to say we're all crazy. "We're a bit upset. Okay, tell your own story," he said to Tolya and turned away. "I myself was damn upset, Yuri, when I saw two copies of you. I couldn't stand it and ran like hell. Jesus it was awful, terrifying. I took a gulp of spirits and covered up with the coat. Wanted to go to sleep, but I couldn't. I don't know, I was asleep, maybe I wasn't, but I had an awful dream. A long one, mixed up, terrible and funny. It seems I was eating a jelly, dark, not red, but violet. An awful lot of it, so much in fact that it filled me right up to the ears. I don't remember how long that lasted. But as soon as I opened my eyes, I saw that everything was empty, cold, and you weren't here. Then suddenly he entered. My own self, like in a mirror, only without jacket and in socks." Martin listened attentively. Though he did not understand the conversation in Russian, he guessed that the talk was about something that definitely interested him as well. I took pity on him and translated the gist. He was at me all the while Vano related his story, asking for a faster translation. But I couldn't go that fast and only later did I relate the whole of Vano's story. Unlike us, Vano immediately detected a difference between himself and the guest. The drunken state had long since passed, and fear as well, only his head continued to throb; the man who entered looked at him with bull-like eyes, dull dazed eyes. "Quit this nonsense," he yelled in Georgian, "I'm not afraid of snow maidens, I make mince meat out of them!" The funniest thing was that Vano himself had thought about that in the same terms when Zernov and Tolya had left. If someone were about, he would definitely have got into a fight. That one started to, but Vano, sober now, grabbed his jacket and ran out of the tent, realizing at once that it was better to stay as far away as possible from such visitors. But Vano did not stop to think that his very appearance contradicted all the familiar laws of nature. What he needed was an open space to manoeuvre in the impending battle. His double had already whipped out the famous hunting knife Vano always carried with him to the envy of all drivers in Mirny. The original knife was in Vano's pocket, but he did not give any thought to that bit of strangeness either, he simply whipped it out when the drunken phantom struck the first blow. Vano barely escaped a wound-the knife went through the jacket. Vano threw it at his pursuer and got as far as the wall, where it turned to the north. The second blow reached him, but luckily it was a glancing stroke that his sweater softened. The third one Vano was able to repulse by knocking the man down. What followed he did not remember. A bloody blackness fell over him and some kind of force, like a shock wave, threw him to the side. When he woke up he was in the tent on a cot bed wrapped up in furs and absolutely sound in body. But the miracles continued. This time it was Dyachuk who had a duplicate. Vano did not succeed in finishing the sentence -Tolya threw the briquette (he was stoking the stove) and jumped up with a hysterical cry: "Stop this craziness! Do you hear?" "You're nuts," Vano said. "Well, damn it, I'm not alone in this. You're crazy too. You're all mad. There wasn't anybody here except me. And nobody was split up either. You people are out of your minds!" "That's enough, Dyachuk," Zernov cut him short. "Behave yourself. You are a scientist and not a circus performer. If you can't control your nerves, you shouldn't have come here in the first place." "So I'll leave," Tolya growled, in a much lower tone this time: Zernov's words had sobered him up a bit. "I'm not Scott or Amundsen. I've had enough of these white dreams, and I'm not heading for any nut house either." "What's the trouble with him?" Martin whispered. I explained: "If it weren't for the fuel, I'd quit too," he said. "Too many miracles happening around here." Chapter VII. THE ICE SYMPHONY We never found out what happened to Tolya, but it was most likely comical. Vano brushed the matter aside with: "If he doesn't want to speak, leave him alone. Both of us were frightened out of our wits. I don't go in for gossip." He did not make fun of Tolya, though the latter was ready for a quarrel any time. Martin and I, under Vano's supervision, replaced the dented plastic of the window. He couldn't do it himself because of the wound on his hand. It was also decided that Martin and I would take turns helping out with the driving. Now nothing else kept us there. Zernov considered the expedition at an end and was in a hurry to get back to Mirny. I had a feeling he wanted to get away from his double, he was the only one who hadn't ' experienced this unpleasant duplication. In direct : violation of the cast iron regime of work and rest that he himself had set up, Zernov did not sleep all night after we had switched over to the cabin of the tractor. I woke up a few times in the night and saw his night-light on: he was obviously reading and trembled at every suspicious noise. We didn't speak any more about doubles, but in the morning after breakfast, when we finally got under way, his face seemed to brighten up. Martin was driving, Vano sat next to him on the drop-down seat and gave instructions in sign language. I knocked out a radiogram to Mirny and exchanged jokes with Kolya Samoilov who was on duty at the radio station, and I took down the weather report. It was just right for our return: clear, slight wind, a tiny frost of only two or three degrees below zero Celsius. But the silence in the cabin hung heavy, like the aftermath of a quarrel, so I began: "I have a question, Boris Arkadievich; Why don't we radio a few details." "What would you like t