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knew well. The landscape was muted by gentle deep waves of brilliant white. The snow goggles—slits in plastic—helped shield their eyes. Still, Rockson was relieved when some clouds showed up to dim the scenery a bit.
    “Mush, you mutated Americansky huskies, mush,” Scheransky cried out. It was his turn to navigate the first sled and he was doing it with relish. Rona steered the second sled expertly alongside him. Rock trailed, happy to give up the lead. The wolf-dogs howled their triple-tooth best and pulled the sleds mightily. At first they were difficult to control, but then the “dogs” settled down. They pulled the heavily laden sleds like they were lightweight paper.
    “I think this is going to work fine.” Rock yelled over the snorting and howling to Rona. “If they stop making so much noise.”
    “They’ll quiet down—they’re excited and happy to be out in the real world, that’s all.”
    With cracks of the whips, they were speeding along at fifty miles per hour, sliding down the steep incline of a blanket of hard packed snow. The best way to travel , Rock thought.
    Rockson considered the plan rather loosely conceived. Lots of things never done before were being attempted here. He hoped to god it would all work. The sleds, for instance. Would they hold up? Sure, they’d last for the trek to the damned President museum or whatever the hell it was. But if they went further—would they hold up? And Danik—he was doing fine so far, but he was a delicate sort. Might not fare well in hardships to come. And the mission would have to be aborted if the notebook they were after was missing. Or if the notes in it didn’t have useful bearings. And things were even vaguer for when—and if—they got to Eden. Danik wanted them to hide in the lake area of the underground biosphere and wait for members of his dissenter group to join them, and then make plans in concert with these Edenites. Rock didn’t like this plan. He would think of another one, if and when they got there.
    He half-laughed. Only the fate of the world hung on these many variables. God, what if Stafford had already decided to release the deadly vial of germs into the atmosphere? Nobody knew what fiendish concoction Factor Q was, or how to immunize anyone against it. The one thing Danik did know about the deadly virus was that it took only one day to kill after a person was infected. Great. Rock watched the parka-clad woman slide along on skis.
    Rona had earned her entry into the mission. Without her initiatives, it would never have been possible. She was some lady. And Rock looked forward to sharing his sleeping bag with the leggy redhead. A bonus for having her along. The guys would understand—wouldn’t they? Of course, McCaughlin would tease—but what the hell. And Scheransky —Rock was proud of the man.
    The Russian was an asset. A man who Rock had come to admire, as much for his courage and open-mindedness as for his technical knowledge. Rockson couldn’t get over the change in Scheransky. The Russian defector was quite different from when Rock had first met him, right after he’d parachuted down from a Soviet plane. Then, Scheransky had been a pudgy techie, brainwashed into believing most if not all of the Communist party line. Now he was lean and hard, a seasoned veteran of the Freefighter forces. His allegiance was to freedom now, freedom and strength. The rest of the team were friends and worthy members of the human race. Rock worried that some of them might not survive the whole journey. Just a hunch. Who?
    It was near dark when Rockson decided, by taking sightings with his navigation equipment, that they were nearing the Hall of President’s museum. The Freefighters had shuffled positions again. Now, Detroit and Chen were hanging onto the sled that the Russian drove. Each wore the short metal skis that had special almost-frictionless bottoms under their boots. That lessened the weight the dogs had to pull.
    Rockson’s sled