Nor shall we look each other in the face

and using a blow-torch to thaw out two cans of fruit, Jackstraw and I rigged up the radio transmitter, strung out an antenna and started triggering out our GFK call-sign. Normally, on these hand-cranked eight-watt jobs, a morse key was used for transmission while reception was by a pair of earphones, but thanks to a skilful improvisation by Joss who knew how hopelessly awkward morse was for everyone in the party except himself, the set had been rigged so that the key was used only for the call-up sign. After the link was made, a hand microphone could be used for transmission: and simply by throwing the receiving switch into the antenna lead, the microphone was transformed into a small but sufficiently effective loudspeaker. Calling up Joss was only a gesture. I'd made a promise and was keeping it, that was all. But by this time, I estimated, we were 120 miles distant from him, near enough the limit of our small set: I didn't know what effect the intense cold would have on radio transmission, but I suspected it wouldn't be anything good: there had been no aurora that morning, but the ionosphere disturbance might still be lingering on. and, of course, Joss himself had declared that his RCA was entirely beyond repair. Ten minutes passed, ten minutes during which Jackstraw industriously cranked the handle and I sent out the call-sign, GFK three times repeated, a flick of the receiver switch, ten seconds listening, then the switch pulled back and the call-sign made again. At the end of the ten minutes I sent out the last call, pushed over the receiving switch, listened briefly then stood up, resignedly gesturing to Jackstraw to stop cranking. It was then, almost in the very last instant, that the mike in my hand crackled into life. "GFX calling GFK. GFX calling GFK. We are receiving you faint but clear. Repeat, we are receiving you. Over." I fumbled and nearly dropped the mike in my excitement. "GFK calling GFX, GFK calling GFX." I almost shouted the words, saw Jackstraw pointing to the switch which was still in the receiving position, cursed my stupidity, threw it over, called out the signs again and then, quite forgetting the procedure and etiquette of radio communication, rushed on, the words tumbling over one another: "Dr Mason here. Dr Mason here. Receiving you loud and clear. Is that you, Joss?" I threw the switch. "Yes, sir. Glad to hear from you." Static lent a flat impersonality to the crackling words, robbed them of meaning. "How are you? What weather, how far canon digital 35 mm camera sle out?" "Going strong," I replied. "Cold intenseminus 70. Approximately 120 miles out. Joss, this is a miracle! How on earth did you fix it?" "I didn't," he said unemotionally. There was a pause and then his voice came again. "Captain Hillcrest is waiting to speak to you, sir." "Captain Hillcrest! What on earth is Captain Hillcrest" I broke off abruptly, not through astonishment, great though that was, that Hillcrest, whom I had believed to be almost 250 miles to the north of our IGY cabin should have suddenly turned up there, but because the warning glance from Jackstraw had found an echoing answer in the back of my own mind. "Hold on," I said quickly. "Will call you back in two or three minutes." We had set up the transmitter just to the rear of the tractor cabin, and I knew that every word said on both sides could be heard by those inside. It was just then that the curtains parted and Corazzini and Zagero peered out, but I ignored them. I never cared less about the hurt I was offering to anybody's feelings, just picked up the radio and generator while Jackstraw unstrung the antenna, and walked away from the tractor. Two hundred yards away I stopped. Those in the tractor could still see usthe brief light of noonday was flooding over the ice-capbut they could no longer hear us. We rigged the radio again, and I tried to tap out the call-sign but it was hopeless, we'd been out too long in that dreadful cold and my hand was beating an uncontrollable tattoo on the key. Fortunately, they knew or guessed at the other end what was happening, for Hillcrest's voice, calm, confident, infinitely reassuring, came through as soon as I pressed the receiving switch. "Surprise, surprise," the mike crackled mechanically. "OK, Dr Mason, from what Joss has saidand the recent delay -1 guess you're a good way from the tractor. At seventy below you won't want to stay there too long. Suggest I do all the talking. I'll keep it brief. Receiving me?" "Loud and clear. What on earth are yousorry, carry on." "Thanks. We heard Monday afternoon, on both British and American broadcasts, of the overdue airliner. Tuesday morning -yesterday, that iswe heard from the Uplavnik base. They say this hasn't been announced officially, but the US and British governments are convinced that the plane has not been lost at sea, but that it has landed somewhere in Greenland or Baffin Island. Don't ask me why they're convincedI've no