The cold night air rested invisibly over the vast expanse of ice. The stars twinkled brightly above and seemed close enough to touch, but cold, so cold. Occasionally one would drop from the heavens and burn up in a fiery streak as the stars had since time immemorial while Draco, the pole star, rode high in the heavens over this wintry ever-dark wasteland.
Far to the south grew the deep, dark primeval forests that skirted the edge of this great ice sheet. Huddled in them were the hardy mammalian survivors. The Age of Mammals had come and they had flourished but now it looked as though this Ice Age might send them the way of the dinosaur. The western continent had been cleared of many of the great mammals—the horse, the camel, the baluchitherium, and the titanothere. Only in the hidden valleys and remote littorals of the massive Eurasian continent and in the northern parts of far away Africa, where the icy howling blasts of the polar air were blunted and moderated, did the large mammals remain.
Above the western continent’s lifeless waste another falling star appeared as a long glowing streak, but this one was different. Instead of burning up completely it crashed into the ice. Instead of lying inanimate this one grew. It was an interstellar spore—except that it was mechanical. It opened and spread like a metallic flower, an antenna, face up to the ice cold stars.
Parts of this fallen star burrowed through the ice, sending tunnels like roots down to the glacier-scraped rocks thousands of feet below.
By spring, when the daily arrival of the sun came early to this part of the world, the alien mechanical plant had firmly established itself and was ready to begin the next phase. Deep within the original vessel long-dormant circuits activated. The master of the vessel was slowly warmed out of a cryogenic sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mary Threshmore and her sister Tarna had arrived with the family for vacation. This was their first trip to Maine and they were all agog at the quaint old seaside houses and the winding roads that led over bush-covered granite hills.
They would be spending the next few weeks in the small village of Forthright. Their father was an archaeologist who searched for Viking relics on the nearby islands off shore.
Mary and Tarna helped for a while but they soon found it dull to sift the mud and dirt for shapeless blobs that might or might not be remnants of “some ol’ dead Viking’s leather pouch”, so they were soon into exploring other things. Forthright, like many old Maine seacoast towns, had seen better days. There were lots of old buildings and winding roads so Mary and Tarna started to spend their time exploring.
The sisters shared an interest in old architecture. Mary was studying architecture in college (class of ’78) and Tarna was a senior in mechanical engineering. Mary admired the shapes; Tarna, the technology.
They soon discovered that there were other exciting things going on as well. In Clamsport, the next town south on the coast, there was a nuclear power plant being built. This by itself would probably have been as exciting to the two as their father’s work. But this summer there were lots of activists picketing the plant construction. Now that was interesting!
They were fairly neutral on the subject of power plant construction but there were lots of people their age singing and having a good ol’ time in the town as they protested. So Mary and Tarna spent time riding their bicycles to and from Clamsport.
Mary was the younger, a vivacious and active twenty; Tarna, an older and more reserved twenty-two. Both were tall and healthy looking with deep set eyes and well built athletic figures. Mary was slim with long tawny hair and deep blue eyes, Tarna a muscular honey blond with grey eyes.
On this particular day, two weeks into their vacation, they were bicycling down a now familiar back road leading home from Clamsport when Mary stopped her bike and saw that Tarna was now well downhill. Mary motioned her back. With some huffing and protesting, Tarna pedaled back uphill and joined her.
In a rather dubious manner, Tarna declared, “I hope this is worth it.”
“Did you notice that house we passed a half mile back? The new pretty white one?” said Mary.
“No, what good is it noticing a new one? We’re looking for old ones.”
“Well, last week that one was old. I remember it because I was thinking it’d be a good one to explore. It was old and abandoned. Now it’s new.”
“How can you be sure? We’ve covered a lot of ground this week; my legs can attest to that. Besides, that’s a long way back and all uphill. Let’s see it later.”
“No, we’re going now. Look at the clouds. There’s a storm coming and we probably won’t be out this way tomorrow. We’ll go back now.”
They began pedaling laboriously up the hill.