He knew the barren deserts of the south, the wastes of red dust, the
dead sea bottoms--the terrible thirst of Mars, growing greater with
every year of the million that had passed since Ban Cruach locked the
Gates of Death.
He knew the canals, the pitiful waterways that were all that stood
between the people of Mars and extinction. He remembered the yearly
release from death when the spring thaw brought the water rushing down
from the north.
He thought of these cold creatures going forth, building again their
great towers of stone, sheathing half a world in ice that would never
melt. He thought of the people of Jekkara and Valkis and Barrakesh, of
the countless cities of the south, watching for the flood that did not
come, and falling at last to mingle their bodies with the blowing dust.