STAR QUEST

By

STUART J. BYRNE

A Renaissance E Books publication

ISBN 1-58873-865-5

All rights reserved

Copyright 2006 Stuart J. Byrne

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

For information:

Publisher@renebooks.com

PageTurner Editions/A Futures-Past Classic

DEDICATION

TO

GENE RODDENBERRY

SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG, GENE!

ABOUT THIS BOOK

The genesis and raison d'etre of Star Quest encompasses a story in itself – due largely to its own self-generating "genes." I only planted a seed, but it was an alien acorn that produced a rather extragalactic tree. Although written several decades ago, it has not remained dormant because of inadequate craftsmanship. I do recall that in the Roaring Fifties I was selling an average of 40,000 words per month rather consistently, so in my vintage years why should my intended "Meisterwerk" lack writing quality? It has remained unpublished because, to the standard publishing house – it was alien, in fact anathema.

In the traditional publishing doctrine, it has been virtually sacrilegious to mix genres. Moreover, the anathema part was to introduce actual thought in the process of entertainment. Having written science fiction and fantasy only separately in the past (Byrne versus Bloodstone), the thought-variant scope of Star Quest required not only a brazen mixture of both genres but the addition of the occult and metaphysical, as well. Heretofore, all mainstream avenues have been closed to such epiphany-like adventures, but now that we have crossed a millennial threshold there is a dawning trend toward breaking the old molds, and therefore I take this occasion to propose what might well be called the Millennial genre. Star Quest could fit nowhere else.

The seed of the Star Quest idea evolved from an old question that has been sacred to the hearts of the von Daenikens and Velikovskys and all ancient-astronaut and SETI devotees the world over. Simply stated, if time and the universe are so infinite, why is homo sapiens of lost little Earth so unique? Why haven't advanced intelligences paid a visit to us primitives? Some devotees declare that this has happened in remote antiquity, and such philosophy has formed its own venerable school.

The Star Quest focus is more fundamental, scientifically speaking. Although accepted authority can properly assume, for lack of concrete evidence, that alien visitations have never happened, at the same time modern cosmologists are discovering strong indications that the universe may well be teeming with life, which must include forms of advanced intelligence. On this basis, the question becomes quite specific: what prevents an interchange of cosmic cultures, which in all other kingdoms of nature would seem to be a natural and logical process? Of course where the SETI method of radio messaging or listening is concerned, as depicted in the motion picture, Contact, starring Jodie Foster, no self-respecting super-intelligence would be likely to fool with taking 100,000 years to say hello. Rather, what is central to the question is the feasibility (here or anywhere) of a space vehicle capable of surpassing the speed of light. If the barrier to trans-light velocities is valid, that might explain why our welcome mat has never known a visitor.

Where the magical steeds of fiction and fantasy enter, the translight barrier question leads more fascinatingly to why? Does Nature have a reason for this limitation? At this point, the self-expanding theme of Star Quest ignites. Does Nature have a "chastity belt" against the cross-contamination of cultures? If man is a contaminant, what would happen if he crossed the great trans-C barrier? With that idea, we can pull out all stops, and away we go into anything universes or anywhere worlds. All of which opens ever-widening potentials.

The question of decontamination arises. If this is a key to returning through the Barrier, what is the space-lost traveler's recourse? Thought-variant: if an infant is innocent, so must be any humanity or non-humanity in its infancy. Such innocents do not have trans-light spaceships, but might adult races and species find new transformation in turning to old wisdoms that were once given to young races and then long forgotten? So in a near mythological pristine world, the impact of our so-called sophisticated culture would inevitably lead to contaminations – until some members of the expedition were "educated" by – ??? I'm jumping the gun. It's your read.

I intended Star Quest to be a three-hour hard-ticket blockbuster motion picture such as might be worthy of a Lucas or Spielberg, but the patronizing tyranny of big studio story departments is still unassailable. They want to see the book first. It is recommended that you envision this story as it might be on the big screen, because its trans-galactic scope and spectacle cannot be entirely transmitted with words.

Long ago at a writer's banquet in Beverly Hills when the first pilot of Star Trek was being unveiled, Gene Roddenberry said kind words to me: "Stu, I'd stand in the rain for one of your stories."

My subsequent duties in the aerospace world intervened against such a potential for me, but long years later, now that Gene has been space-borne (his ashes were orbited) – I can say fondly in spirit, "Gene, here's that story!"

THE FIRST CYCLE

"Then Maitluccan (the Sky Dragon) was turned in flight by Ramor, and the Star Sons came down through Mayu-Miyu (Mother of Rain) to Dyota, there on the shores of Lankara. This was the First Cycle."

–Stanza 20, Vol. 10 – The Lahayana

CHAPTER I

Something was wrong with the dream. The entire seascape was a double illusion this time. His ideation center accepted the cool white sand and lazy surf as a restful substitute for the high-tension reality he experienced normally. His sensory apparatus responded easily to the induced environmental elements of sun warmth and sea breezes. The girl's hand in his was sweetly tangible in all dimensions of contact perception – slender and soft yet urgently alive with a female strength of friendly communion. As they ran along the far-sweeping deserted strand together beneath a blue, storybook sky, everything seemed as it should be.

But it wasn't.

A subliminal awareness of intrusion tugged at him intermittently. Like a bird of ill omen, a shadow of warning pursued him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught an occasional flicker of dissolution like flaws in a video strip flashing by. It brought an urgency to hurry the dream, to absorb its content before it should end, which now he knew it would and all too abruptly.

So he countered the distraction of hovering disaster by concentrating on intended impressions. Laughing and puffing, the two of them finally came to a halt. The bikini-clad young woman tossed her copious red hair over her shoulder in a typically feminine gesture. Their hands were still clasped together.

"Ready for a swim?"

"Not now, Kitty, but that was a good run. I needed that."

"Among other things."

Her smile was coquettish, and this, too, troubled him. It was unprogrammed. Suddenly, the entire scene flickered briefly like film hitting a torn sprocket track. She apparently failed to notice the phenomenon, so he knew it was happening only in his own reality, not hers.

"Danny, is something wrong?" Her wide blue eyes searched his face in innocent concern.

He shrugged it off and led her to their picnic paraphernalia: towels, cooler chest, pillows, backrests, and portable vid. As they sprawled out on the beach blanket he supported himself on one elbow, studying her. He read in her facial and body language that she was wary of his tension, but she was still ready to be coquettish at any opportunity. This was a new game-play he had not seen her exhibit before. It was suddenly important to figure it out.

She ran a playful finger across his chest. "I know, baby. I know," she almost whispered. A mischievous dimple punctuated her smile. "It's why you're here with me now."

He continued to study her with a clinical intensity. He had often questioned the wisdom of starship psychologists who recommended Kitty's type for dream therapy. She was of the child-minded groups who had no comprehension of the global vectors of motivation. She was a beautiful and complacent playtoy, devoid of challenge. How could he be both holiest and kind?

"Kitty, a few generations ago you would have been recycled – mentally, that is." He saw her brows arch querulously. "You're one of the escapist crowd who take their trips by machine-induced hypnophoria."

"Look who's talking about machines! You know what this is as well as I do."

"No," he said swiftly. "Tell me about it."

The universe flickered as if light-strobed or distorted by high-frequency interference. Again he noted that she seemed unaware of it. Or if she was, her female playfulness was a much too clever camouflage.

"It's all a dream trip, sweetie. You and I were taped before you took off into space."

She leaned her gorgeous head against his shoulder. "All this is to get you off the flips. You star jocks go into the deepies when you stare too long at nothing, way out here in the great big No Deposit-No Return." She sat up and smiled wistfully at him. "Spacemen do need their emotional outlets." With a sigh and a shrug, she opened her hands and spread out her arms, offering her charms. "So this is it, Danny Troy, all in three-D!"

He rose to his feet and pulled her up with him. "For God's sake, Kitty, your programming's wrong! You're not supposed to–"

She closed his lips with a gentle finger. "You're spinning, baby. Let's shift gears."

A deep, muffled explosion staggered the scene like a cosmic earthquake. In a moment, the impression was gone.

"Now how about our swim?" she said prettily.

He struggled to collect himself, deliberately dismissing the peripheral intrusions– "Okay, Kitty." He smiled, taking her hand. "I guess that's what we're here for. I'm supposed to be soaking up the R and R."

As they moved toward the water, however, everything started to come apart. There was the bullish bleating of an alert horn. Turning to him, Kitty blurred, cleared, and blurred again. He squinted at something in the reeling sky. It was a red alarm light, blinking on and off in cadence with the horn. A sky voice boomed, "Emergency! Emergency!"

He staggered back from the girl, shaking his head in confusion. She reached toward him desperately.

"Danny, don't go!"

Her exquisite image broke into dispersing blocks of light and color as in a crashed video program. The alert horn dominated his senses, and the dream dissolved into living crisis.

There was only the bare room now except for his receptor chair and the HP console. An emergency monitor flashed red on the opposite wall. A filtered voice competed in volume with the frantic alert horn.

"Disaster mode two! All hands to stations! Explosion and fire in level H, section seven. Repeat: disaster mode two!"

Danny disconnected hastily. The 3-D holophonics turned off. He removed his receptor helmet, extracted his personal CD cartridge, and ran from the simulator chamber. The explosion was only partially on his mind as he shouldered his way past other men in the companionways, oblivious to their shouts of recognition and alarm. As second officer and assistant engineer, he knew he'd be needed urgently.

Vaguely, the bigger picture haunted him as he moved toward level H. Something probed under the surface of his uncomplicated nature – questions he had never seriously considered until lately, or else he had subconsciously avoided them. He was aware of a growing sense of futility. There were repeated flashes of strange intuitions.

Kitty Keene was a light romance of the past before he had left Earth. Spacemen needed their emotional outlets on a starship. So he had chosen her to be taped for the 3-D holographic simulator. Her image had been as real as life itself and was always augmented by interactive programming.

Now the question hit him: was everything as artificial as the hollow phonies, the people, the world manifesto, the endless star quests? What were they here for? They were two years out, lost in immensity, short on fuel – and now another disaster.

"Christ!" he muttered, but even that sounded hollow.

He fought the hydrogen fire along with anyone else who was handy or who could crowd in effectively in the narrow passageways under the portside exchangers. The capacity dampers couldn't field out the superheated combustion from the tank explosions. The men had to move in with hand CO2 guns and portable foamers.

As he fought his way along and shouted directions or advice, he was aware of something vaguely different about himself. What was it? In the din and clamor of shouting, mixed with the crackle of flames, the hissing of burning insulation, and the monotonous bleat of the emergency horns, he sensed it. Down here in a cluttered small inferno where sweating bodies struggled through eye-stinging smoke and the brownish stench of isoplast cable sheathing, he seemed to have two brains: one for the hands-on, do-it-now world before him, and one for a kind of separate unreality. He saw and recognized the men around him, all of them as familiar as brothers after these years of close confinement and sharing the long translight star probe into Infinity. But somehow a new dimension had been added.

"God knows what those hydrogen blasts did to the life support!" somebody yelled close to his ear.

He glanced swiftly to his right and saw the tall frame and broad Irish face of Fitz. Fitzjames Gogarty was their shipboard cynic and master mechanic.

"Any more explosions down here and the heat exchangers could rip wide open!" shouted Foxy, the round-faced stubble-haired blond runt to his left. "That would be the sign-off, kiddies. The pile could blow!" Homer Fox, electrician's mate and instrument man, was the local mime and self-appointed jester. "That would take care of our poker chits," he said in his high-pitched voice, "but it would play hell with the mail to Mother!"

The latter remark was fairly morbid since Mother was the space word for home. At their appalling distance from Earth, even a beamed signal at the speed of light might take a thousand years, or forever.

"Shut up, Foxy!" said the major, who was close behind them. "Move your butts, men. Let the roborg through!" First Officer Adolphus Pike was sometimes referred to as "Adolf" with obvious double entendre, but never in hearing range.

As the eight-foot cyborg monstrosity rumbled past him on its tractor pods, Danny noticed his double-think tendency more than ever. Why did he seem to dissect everything and have to think twice about it? He thought of Fitz and his wiseacre cynicism, of Foxy and his over sick puns. And there was Adolf's lantern-jawed, moody egression, which was a kind of defense, but for what? Danny had never analyzed his companions before like this. Why now of all times? Was he getting a case of the flips? He stared at the mighty roborg as it moved forward and ripped out the bulkhead frame and brought the gas bombs into play. This creature, too, he was dissecting mentally, wondering about the lost identity of the poor terminal bastard who had once had his brains transferred into the semirobotic contraption. He was a voiceless half-life now, desensitized and emotionless, a Pavlov dog responding to silent bells. What were they all here for? Was it all a masquerade?

"Danny!" shouted Fitz, pushing him hard.

A gas bomb shot a splinter of superheated flame at him and it pierced his thermo jacket. His left arm and shoulder shot spangles of pain into his head. He reeled back while still double-thinking. It's nothing but futility! Why didn't they all give up?

Wound or no wound, this wasn't Danny Troy.

Nor was it normal for him to have the kind of dreams he'd been experiencing lately. While momentarily stunned by the shock of pain, one of the strange hallucinations came again ... a darkness and a vision of multi-planed dimensions ... globes of blinding light ... geometric lines reaching infinitely across black gulfs to galaxies writhing in the throes of creation.

* * * *

In sick bay he noted the presence of someone he wanted to see, especially now: Dr. Frederica Sachs, a medipsychiatrist, known in steerage as "hot Sachs Freddie." "Steerage" merely expressed an unwritten distinction between regular spacemen and members of Project Administration in a society that had created a global commune but had not forgotten the pecking order. As for the "hot socks" reference it was an oblique compliment to Freddie's sleek blue leotards and her really terrific legs, but as to her personality it was a gross hyperbole. As Fitz described her, she was a tight-laced virgin of the Ms (for masochistic) class who acted as if the male of the species were anything but phallic. Often under her amber-eyed scrutiny he had felt like a clinical object on a microscope slide. "The gal most likely," Foxy once said, "to never be Queen of the Pits!"

When the medi-techs moved him into the main ward of the clinic, he saw her slim brunet figure at the far end of the room. She was bending over Jerry Fontaine whose forehead was being bandaged. Apparently she was doing therapy because there was some agitated conversation going on. Usually quiet-natured and withdrawn, Jerry was in a fit of anguish, clutching at her as he talked. This was not as surprising to Danny as the fact that Jerry was here among the wounded. A biochemist and exobiologist was the last person he would expect to be on the maintenance deck where the explosion had occurred.

Just now the girl was the main thing on Danny's mind. He was troubled about his own mental condition. There had been almost a dozen cases of space insanity by now, most of them occurring in the past few months. If he was coming down with the flips, she'd be the one to ask for advice about it. He'd seen some bad things happen. Things could get worse.

The place was crowded and slightly out of control. The meddies and patients were moving back and forth. Off-duty personnel were blocking the aisles and discussing the emergency, all of which was complicated by frequent P.A. announcements. One message from Flight Command kept coming through every three minutes on the autotape. All officers and project chiefs were to convene in the staff room at 18:00, two hours hence, wounded or not if ambulatory.

The message signature was Lyshenko's. Commander Alex Lyshenko was always there with the schedules and the imperatives. He was a typical New World symbol of an ordered society, boots and all. Way out here at the end of their astral cords from Mother Earth, however, he was a dependable pillar of balance for them. The Skipper's swarthy Tatar face was the only map most of them had, psychologically speaking – a map that said there still might be a way home.

"You're lucky, Captain," said the head surgeon, checking his bared arm and shoulder while authorizing a hypo. The meds were spraying his burns with a mildly anesthetic healant. "Second degree, and not on your face, but we can't release you for the meeting in staff. I'll want you under the lights for a while. You can use the remotes, so you won't miss a thing."

"Will you tell that to the commander?"

Dr. Alonso Madrazo smiled almost patronizingly. As chief surgeon and project administrator he was as much a representative of World Council Authority as Lyshenko, ever since the regular administrator had died and he had taken his place. Without a word, the tall, lean figure moved onward toward the other patients, but Danny's new double-think was busy.

Alonso, dubbed "the Duke," was quite a contrast to their iron-fisted skipper. With his scholarly beard and priestly-looking natural tonsure, he was an old-world figure endowed with an aristocratic air of assured dignity. He was also passionately devoted to the arts, history and epic poetry – not to mention his expertise in heraldry, of all things. Mild-mannered, a brilliant scientist, and a gifted administrator, Alonso was an opposite pillar to Alex. He was a man of considered reason.

Some men said that if the whole crew went mad the Duke and the Skipper would still be hanging in there – one to the rule book and the other to tradition. It was a secret consolation to Danny. The Duke was a friend and sometimes an adviser. Stamen needed somebody like that to go to once in a while, for gyro-stabilization. Maybe he should talk to Alonso later, but first he needed that cold-blooded female headshrinker. Iceberg or no, he could use some couch time with her.

"Fritters, my God!" somebody yelled.

Danny turned abruptly in his wheelchair and groaned, for several reasons. One was the pain of his injury. The other was the sight of Jimmy Frater on a low gurney – dead. The once familiar brown eyes stared with an alien grotesqueness from a burned and distorted face.

He didn't have to ask questions. Other crewmen had followed the grim-faced meddles. He only had to look and listen. Sergeant James Frater, computer maintenance tech and telemetry man, had died of third-degree burns when trapped by a sprung cross-brace in the recycling access well.

Danny looked up into the troubled face of "Boozie," his own closest friend. Frans Mabuse, assistant electronics chief, was a moody and erratic genius. He thought he caught a signal in the ascetic thin face of his Flemish buddy of many years, but suddenly the ice-blue eyes glanced past him.

Jerry Fontaine came pushing his way among the medics and crewmen and patients, heedless of his bloodied head wound. His normally passive and dreamy expression had been replaced by one of wild torment. His curly blond beard was as much awry as his semi-long hair as he lunged to the wheeled stretcher and dropped to his knees, clutching his dead friend's hand. He and Fritters had practically been brothers.

Danny couldn't stand the sight of a grown man bawling, or seeing a companion's soul-pain on public display, particularly Jerry's, the gentle man with his Earth dreams of hybrid orchids and fertilizers from the sea. He was about to signal the medics to roll him away from the scene when there was a new disturbance.

A brawny hand reached down and yanked Jerry to his feet. Jerry froze, staring bleary-eyed into the threatening long-jawed face of Major Pike.

"You son of a bitch! You're under arrest!"

A bleak moment of shocked silence was broken by "Adolf" as he slapped Fontaine around and threw him into the arms of Vinet and Makart, two of his security men. The bursting storm of comment and Pike's shouted answers revealed that Jimmy Frater could have been saved by Jerry. Jerry had been there but had "chickened out." His action or lack of it had been recorded on the closed-circuit monitors.

Danny used his good hand to grasp Pike's arm and the major whirled about angrily, glowering down at him with a threat of mayhem in his deep-set black eyes.

"Dolph, what the hell! He's not in Flight Command, he's civvy!"

"You're out of line, Captain!" said Pike, looming over him. "This creep is going into the brig!"

"What charge?"

"Murder, treason, insanity – you name it! I'll throw the book at the lousy yellow bastard!"

"I froze!" said Jerry, his trembling face a mess of tears. "I saw him there. He was pinned down and yelling at me! I just couldn't move!"

Pike whirled back toward him. "There were tools and equipment there. You could have pulled him out!" He swung a heavy fist and landed a haymaker. Jerry slumped, out cold, supported by the Flight-Com guards. "Put him in irons!"

"Major Pike!" came a challenge from an unexpected source. "Release that patient at once! You're in violation of joint regulations, and I'm filing full charges! This is unheard of! The man is sick!"

Frederica Sachs, stiff-necked, tight-lipped, rapier straight, and inescapably female, had suddenly appeared next to Danny in her smudged and rumpled clinic smock, with one raven strand of hair somehow liberated from her usually meticulous chignon. Her tawny big eyes were magnified behind her heavy horn-rimmed glasses.

Major Pike hesitated for a brief moment, but then he dismissed her. "Stay out of this, Sachs. He goes with me!" She touched Ricky Campara's arm, Alonso's surgical assistant. Her eyes never wavered from Pike's sullen face.

"Shall I order a crisis call, Major?"

Danny caught Boozie's very faint smirk, which on his dour face meant secret appreciation. Crisis calls were met with full security intervention, with the burden of charges being placed upon the caller. It was a joint-operation proviso between Flight Command and Project Administration. The ultimate weapon had been hurled. The impasse was valid. The two challengers faced each other in glacial silence.

Then came Alonso, unhurried, not pushing, calmly smiling. The Duke was as dignified as ever. "You both have a point," he said quietly.

"What do you mean, we both have?" asked Pike belligerently.

"The charter provides for the situation," said Alonso unperturbedly. "You may both be heard in Forum. Meanwhile, Mr. Fontaine is not medically released." He smiled in response to Pike's frown of resistance. "I'll make arrangements for both of you to register your charges and complaints, right after the meeting in staff."

It was a loophole. Pike signaled to the guards. They handed Jerry over to the medics, and the major stomped away without another word.

"And now if all you visitors will clear the area," said the chief surgeon, "I'm sure the medi-techs can take care of the wounded without your help." As a master diplomat the Duke had wielded his own ultimate weapon, the oldest one of ancient tradition, known as saving face.

Freddie Sachs touched Danny's good shoulder lightly. He looked up at her hopefully but was met with a clinician's mask, notwithstanding her softly molded chin and creamy complexion.

"I want to see you," she said briskly, "in a little while."

Before he could speak she was gone.

Boozie took charge of his wheelchair and pushed him purposefully toward the recovery room. Apparently he had been waiting to give him some news. Danny's cluttered emotions and thoughts concerning Jerry, Pike, and Frederica were suddenly derailed by what Frans was swiftly telling him. He spoke in low tones next to his ear.

"That meeting in staff could be the big one. There was damage in the shaft where Fritters got fried."

Danny favored his wounds this time, resisting an impulse to turn and glare at him. As engineers they both knew the significance of the area he was talking about. Recycling was the vital heart of life support.

"Not the S-link!"

"Burned and gutted to hell."

"But Jesus, the spare!"

"No sale, Danny. It's gone."

Danny gripped the chair wheels and stopped, swinging around to face the slight-framed Belgian. "What the hell do you mean, it's gone?"

Boozie smirked. The ice-blue eyes met his gaze head-on. "Like I said, that meeting in staff could be the big one. End of the line..."

CHAPTER II

Now there was only one slim chance of survival. Danny thought fiercely about it as he lay under the healing lights in recovery. If they did live through the hotly debated Jumper maneuver, it would mean an end to any hopes of ever returning home. But after all, no star ship had ever returned as yet, so why should the Sirius III be any different?

You had to crack the C-line even to get started on an inter-stellar mission, and every schoolboy knew the time-contraction theory. Time was one conceivable barrier, if the theory was valid. That would offer a returning expedition the dubious prospect of either bringing back its findings for the delectation and amazement of dinosaurs, or of arriving home in some far future age where the knowledge gained, if any, would be superfluous. No astrophysicist knew much about the possible effects of traversing C-2, C-3, or going a dozen times the speed of light, hurtling into the star gulfs on nuclear-powered lasers.

A star ship's life-support capabilities plus human psychological factors limited voyages to three or four years, so that to get anywhere the multiple light-speed hazard had to be faced. To reach Alpha Centauri required a speed of 4.3-C, allowing one year of exploration and one year for return. Vega in one year's time meant 26-C. Their own target had been the bright blue binary, Sirius, in Canus Major, requiring a one year speed of 8.7-C.

At those velocities, God only knew what else could happen to make a star ship lose its way. There had been wild conjectures about slipping into parallel universes or even other dimensions. However, one thing they had determined. There was, definitely, a trans-C barrier. Something had happened that was an unknown effect. For almost a year now, they had known that they were lost. A totally mystifying fact was that in cutting the Barrier Wall at multiple high-C they had somehow slewed across the parsecs as if they'd struck a pocket in space and time. They had suddenly shot through the void many hundreds or even thousands of light-years. All sight had been lost of the more definite signposts such as the Magellanic Clouds or the greater galactic novae. The computers had been working on the problem ever since, tied in to the astrophysics lab and the observatory, even trying to "back-build" the constellations in an attempt to find some kind of coordinate system that could give them a clue to their return course.

This, then, was what had happened to all the star quests before them. Multiple attempts had been made – Alpha Centauri, Bernard's Star, Wolf 359, Lalande 21185, Sirius, Vega, Arcturus, even Canopus, 100 light-years out – but all the expeditions had vanished without a trace of even a spacebeam signal after the Barrier was crossed. Yet more ships would follow, bigger, more expensive, more sophisticated and farther ranging. Since Earth had abolished war and the bomb and had become a single society, all nations had become one entity called Man. However, Man still had his need for coping and pushing and expanding. There had to be polarity. Out there in the starry heavens he had to find another intelligence. In more than three centuries of radar astronomy, stellar probing, and piloted searching no other intelligent life-form had been detected.

The resulting world psychosis had a name: monophobia. Was Man alone in the universe? Were the old behaviorists right? Were humans a biological accident in the unmeasured immensities of time and space? If so, what was the meaning of existence? The star quests had to continue until somebody found an answer. Starmen had become the new myth-heroes of Earth; the star quest itself was a world cult. When the searching stopped, hope would die, and civilization might implode in a wave of degeneration.

A quality of life had been forfeited for many – the human and personal side. This embraced the hopes and dreams of what might have become an individual contribution to humanity, such as hobbies, creations, and the natural epigenesis of the species.

Danny himself had once thought of taking power-and-water conversion systems to isolated minority peoples in the semi-blighted areas of the world. Mabuse had left his music behind, like Jerry his orchids, Foxy his sailboats, and even Lyshenko's fish breeding. Everyone had sacrificed an Earth dream to the stars.

So this was why they were out here now, like all their predecessors, lost beyond returning. This was the third thrust at Sirius, but they were far beyond it now. Until the latest disaster on board, the Duke and the Skipper had kept them trying for a way back. The general theory was that whatever had happened might possibly reverse itself on the return voyage. However, their nuclear fuel was low. For the unshielded main propulsion pile, half a mile astern on the pod frames, there was a theoretical point of no return. Even if they hadn't passed the PNR, the consensus of private opinion was that their course was hopelessly blind. The constellations were sometimes tantalizingly familiar, but in the final analysis they were indefinably alien and awry. They had dared to cross the Barrier Wall of the great trans-C. It came with a price tag.

There were two opposed camps on board concerning survival. The majority had comprised the "Homer" faction those who were in favor of heading back. The minority dissenters were called the "Jumpers." In the old maritime tradition of jumping ship, these preferred to abort the mission.

They favored landing on a habitable planet. In the ship's turn-around phase of a year or more, they had slowed down enough to scan at least three planetary systems from a distance. The first two had revealed minimal parameters for survival. The third system had been unusually promising, but that was when the PNR had won out. They had opted for a last desperate dash for home, hoping to refine their nav coordinates as they progressed. The explosion had occurred while they were building their velocity back to C-1. And now there was the life-support question.

Star ships were not designed to carry bulk supplies of water in any large quantity. Instead, high-compression tanks carried hydrogen and oxygen which served two purposes. These elements were fuel components for their thruster engines, but they were also the components of water. The two gases were piped from the main cryogenic tanks out on the frame, and could be pumped back for storage when the waste was processed. Local small accumulator tanks were in the life pod itself. Fresh water was synthesized and added to recycled waste when needed, but without the S-link, the key to the synthesizer, their time for survival was short. They had perhaps four months, on the small reserves and no showers. That was just enough time to make it back to that G-type yellow star and its promising group of planets. Even if they found a habitable sphere, that would be it. Castaways forever. As Boozie said, the end of the line.

Danny ached physically to get up and find that spare.

It couldn't be missing. It was last seen in one of the storage pods on the forward frame, but all inventory was listed in the data banks. He had checked it on a readout tab himself only six months ago. Was somebody crazy?

Certainly not Boozie. The eccentric young wizard might have his phobic moods and often take to the Pit or an amber glass when off duty, but he knew his parts. If he said the spare S-link was gone, it was gone.

* * * *

His thoughts were finally interrupted when cool, light fingers touched his temples and deftly removed his eye pads. The normal room lighting revealed the familiar black-framed glasses of Dr. Frederica Sachs, after which came the face: smooth white, prim lipped, and amber eyed.

"You've had enough of the therapy beams for a while. We have a few minutes before the meeting starts. I want to talk to you." The rumpled smock was gone and the raven hair was neatly swept up again into her chignon. She wore a close fitting pastel blue jumper with an orange picture collar, which with her measurements gave her a provocative blousy look.

"You must have read my mind," he said. Then he thought it was a good thing she couldn't read his mind at the moment. "How is Jerry doing?"

She told him Fontaine was under sedation and no, he wasn't phasing, which was space-medical jargon for the flippies. He had merely experienced emotional shock under extreme crisis. While she talked, she swabbed his burns with medication and applied an aerated blanket pad to his shoulder and chest while bandaging his left arm. With an obvious note of belligerent disdain, she concluded that it was Major Pike who was phasing, if anybody.

Meanwhile, Danny noted that the recovery room was collecting visitors. They were here because of the remote equipment along the front wall. This was a panel of two-way video monitors that would give them access to the upcoming meeting in the staff room.

"But now to business," said Frederica. "I want to talk about the Pits."

Danny felt his brows go up. The Pit Cluster of three holophonic simulator chambers was strictly sanctum sanctorum, off limits even to a medical psychiatrist. It was the last subject he'd ever expect Freddie to be capable of mentioning. Besides, it was personal as hell. He looked around apprehensively.

"I'll be brief," she said, "merely to explain the problem. We can go into it later in depth."

Sex experiences in depth, with Freddie baby? He reflected that Freud did happen to be the father of her profession. But why single him out, of all people, and warm-blooded Kitty Keene? There were no hangups with either of them, if that was what she was after. He noted the presence of Freddie's closest companion, who was known as "the Lily."

Lalille Sardou was blond, blue-eyed, nubile as hell but equally unreachable, and characterized by a mystique of melancholy that was disturbingly ethereal. Especially gifted with a talent for languages, she was the project's comparative philologist. He saw her talking, probably in Tamil, to an orange-robed swami who was a member of the paragnostic team, owing to a multiple-consciousness sensitivity and other parafaculties. The bearded old holy man was known officially as Sambhava Ramprasad, so the crewmen called him Sam. The two were off in a corner, and a few others were engrossed in what seemed to be the S-link situation. Among these were Fitz, Foxy, and Mabuse, he noticed, only a few yards away.

"To hell with the Pits," he said finally. "I need a session with you, Doc. I think I'm getting the flips."

"That's precisely the subject. The holophonic monitor tapes are a prime indicator of the psychological vectors on board."

"Monitor tapes!"

She shushed him and he lowered his voice.

"Do you mean to say the Pit dreams go on display, for Christ's sake?"

There was a hint of pink in her alabaster cheeks. "I'll expect you to keep this confidential, for project security. From a medical standpoint, it's legal. I'll tell you frankly, we have a problem with psychophasing. The incidence lately has become critical."

"But that's an invasion of privacy!"

"Don't play roles, Captain. Our lives are at stake."

He gaped at her while she moved into the delicate subject with all the tact of a bulldozer, amazingly insulated from the subtler currents of personal interplay. The computer, she said, was very versatile in its responses. A rapid mode-selection change was indicating an inceptual phasing curve among the users of the Pit. She was making a survey.

He remembered Kitty's new inputs, her unaccountable versatility. Was this the computer's response to a change in himself? Freddie had a point, come to think of it.

"Okay, Doc, if you want a sweaty report, I was in the Pit when the explosion happened."

"I know."

He stared with a new sense of outrage. "You were scanning us?"

When she nodded confirmation he couldn't suppress his reaction. "What the hell, Freddie, no wonder you don't need the hollow phonies yourself – not with a super peep show! You get to knothole everybody!"

"Not everybody," she retorted sharply. "The non-users and users are classified and ratioed: twenty-five to seventy-five percent of personnel. In the user ranges, the frequency is three days to three months. You are in the latter group. I want to know your latest reactions. A lot has happened in the past three months."

"Okay, if we're strictly playing doctor, I'll tell you. When I came out of there, I felt schizo. I was uptight and cynical as hell."

"A sense of futility?"

"Exactly! Like wanting to throw in the towel!"

She smiled faintly as though sympathizing. "You can see what I'm getting at."

"I'm not too sure about that."

The speakers blared an announcement. This time it wasn't the autotape. Danny recognized the supercilious tones of Lyshenko's star adjutant, Philo Q. Bates, a known frequenter of the Pits. Whenever he became a bit too lofty with any of the crew his whispered pseudonym was "Master Bates." What he had to say at the moment, however, was apparently too important for any pretentiousness.

"Attention, all personnel. Message from Flight Command! Prepare for gravity phase in three minutes. There will be a laser turnoff, pending decisions of staff. No retropulsion will be used until a vote is taken, but you will feel an inertial swing of the main gimbals. Maintenance and tech personnel will check the heavier portable equipment for deck ties and magnaclamps. Repeat: prepare for gravity phase in three minutes. Countdown commit is now, at seventeen fifty-seven."

* * * *

This broke up Danny's impromptu session with Dr. Sachs. Fitz, Mabuse, and Foxy joined them.

"Hey, they're moving pretty fast in favor of the Jumpers," Fitz said, taking a seat next to Frederica. "There's no damned vote yet, at least not for us peasants in steerage, because there's still no answer on that missing S-link!"

"We'll be in free fall," said Boozie. "There'll be no time lost, to speak of. They're saving the main pile."

"It's like we didn't pay the light bill or something," said Foxy. "Nobody asks. They tell us."

Danny scanned Frederica's fascinating features speculatively. "Maybe you can use the countdown for your survey, Doc. We've got some prime users here."

Her swift glance at Mabuse and Foxy was a giveaway. Obviously she already had had her session with them on the subject. The moody-eyed Belgian smirked knowingly. The little blond electrician's mate looked pasty faced, suddenly at a loss for a wisecrack.

"Survey?" said Fitz, observing them all warily. "What's going on?"

"Dr. Sachs has been graphing our libidos," said Boozie, still in his soft, easy drawl. "It seems that monitored feedbacks from the Pits have become a Freudian smorgasbord for the headshrink department."

"Monitored feedbacks?" said Fitz. His big Irish face reddened. "You're kidding!"

Foxy finally rallied. "Maybe next thing they'll be monitoring our potty habits." He grinned, but he didn't sound as glib as usual.

Surprisingly, Frederica maintained face in spite of the pressure. "You have a valid point, Captain Troy," she answered in clipped professional tones. She crossed her legs, and Danny noted that Foxy, for one, forgot to think of her clinically. He knew that she caught their male reactions, and her tone of voice hardened. "If this were not an emergency, I'd schedule you for individual checkouts, but time is a vital factor."

Before Fitz could voice any objections, she quickly reviewed what she had told Danny already and then added more. Psychological stability on star ships was still an unknown factor since none of the other expeditions had returned to Earth. There were no comparative data. She had obtained authorization from the medical staff to conduct her survey. Although the Pit feedbacks were only one of several indicators she was using, frequency of Pit use was a definite factor. It had increased exponentially among many of the crewmen during the past few months, ever since a decision had been made to make a run for home. This, she explained, was a normal indication of increased tension and emotional pressure, but the computer responses in terms of rapid mode-variability were forming a peculiar pattern, as confirmed by her verbal sessions with many of the men.

"So in spite of unconsidered allusions to prurient interest in male sexual habits," she said almost heatedly, "the factor under consideration here is related to psychological stability and morale. What is rapidly emerging is a trend toward cynicism, confused perspectives, and a general sense of futility."

"Balls!" said Fitzjames angrily. "Medical authority my ass, Doctor! You shrinks have no right to invade personal privacy like that!"

Frederica's girlish chin tightened stubbornly. "For your information, Mr. Gogarty–"

"Aw, come on, for God's sake! You meds are screwing around with theory, and we're the guinea pigs. The point is, nobody asked us for authorization."

"Security override," she snapped back at him. "Charter provision one hundred fourteen, paragraph–"

"Don't quote me the book, Doc!" Fitz said. He paused, however, as the speakers crackled.

"...thirty ... twenty-nine ... twenty-eight..." intoned the autotape, giving the final countdown.

"Take it easy, Fitz," said Danny. "She's only–"

"What do you mean, take it easy, man? And while we're on the subject, maybe this answers an old locker-room question. There are only three women on board. Maybe they don't need the Pits because they've got themselves a good thing going, reading our tapes. How's that for futility, baby?"

"Fitz, you're flipping," said Boozie, showing an edge to his usually subdued temperament.

"...nineteen ... eighteen ... seventeen..." said the autotape.

Frederica jumped to her feet indignantly. "I don't have to take insults," she said coldly. "You know nothing of the importance of psychoanalysis at this critical stage of the expedition!" She stood there aiming her ire particularly at Fitz, apparently determined to humble him with the clinical facts: dangers of repression and depression as revealed in the Pit feedbacks, image and object shiftings under libido tensions, fantasizing patterns. "And as for yourself, there are neurotic conflicts in psycho-sexuality, such as infantile aggressions."

That was when the laser engines shut down, and the main section of the star ship swung on its giant gimbals. Everybody tensed as the room swayed. Frederica lost her balance and toppled onto Danny. He felt sudden pain as her weight fell against him, but the treatments and the blanket pad helped. He could sense that she was conscious of his burns, reluctant to move, for fear of injuring him. Her face was pressed tightly against his left cheek, and he caught a subtle scent of perfume. As his arms moved to support her, he was aware of a warmly supple female body that was far from being simulated.

When she started to move from him cautiously, he whispered to her on a sudden impulse, "It's all right, honey. We're with you!" She pulled back slightly to look at him. The glasses were gone, and her tawny gold eyes were gleamingly alive, momentarily unveiled. A shield had fallen away, inadvertently, but it came back immediately. She stiffened. He caught her arm. "Don't go," he said. "No role playing, remember?"

Boozie and Fitz were helping her up. Lalille Sardou was moving toward them, looking lissome in her green-gold Mediterranean caftah, which complemented her blond braids and long-lashed, azure eyes. She was followed more slowly by her holy man, who was wary of the low-traction artificial gravity field that had been turned on. Charmingly flushed, accepting her glasses from Foxy and putting them on again, Frederica cautiously sat down.

"The meeting is on!" said one of the other visitors.

Somebody was activating the large panel of monitor screens.

"Now maybe you'll find out something else," said Freddie, checking her chignon.

As Lalille joined the group and indicated a chair nearby for the swami, Mabuse followed up her remark.

"Do you mean about the S-link question?"

"No." She glanced furtively at Danny as though in new appraisal, then she looked ahead defensively at the brightening screens. "The ratio between the Homers and the Jumpers has changed remarkably. Perhaps the futility factor–"

"What?" said Fitz. "You mean we're outnumbered? That's impossible! The majority is for heading home!"

"You're forgetting," said Danny, "that the spare S-link is gone. This is where we get off."

Getting off of a ship, a dream, or a fantasy? As he looked into the steady, dark brown eyes of Sam the holy man, Danny seemed to know, but it was something apart from words. He couldn't define it.

CHAPTER III

The larger central screen revealed the entire staff room and its important occupants: representatives of Flight Command, Project Administration, and subordinate departments. This was possibly the Earth's most far-flung outpost of World Council Authority, since the fate of other star ships was unknown. Some of the smaller screens picked up individuals and isolated groups who were located elsewhere on board but who were also members of the decision panel. The remaining monitors were for close pickups of the various spokesmen.

Commander Alex Lyshenko presided initially, as chief of the Flight Command. He sat prominently at one end of the conference table, heavy, broad-chested, and stocky, looking very much like a Mongolian tyrant except for his brilliant yellow uniform and medals and ribbons of merit. His short-cropped black hair, the wide, swarthy Tatar features and narrow oriental eyes under brooding hirsute brows, the puffed eyelids, the flat, wide nose and aggressive chin and moustache were all part of a khan-type personality, at least in outward appearance. He was, however, a true representative of the New World Order, a competent ship commander and a fanatic for rules as well as official ideology. He exuded an unusual animal vitality and an air of sure decision that was stabilizing to many at this critical time of image shiftings and fantasizing patterns.

At the opposite end of the table, appropriately, was Alonso Madrazo, the equal authority in charge of Project Administration. The aristocratic doctor had put on a formal dark suit which was worthy of an ambassador or president. A jewel-encrusted sunburst medal on his right breast pocket was his single insignia of rank.

Seated along the table between these two were the main department heads who served a function similar to that of a cabinet. Danny noted the presence of the third woman on board, Dr. Tallulah Marsh. Here again was an obvious aura of animal vitality and sure decision like that of the commander. In her early or mid forties, the brainy anthropologist was broad of face and shoulders and matronly in style and mannerism. Her copious dark hair, shot with distinguishing streaks of premature gray, was pinned up in an old-fashioned, Gibson-girl style. Incongruously, with the possible exception of lacking a corset or its equivalent, she might have stepped from the pages of an old Harper's Bazaar, for certainly the deep-bosomed decollete was there. In her sharp gray eyes was a gleam of fiery intelligence that seemed ready to challenge the centuries or the millenia, learnedly embracing the entire Cenozoic if need be.

At each end of the luxurious room, stationed strategically behind the two presiding chiefs, were supporting staff members, aides, and security men. Danny noted the small fidgety figure of adjutant P.Q. Bates at the commander's left elbow. He was busy with his ever-present recorder-transmitter which tied in to the electronic ship's log.

Conspicuous by his absence was First Officer Pike. This was no doubt a begrudged concession to Danny's present state of convalescence. Somebody had to keep an eye on the bridge, even in free-fall. With the gimball action that had just occurred, an entire deck-watch period might be consumed in simply running a checklist on tube disconnects and servo contacts with the main-frame systems. Danny reflected that Adolf's forced assignment to knob-and-button duty at such a crucial moment was not doing much for his already soured disposition.

"This meeting is now in session," said Lyshenko. His somewhat rasping deep voice was gruff; his words were functional as usual. At his left, P.Q. dutifully transmitted his statement to the log. "I'm turning the agenda over to Dr. Madrazo, but before we open on that I have a message for all officers and crewmen." His narrowed eyes darted a warning signal toward Alonso. "I'll assume that Project will concur and cooperate because there isn't any choice in the matter. We're facing a survival decision, and we have to keep our heads on. The point is, I'm getting a lot of static both from the crew and the theorists on board. In view of the present situation, we are in a mode-one emergency, effective now." His hamlike fist thudded down on the tabletop. "That means this is not a country club, and it's not an asylum. The Sirius III is a star ship, duly commissioned by World Council Authority to perform an important mission. The crisis we face is no different than a battle situation in the old days. You don't loose your heads under fire."

He rattled papers before him impatiently. "I have reports here of a supposedly technical and clinical nature, mostly a lot of big words about psycho-phasing and phobia syndromes, but I'm going to translate them for you." Now came the Mongolian glare of the apparent tyrant. "We have some screws loose, and those screws are going to be tightened. This ship is an extension of World Authority under law!" The heavy-lidded eyes opened enough to reveal a threatening glare. "I don't give a damn about medical or psychological theories just now. We have our mission orders. We're intelligent members of an advanced civilization backed by the highest technology and scientific brain trust in history. For you men out there who are listening to this, I'm not trying to explain something to you, I'm telling you. You know the regulations under mode one: toe the line and follow orders. That's your only handle! Any infractions will be handled by security."

He paused as if wondering how to boost the morale in the middle of an ultimatum. There was a muscular twitch of his lips, probably meant to be a conciliatory smile, but it was as brief as a whiplash. "If you want some kindly philosophy you can identify yourselves with the ship. When we hit a dust bank or a magnetic storm, we don't come through it if all the tie downs are loose. So batten the hatches, bolt yourselves down. That means the only solid deck you've got under you is discipline. If you forget it, there's a definite backup. You'll answer to me!" With a wave of his hand, he turned the meeting over to Alonso.

"Hell!" muttered Fitz.

"Or bile," said Foxy with a snicker.

A crewman behind them said, "Mode one allows executions."

"Not to mention putting roborgs on riot duty," said somebody else.

Lalille smiled softly at Frederica in a signal of encouragement, since it was largely her own reports Lyshenko had almost scuttled. However, Freddie gave everyone a no-comment look and watched Alonso expectantly.

"Don't knock it," said Boozie. "With all our alleged infantilism, what's wrong with a father image?"

To Danny, it looked like a go for the Jumper plan. He thought of commenting on the commander's apparent commitment, but Alonso had opened the agenda.

Although more eloquent and polished than the Skipper, the Duke was nevertheless efficient. Diplomatically sidestepping Lyshenko's discipline issue, he focused directly on the prime decision before them. In a very few words he reviewed their situation and then flatly stated the problem.

"Without an S-link there are no alternatives. I regret to say it, but our only recourse is to make an attempt to survive on the nearest habitable planet. Fortunately, this latter opportunity has been presented to us."

"Dr. Madrazo," said Tallullah Marsh, "before we examine the biophysical feasibility of planetary survival–"

"My dear, you're out of order," said Alonso patiently.

"I'd like to get some order here," she said in her husky contralto. "You just did away with the S-link, which does eliminate the alternatives. Before we get to that stage, the missing spare part would seem to be the primary question here."

"Right on, Big M," said Fitz approvingly, and all present agreed except that Freddie and the Lily pretended not to hear him. The crew-given nickname for Tallullah apparently alluded to Marsh, Mother, or even Matriarch, but everybody knew it was a covert reference to her mammary endowments.

Alonso assured her that the S-link matter was on the agenda. He was already into item one, having called upon Chief Engineer Stanis Bruno to give a report of other damages caused by the explosion. For this purpose, a block of remote monitors had lowered from a ceiling well over the conference table, and the intense, dark-eyed Italian appeared on one of the screens. He had barely begun his report before Lyshenko cut him off.

"If the water reserves aren't damaged, the rest is immaterial to the discussion. Next item, Doctor!"

"Bull!" said Fitz. "The oxygen tanks were part of the backup. We lost three storage banks."

"We still have the cryogenics to draw on," Danny said quietly. "They're good for a year."

"Hey, without recycling?" asked Foxy, for once not kibitzing. "You'd eat up the fuel!"

The staff room was considering item two: the water estimate itself. Stan's Bruno managed this time to survive the commander's impatience. The conclusion was that there were four months with medium comfort but restricted showers. Water was not a critical deterrent within the parameters of a landing maneuver, yet it was a limiting factor on the allowed period for a decision.

Danny pricked up his cars because navigation entered at this point. Their present velocity, even in free-fall, was rapidly pulling them away from the nearby planetary system.

Poyntner in astrophysics spoke up sharply. "The obvious decision is retropulsion."

"I recommend a vote on that," said Lyshenko, "at the end of your agenda, Doctor." His eyes gleamed briefly. "Or within one hour, whichever comes first!"

"Touche!" whispered Boozie.

Danny thought of the long chemical fuel tanks under the cold starlight out on the frames, the waiting clusters of the jet engines which had not been used for many months. These were the powerful thrusters that would be used for braking their velocity so that they could make a turn-around. How many Gs would they vote for? Would they go into retro before the S-link question was resolved? On that still hung the last thin thread of hope for the homeward journey. Otherwise, it would be a final commitment in favor of the Jumpers.

While everyone was absorbed in the meeting on the screens, he watched Frederica pensively. When he concentrated on her young, intelligent profile, he found himself wondering about the person inside. Aside from her position on board as a medical psychiatrist, what about the woman in her, or the girl behind the woman? Had she ever had an Earth dream? What kind of hangups had turned her off and made her a cog in the machine? He remembered that one brief moment when she had been trapped in his arms and her eyes were close with the shield temporarily down. What had he seen in those amber pools of an inner, secret life? His double-think shot him the concept of fear, but of what? How was she going to react to a decision to land on an unknown, untried planet, stranded for better or worse as one of three women with over three hundred men, not to mention the unprobed perils of a totally alien environment? What then of libido tensions and fantasizing patterns, Doctor?

He became aware of Boozie's studied surveillance. The faint smirk the Belgian gave him was loaded.

CHAPTER IV

When the S-link issue came up at last, it ran into a dilemma. As Alonso summarized it, there were two ways of looking at the subject: either they had to assume that the spare link was definitely gone and thus develop their decision from that premise; or they had to assume there was a possibility of finding it. In the latter case, they were again faced with the question of how much time could be devoted to a search. Chief geologist Cyrus Stockton cut the Gordian knot with an unexpected stroke of logic.

"It seems to me that if another point is settled first, we won't have to worry about the S-link. If we can determine here that a return trip to Earth is unfeasible, we will only have one choice before us. We must try for a landing on one of the local planets." He smiled up the table at Alonso. "In that case we won't have to waste time discussing the biophysical feasibility of planetary survival. We'll be committed to it!"

"He's one of the head Jumpers," said Fitz.

"I hate to say it," said Mabuse, "but he has a point."

"What if it's a toss-up?" asked Danny. "Home, or here?" Again he met the steady gaze of the bearded holy man next to Lalille. The wise old eyes carried a message that troubled him.

In the staff room, the big discussion was in full swing. Considering the theoretical feasibility of a return flight to Earth at this late stage was admittedly embarrassing, since it had already been started in desperation months ago. It was only now in the last few hours of their PNR limit that all issues had to be reexamined.

"It looks like the Skipper's a bit confused," said Fitz.

"The Jumpers are ganging up on him."

"He'll be more confused," said Frederica smugly, "when he learns just how many new Jumpers there are." She hesitated a moment, then looked directly at Danny, Fitz, and Boozie. "He also doesn't realize that the ship is an emotional powder keg. The tension curves are clearly graphed in the Psych Department's reports. He may find out about psycho-phasing the hard way."

The staff room meeting was beginning to get out of control. The shootings and arm wavings finally had to be quelled by threats from Lyshenko. He warned them he'd declare a crisis, In which case the parliamentary procedures would be at an end. By the rulebook, this would give him and Alonso dictatorial powers of decision.

The threat achieved its purpose except for one note of rebellion. This was from Marius Nolokov, who had been dubbed the "Mad Monk" by the crew. His Rasputin countenance appeared briefly on a remote screen above the conference table.

"Do you have a decision, commander?"

As Lyshenko only stared at him, apparently caught off guard, Nolokov added curtly, "Then you will permit this company to arrive at one!"

"Sir, you are in contempt!" said Alonso, raising his voice.

"Let's get on with this," said Lyshenko, ignoring the challenge as a lion might ignore a jackal.

"The Monk is asking for it," said Foxy.

As the meeting proceeded, Danny kept thinking about Marius Nolokov, assistant director of the parapsychology sector. Everyone in the psi group was some kind of paragnostic specialist, but the Mad Monk was more like a sorcerer among them. Known as having virtually a semi-mutant intelligence and possessing an eidetic memory, he was the super whiz kid of the starman set, often unassailable when it came to intellectual in-fighting. He was also known as a master of occultism including the gift of telekinesis.

Actually, Nolokov had gotten away with his assault on Lyshenko because in a sense it was part of his assignment. Among strategy men and think-tank scenario writers, Marius was known technically as a "Yabbut." This meant what it sounded like: yeah but. He was supposed to challenge everyone's thinking at the impasse and crisis points, and he performed his task only too well. Holy Sam was the only one who appeared to be his friend. Perhaps this was because the swami was the only one who understood him, or was it vice versa?

The issue before the staff was highly theoretical now. They were examining the possible nature of the barrier effect. In other words, what had really happened to them, and what were their navigational findings? In the course of this, something came up that troubled Danny. There was much reference to magnetic and gravitic warp affects when they broke through the eighth Barrier stage at a velocity of 8-C. This had happened about eighteen months previously, but everyone clearly remembered the crisis at the time. The ship had almost been shaken apart. Emergency outside action had been necessary. Scientific and technical crews had fought the warp storm while working out on the pod frames, checking tank tie downs and servo lines, rescuing cargo modules, and protecting the chem-fuel cryogenic system.

It was mention of Dr. Ernst Hahnemann that activated his peculiar double-think processes. Hahnemann had been the original project administrator before Alonso. During the crisis he had lost his life. In Danny's mind an unframed question lingered vaguely. He didn't know why it bothered him at the moment, so he was soon distracted from it by the staff room developments.

Dr. Alfred Poyntner, the chief astronomer and astrophysicist, was attempting to explain something that he admitted was an unknown dimension in science. Beyond the possibility of something working tangentially to Einstein's curved space structure, or something to do with the older Lorentz-Fitzgerald time-contraction theory, he was not able to speculate any further on what might have occurred.

"Then that would seem to make any other speculation equally valid," said Dr. Elliott, the head of the parapsychology group.

Poyntner sneered loftily at him. "I suppose this is where we waste our time on the UFOs again!"

"Which is something you're not able to speculate about!" said Nolokov over his separate circuit.

There was a flurry of argument and comments on this almost taboo subject. Danny recalled the weird circumstances surrounding their sudden jump across the light-years. After the warp storm crisis, all hands on board had blacked out for a period which astrophysicists said could not be measured in real time. Before and after the occurrence, UFOs had allegedly been sighted. In spite of photographs, Poyntner and his empirical colleagues had insisted they were translight warpages and optical distortions. Poyntner's favorite argument against the theory of UFO influence was that all such phenomena were some kind of visual deception.

"So-called flying saucers are often seen rushing toward the observer on a crash course. Then they attenuate. They vanish like figments of the imagination, which they are!" While the argument continued in the staff room, Lalille mentioned the subject of dreams. She said this was another element that Freddie had included among her psycho-phasing indicators. Danny recalled that he was not alone in the weird vision department. He knew that Freddie had also had a few that were eerie and even symbolic, involving lights, alien faces, and once a topless pyramid on a geometric plane. Dr. Elliott, a bioplasma sensitive, had confessed that similar flashes had come to him in his dreams lately. Oddly enough, even Alfred Poyntner had spoken of such hallucinations, except that his were of a mathematical and geometric nature: curves, arcs and space-time equations, or sometimes electromagnetic spectra and sine waves.

"We've broken through a barrier, all right," Boozie said. "All the old rules are out the portholes. The lid is off!"

Finally, Dr. Elliott brought the UFO discussion to an end. "By admissible speculation," he said carefully, "that subject wasn't what I had in mind."

Poyntner reddened suddenly. "Now don't bring up that chastity-belt idea again! We can't waste our time on that!"

"According to what I've heard of it," said Tallullah Marsh, "it sounds fascinating, at least from an ethnological point of view. At any rate, we're examining anything we can lay our hands on at the moment, so I propose we have a clear presentation of the theory."

"It's unadulterated rubbish!" said Poyntner, who now seemed to be earning his nickname of "Old Pointed Head." "Let's get it into the record," said Lyshenko, "so we can use it or forget it!"

Alonso gave Dr. Elliott the floor. The gentle-mannered parapsychoiogist hastened to explain that it wasn't his own theory. "You might say it's been developed from various sources." He smiled resignedly. "Mostly philosophical, you might say."

Danny had only heard rumors of something called Nature's chastity belt. He had dismissed it before as some kind of philosophical cynicism, but soon he was leaning forward and double-thinking about it. Here again were some of those things he had never considered before, as if he were in a slow mutational awakening. As the theory was developed, he recalled the cryptic look in Sam's old eyes, and he felt the gooseflesh rise on his back. Here quite verily the lid was off!

"So to summarize the concept," said Elliott, "the laws of nature seem to impose this barrier wall, in order to prevent a cross-contamination of cultures in the universe. We've seen its effects in our own case – time-shift, parallel universe, another dimension – call it what we may. The fact is, no star ship has ever returned."

"Which leaves us nowhere!" said Poyntner with lofty impatience.

The Mad Monk was back on the screen. "That's precisely where you came in, Doctor!"

"Nolokov!" said Lyshenko abruptly. "You've opened your mouth enough without putting anything into it! Elliott tells me you're the expert on this zany idea. Now either make your point, or stay off the channel!"

Danny noted Nolokov's hesitation, as if he were caught off guard. He saw Dr. Elliott nod his approval at the Russian, and the latter's sarcastic manner changed. He seemed to move from an emotional level to an apathetic mental level.

"First, the ground rules, gentlemen. Do you want truth or politics? Your psychologists call it role playing, saving face, walking on eggs with each other, self-deceptive dodging–"

"Nolokov," said Alonso firmly, "get on with it, please."

Nolokov returned an icy smile. His dark, mystic's eyes gleamed contempt. "Very well, I'll give it to you straight. Metaphysically your collective condition is called the bondage of illusion. Your little personalities take precedence over the intuitions of super consciousness. Most of you are completely incapable of comprehending the implications here."

"Oh for God's sake!" moaned Poyntner impatiently.

"Particularly the purely mechanistic empiricists like yourself, Dr. Poyntner. You're flat out on a marble slab, dead to the issues involved."

Poyntner leapt to his feet so abruptly that he had to grab the table. Under the light deck gravity he almost lost his balance. "Sir, I do not intend–"

"Sit down!" said Lyshenko. "Let's get this over with, once and for all. Then we can get on with the more pragmatic business at hand!"

"Ah yes!" said Nolokov as Poyntner sat down angrily. "Pragmatism is the favorite word of the self-styled realist. The glorious New World Order has become so pragmatic that it's reduced you all to sausages – packaged ideologies, packaged people, all on a technological assembly line, zippered up and as turned off as the roborg consciousness. Behold the cyborg armies of the blind!"

There were indignant shouts of angry dissent.

Lyshenko stiffened visibly. "Nolokov, I warn you!" he said menacingly. "There will be no discussion of ideologies. You strain my official responsibilities here. Now get to the point and keep your insults to yourself, or by God, you'll be a roborg!"

Nolokov frowned darkly at this ultimate threat of the age, but he rallied fiercely. "You've missed the most basic factor of all – intelligence! Even materialistic science recognizes at least the effect of some kind of intelligence working behind the laws of the universe. Let me give you a hypothesis: Universal Intelligence. Consider that the universe itself is a form of conscious intelligence. After all, you can't define electro-magnetics, gravitation, or mental energy. I'll tell you that they're all the same, a living consciousness working behind cause and effect. Take it as a hypothesis that this intelligence, blind or cognizant, imposes the Barrier Wall; and as a consequence of our traversing that barrier we have been deliberately tossed astray."

Lyshenko slapped the table with a meaty hand. "For Christ's sake, Nolokov, I don't even know if you're speaking English!"

"Precisely!" said Poyntner vindictively.

Nolokov took a long breath, obviously striving to control his own fiery personality. "I get carried away. Perhaps another talent than mine is needed. It's an art, you know, to reduce archetypal ideas to verbal expression and concrete imagery, that is, where the intuitive faculty is absent. We have someone else on board who knows more about this subject than any of us. I suggest you have him explain it to you."

Dr. Elliott smiled nervously. "I believe I know who he's referring to."

"Then let's hear from him," said Alonso. For the first time the Duke appeared to be troubled by the discussion. He seemed anxious to get it over with. "Who's the man you're talking about?"

"Swami Sambhava Ramprasad."

Lalille turned gracefully and placed a delicate white hand on the holy man's dark wrist, as if to awaken him from meditation. An invisible operator somewhere extended a camera boom to bring him into video close-up. The staff room officials could see him on their screens. Alonso was urging him to speak.

The old swami seemed hesitant, but finally he smiled gently and spoke, slowly and carefully, with a soft East Indian accent. "There are perhaps a few points I may be able to explain. I may also say that this may bring you to a surprising conclusion, so that our time on this subject may not have been entirely wasted."

"I hope you can keep that promise, Swami," said Lyshenko pointedly.

"It is not given without reason," said Sam with quiet confidence. "First, the few points I mentioned. In the matter of the intelligence of Nature, this has already become quite evident to science. In the instincts of animals you see what you often refer to as the wisdom of Nature. The biological cosmologist recognizes some kind of intelligence working in the formation of self-duplicating molecular chains which he calls basic life." He went on with a number of other learned examples but then addressed himself to his promised conclusion.

"There is no reason to believe that Nature, or a Universal Intelligence, should not have a mechanism to prevent the untimely crossing of human or humanoid cultures in the universe. We ourselves might well interfere with a primitive culture on a pristine world, as your anthropologists may be willing to confirm. On the other hand, some greatly advanced and even superhuman culture might give us knowledge that we are not prepared for, which in its own way can be dangerous. Our own technology, for example, far outstrips our wisdoms. At this point it is well to remember an axiom of the ancient wise: until we know what we don't know, we are not ready to know–"

"You promised us a conclusion," said Poyntner sharply. The holy man smiled benignly. "You have failed to focus your attention on the main effect of crossing the Barrier. I refer to the unaccountable great leap across vast interstellar distances at a velocity that is far beyond the design capacity of your vessel."

Lyshenko stared at him with sudden new interest. "Yes? And what do you make of that?"

"I find in this a positive note, sir. It may relieve all of you of the task of much discussion. Consider the long leap through the cosmic continuum – another working of Universal Intelligence – to bring us here for a purpose, to this alien sun and its family of planets. If you insist on attributing such things to natural law, which is valid enough, then you must also admit that Nature never works without purpose. Therefore, good friends, your attempt to return to Earth across the Barrier Wall may well prove to be futile, until you know what you don't know. Your efforts will be put to best use by submitting to forces already at work. You should proceed at once to make your landing, because it may well be that a wisdom greater than our own has guided us to this place."

Cyrus Stockton, among others, had been wiping sweat from his face. He stood up and pointed accusingly at the swami. "You have no basis whatsoever for making such an assinine statement!"

"But I do," said the holy man gravely. "You must not disregard some of the special faculties that have been directed to the service of this mission. In my own case, I refer to a sensitivity to multiple levels of consciousness. I have sensed the presence of such an intelligence, especially in recent weeks."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then somebody shouted over one of the remote monitors. "He's speaking of the almighty hand of God!"

"There go the fundamentalists again," said Poyntner disgustedly. "Thank God I'm an atheist!"

That was when things began to come apart. Red lights flashed near Lyshenko, and P.Q. Bates whispered hastily in his ear. Amidst a rising storm of reaction in the staff room, the commander turned to his aides. A young medi-tech came running into the recovery room for Dr. Sachs. She was urgently needed. Without a word, she hurried out of the room.

"This looks like a rash of the flippies," said Fitz.

The swami excused himself, and Lalille went with him. Danny looked at Mabuse. "It's pretty way-out stuff, Boozie. Are you religious?" They both listened to the beep of distant alert horns.

"They're cracking up around here, Danny. Just now I'll go for the Skipper's advice, to batten down the hatches!"

For once, Foxy was noncommittal. He sat there staring into space, pale as a ghost. The speakers crackled as the commander's broad face dominated all the smaller screens. On the big screen, the joint-security men were visible behind him as they dictated orders through special corn circuits.

"The hour is up!" Lyshenko fairly bellowed. "Under crisis provisions, this meeting is adjourned until after retropulsion. All personnel will have ten minutes to get to the pads. That is all!"

There was a scuffling of feet in the recovery room, and a flurry of exclamations, as everyone moved toward the exits.

"Good old hot Sachs wins her point," said Boozie as they all got up. "The joint's jumping, but the Skipper must have been ready. The screws are loose."

Fitz nodded grimly. "He's going to tighten them down under high-G pressure."

Foxy at last came to himself. "Yeah, it's the old fire hose technique!"

They all headed for the pad rooms where the inertial slings were located. On each man's mind was a suspenseful thought: retropulsion was only an interim measure. It didn't have to mean that the Homers had lost the argument.

It was later, when the great star ship was trembling under the high Gs of the mighty retroengines and when all personnel were strapped into their pads, that Danny experienced a shock of revelation. Boozie's remark about battening the hatches had suddenly shot his memory back to the death of Dr. Ernst Hahnemann, the former project administrator.

"My God!" he shouted above the rumble of the bulkhead frames.

Fitz lay closest to him in the racks. "What's wrong?" he yelled back.

"The S-link! I think I know where it went!"

His haunting new sense of futility rose inside of him like a suffocating flood. He knew now that there'd be no returning home. As for Holy Sam's alleged cosmic presence out here beyond the Barrier Wall, that part was too much for his comprehension. He wondered, however, if it had anything to do with the heavy increase of Jumpers in recent weeks. Were they responding to some strange wisdom of Nature, like lemmings, filled with a blind impulse to land on an unknown world?

CHAPTER V

"What is the nature of your business, Captain? The commander is very busy."

Danny didn't exactly hate the pipsqueak adjutant, but he had little use for P.Q. Bates' supercilious attitude. Why did these types always crop up on staff?

"Come on, Philo, this is urgent!" he said irritably into his cabin phone. "I have special information for that meeting. Now damn it, cut the red tape!"

"You know your chain of command, Captain Troy. If you have something so vital to report, I'm sure that Major Pike–"

Philo was interrupted as Lyshenko himself grabbed the phone.

"All right, Captain, make it fast! What is it?"

"Sir, I believe I know what happened to the S-link."

"What? You mean the spare?"

"Yes sir. I think I can prove it was lost."

There was a brief moment of silence, during which he could hear the Russian's heavy breathing.

"Troy, do you know what you're saying?"

"Yes sir. I'm a Homer, Commander. I'm not in favor of a landing, but I felt you should have this information."

"Feelings have nothing to do with duty, Captain. Now what's your proof?"

"You want it now, sir, or at the meeting?"

"Now, just the basics, and make it fast!"

"It happened back at our last Barrier crossing, sir, during the warp shakes. I was outside, and I remember. One of our storage pods was ripped open and–"

"Way back then? You mean when Hahnemann got killed?"

"Yes sir."

"So you think we lost the S-link then?"

"Yes sir."

"Anybody else see what you saw?"

"Yes sir. Major Pike was there, plus some salvage techs."

There was a longer moment of silence, followed by an abrupt decision: "The second leg of the staff meeting starts in ten minutes, Captain. Be there!"

That was all, or at least Danny thought it was all. He found out shortly that he had started some kind of chain reaction, but just what kind he wasn't sure. Later he figured that Master Bates had tattled to Pike, because Adolf had quickly changed the signals.

He was distracted in the interim by having to make a quick visit to sick bay for a fresh spray and bandages so that he could at least get his shirt on. He also encountered his other leadman, Flight Engineer Ogden Hapgood, who gave him the latest nav poop. The retropulsion had chopped down their speed to one-half C. He didn't have time to go into the S-link situation with Happy, but he knew that if they were faced with a landing decision there'd have to be several more heavy retro phases before they'd be down to planetary velocity. Then there would be the long grind back to that unknown solar system, and their final bid for survival.

These things were on his mind when he acknowledged the salutes of the security guards and entered the staff room with an unbuttoned shirt. He stopped in the entrance and stared. No staff meeting. The few faces he did see staring back at him were not very happy ones.

"Don't Just stand there, Troy," said Lyshenko. "On Major Pike's advice, this is a closed hearing. Now let's get on with it!"

He had walked into the lion's den. Adolphus Pike sat there glowering at him. He found a seat beside Jerry Fontaine while the commander filled him in. He explained briskly that it was inadvisable to stir up hysteria prematurely until they were ready for a landing decision. This was a chance to kill two birds with one stone, by also having a forum on the cross-complaint involving Jerry Fontaine, Dr. Sachs, and Major Pike.

"Besides," he said, "if we're faced with a planetary entry, I want to clear up some other items. That's why you're all here. P.Q., take a log entry."

While he transmitted his official data on the closed hearing to Philo Bates, he was interrupted several times by the phones behind him. During this, everybody sat there engaged in some loaded eyeballing. Lined up across from Danny were Alonso Madrazo, Frederica Sachs, and Tallullah Marsh along with Dr. Cyrus Stockton, who was Jerry Fontaine's superior in the astrogeology section. Seated next to Lyshenko was Pike, still staring blazes at him. Obviously his message had to do with going to the commander over his head.

Danny glanced at Frederica with the trace of a grin, as if to say, "Big deal!" Her pale, acquiline face was set for a battle, and her troubled gaze was fixed on Jerry. The blond-bearded exobiologist sat slumped beside him like a man sentenced to the pillory. His head was still bandaged, and he looked a bit groggy from a sedative he had taken.

Lyshenko finally told Philo to cut off the phones.

"All right," he said to the group, "we have a short agenda to cover. By the way, Pike, who's on the bridge?"

The first officer looked at him as if he'd been caught woolgathering. "Oh, well, Happy was on his way up."

"No CO in the meantime?" As Pike hesitated, Lyshenko snapped at him. "That's an infraction, Major. We may have some screws loose around here, but I want the nuts and bolts tied down on my command deck. I know your crew of hard guts is competent, but that's no excuse, not with my first and second officers sitting here in the staff room!"

Pike stared at him sullenly. Evidently this was not his day. "Speaking of clearing up a few items, sir," he said, "I have another complaint to file for the forum session." His long jaw muscles tensed visibly as he glared at Frederica. "It seems the headshrink department is getting out of bounds and causing a lot of hysteria by giving people too damn much to think about."

Frederica reddened. "Speaking of going out of bounds," she said swiftly, "when a ship's officer can arrest and beat up injured members of the project staff–"

Lyshenko slapped the table top. "Stop that, Doctor, right now! We'll get to all that in due time, but I'll tell you this: the psychology section had better lay off the panic button, or I'll take direct action myself! Is that clear?"

Tallullah placed a hand on Frederica's in matronly defense. "Not too clear, Alex. Let's keep our heads now, all of us."

Cyrus Stockton must have seen the chance he'd been waiting for. He was a small, beady-eyed man with a nervous mouth twitch. "It's hard to do that," he said sharply, "when you've got mad monks and swamis creating a lunatic fringe. We don't need that kind of warpage here. We've got to use our intelligence!"

Frederica pulled her hand away from Tallullah. "God-given intelligence, were you going to say? Or are we playing God on our own?" The magnified amber eyes flashed defiance, or was it, Danny thought, a gleam of inner conflict? "I'm not a fundamentalist, but nobody's going to invade that kind of privacy–"

Pike cut her off in acid disdain. "Look who's talking about invasion of privacy!" He appealed to Lyshenko. "Sir, there's a very dangerous piece of spying this woman is doing."

"Alex," said Alonso, quietly but firmly, "may I suggest–"

"Yes!" said Lyshenko heatedly. "You certainly may! Now that's enough from all of you, or I'll start making use of my mode-one prerogatives! We're going to get down to business. First, let's have the report from Troy. Captain, what do you know about the spare S-link?"

Danny told his story as simply and to the point as he could. He referred to the warp-storm crisis eighteen months ago, describing the crews who went out on the frame in suits. (Why the devil was Pike watching him like a cat?) "A tie frame had broken loose under the stress, and it ripped open cargo pod six." As he talked he wondered about the strange surveillance he was getting from the Big M and the Duke. Their eyes never left his face. Was this an inquest or something? "I and some of the other men saw the shell rupture, sir. As you know, the pods are under a light helium pack. It was enough pressure to blow loose some of the spares."

"Is that the only proof you have?"

"Pod six was where the S-link was stored, and in the damaged section. There was an inventory later, after repairs and all, but–"

"Yes?"

"It was a manual report, sir."

Pike interrupted. "I saw a tab-out several months later from the computer. The spare link was listed then."

"And still is," said Alonso. "But we have no spare. As we all know, a crew went out to pod six right after the explosion to get the extra link, and it was missing."

As Lyshenko's heavy-lidded eyes swung back to him, Danny felt obliged to say the rest. "The data base files are all computer dated, sir. I checked that out. The inventory input that listed the spare link was dated before the warp storm."

"And the manual report?"

"It was never fed in."

"Why not?"

"I believe it was burned in the fire we had later, down in data control. No one's taken an inventory since." He nodded his head toward Alonso. "Except, as the doctor says, when men were sent out to the pod just recently."

Tallullah cleared her throat huskily. "It would appear, then, that there's no use searching for it on board. There would be no reason for it to be here, would there?" Her shrewd array eyes swept the small group as if daring anyone to challenge her logic.

Lyshenko stared at all of them, one by one, and finally looked at Pike. "At this stage, the verification of the pod rupture is the final point. Major, you were there, as I recall. What did you see?"

Pike stiffened slowly and glanced around at everyone warily. Suddenly, Danny's mouth almost gaped as a rush of memory came back to him about the death of Eric Hahnemann.

Dr. Hahnemann had been a nuclear-propulsion specialist. There had been a question about control lines out to the laser pile. Pike had been assigned to take him out there, but they never got that far. He saw the scene now as Pike must be seeing it. There was a cable flailing about, which was the probable cause of the leak in Hahnemann's suit. He and Pike were momentarily dislodged from the frame, trying to hand jet back to the manlock. Hahnemann finally just drifted, unconscious, unable to make it yet only yards away. The most startling recollection was of that one brief moment when Pike had stood in the manlock, undecided, before closing the outer hatch.

"Yes," said Pike hesitantly, "it happened just before–"

"I know," said Lyshenko impatiently, "just before the accident that killed Dr. Hahnemann. What we're getting at now is, did you see pod six when it ruptured?"

Pike's brow gleamed faintly with perspiration. "Yes, I saw it. Like Danny says, quite a few spare racks went out with the helium burst."

There was a moment of charged silence that was broken by Cyrus Stockton. "Alex, I'd say the matter is closed. There is no spare. We have to face the alternative."

The Major seemed relieved to get off the subject of the barrier crisis. "I have to second that, sir. We've searched the ship pretty well, anyway." He turned to face the commander's inscrutable surveillance. "You know I'm a Homer. The last thing I want is to play Robinson Crusoe out here, but that's it! We lost the spare link when that pod was ruptured."

Commander Lyshenko straightened his heavy frame and then leaned forward with both thick elbows on the table, his slightly slanted dark eyes sweeping the group with a fierce intensity. "All right, but before I abort this mission I want to explore something quickly. Cyrus, you're the planetary geologist. What are our chances? You and Poyntner have been running the scans on that system."

Stockton smiled faintly, his thin lips twitching involuntarily. "Running scans is one thing, interpreting them is another. Jerry's the expert on that. He's managed to obtain some new data."

Jerry Fontaine raised his bandaged head in dazed startlement as all eyes turned to him. A discussion followed that brought out an unexpected point. Jerry bad been down in the keel-pod observatory just before the explosion. This explained his presence in the maintenance section. He had started back just after the catastrophe happened. As they all went into the technical aspects of remote planetary analysis, Danny kept thinking about Pike. Now he could understand why the Major had wanted a private hearing on the subject of the barrier crisis. Inevitably it would have reminded everybody on board about the Hahnemann incident. He had tried to live it down. Danny grimly appreciated how peeved Adolf must have been when he had gone over his head on a thing like that. Arriving at a landing decision, in view and hearing of everybody on board, would have gotten things out of control. Perhaps he owed Pike an apology.

As it was, he had a hard enough time to keep down his own emotions, considering the inevitable. They were to be castaways for life, if they survived. He looked across at young Freddie Sachs and her blousy picture collar. To hell with Robinson Crusoe. Who would play Adam?

Back in the corner, P.Q. Bates sat at his button and phone board, pale, frightened, and stripped of every supercilious atom. The poor little shrimp was trembling. To those present who were listening, the technical discussion was scary talk. The experts were speculating about things like galactic radiations and high-magnitude solar flares, thermal mapping, carbon-based life catalysis, ionization layers, carbon dioxide pressure bands and signs of volcanism. However, nothing was said about usable Lebensraum. One photographic orbital probe and one biochemical landing probe had been sent out during their closest approach. The photo-probe's telemetry had failed, although it was well within the system by now. The bio-probe had successfully landed on the most interesting of the ten planets of the system and had sent back promising signs of a life-support environment.

However, Lyshenko soon cut off the discussion. "This can take too long, and I'll be damned if I'm going to approach the survival problem by forming another committee. We have to make a landing in any case. In the months ahead, just find out all you can!"

"That will be my department," said Alonso. "But in the meantime, may I suggest that we hold onto a message Alex has given us. We are intelligent members of an advanced civilization and are backed by the highest technology in our history. I would add this thought: landing and surviving on an alien plant is one thing. Should we succeed with that phase there is still another possibility of eventually returning to Earth."

"What?" Philo Bates jumped to his feet, but he was ignored as everybody stared at the Duke.

"Do you think there's an outside chance of that?" asked Lyshenko with visible intensity.

"Well, according to Jerry here, the hydrogen and helium stability of number four may not all be due to photodecomposition of water vapor. Some of it may be attributable to radioactive decay in the crust."

"And we're not dealing with a proto-atmospheric state there," said Stockton, "considering the low count of neon, argon, and krypton. As for survival, the ultraviolet absorption gives us plenty of oxygen. With the fairly heavy greenhouse effect and signs of volcanism, I'd say you're looking at a late Mesozoic or early Cenozoic stage. That's plenty of time for isotropic development in the natural state. It seems workable."

"If we ever locate suitable radioactive materials and can build up a processing system, it's at least conceivable that we might one day come up with some fuel cores."

Tallullah smiled cynically. "As long as we're dreaming, Alonso, can you also come up with an S-link?"

"That's not impossible, either," said Danny, and he caught Frederica's look of hopeful wonderment.

"Come on, Danny," said Pike. "That thing's a high-speed molecular synthesizer. Probably a dozen different sciences and industries went into manufacturing it!"

"I don't know," said Danny. "We have a lot of equipment and brains, and if we're going to be mining and processing radioactive ore, we'll have plenty of time. In the brain department, you know, there's Torky – I mean Torquato Verga. He's a top expert on that kind of gear."

"That's very reassuring to know," said Tallullah. She turned to Lyshenko. "Maybe you do need that committee, Alex. We're getting somewhere already."

"I'm listening, and it's some of the most hopeful horse sense I've heard around here for months. This kind of thinking should be our policy from here on in."

"Now what about the second leg of the staff meeting?" Cyrus said. "Isn't taking a vote a mere formality?"

"I wonder how much voting we're going to be doing on our bright new world," interjected Pike sarcastically. "If we're going to survive and get things done, we'll need something more effective than your muddled-up People's Congress and a lot of other paper-mill idiocy."

Frederica's tawny eyes blazed at him. "What would you suggest, Adolf?"

"That's enough!" snapped Lyshenko. "The vote on a landing is a formality by law. But speaking of formalities." He turned to Bates. "P.Q., take an entry."

As Philo nervously picked up the transcorder, he continued while keeping a baleful eye on all present. "Notation on mode-one riot provisions. In case of crisis call, per paragraph eight forty-seven and emergency override, item sub-ten, First Officer Major Adophus Pike will have direct command of all security."

Pike struggled to prevent his smug expression from being a sneer of triumph as he glared at Frederica. Danny knew what it meant, if she didn't. In case of a riot of any nature, it threw in the works, including the roborgs.

Lyshenko said, "That's a backup for what I said in the staff meeting. This isn't a country club, and it isn't an asylum. When I make the landing decision announcement, there will be no allowances for any so-called psycho-phasing!"

Before Tallullah or Alonso could stop her, Frederica pushed her chair back and stood up, stiff-necked and rapier straight again. "If you will excuse me!"

She started to leave, but stopped when the Major called out to her. "But what about the Forum, Freddie? Are you dropping your complaints?"

"That's an excellent idea," said Lyshenko emphatically. "We have other things–"

"Why don't you beat up a few more wounded civilians, Major?" Frederica retorted. "Just to inaugurate your new order?"

Pike smiled viciously. "Only the yellow-bellies who can stand around and let a companion die."

"Hey, Dolph!" Danny couldn't hold it back. "Do you mean, like viewing the stars in an open manlock?"

There was silence. It was a deliberate reference to Pike's frozen moment eighteen months before when Ernst Hahnemann had drifted away in a ruptured spacesuit and needlessly died. Frederica glanced quickly at Danny, searching his eyes as though for a very cryptic meaning. Then she turned and left the room.

"I think that does it for now," declared Lyshenko pointedly. "This meeting is adjourned!"

* * * *

A few minutes later, Danny was on his way back to sick bay, wondering when he could get released to return to duty. He had taken a shortcut down a maintenance access ladder to a deserted meter room on deck D when it happened. He heard someone behind him but didn't turn quickly enough. Pike's heavy fist landed on his jaw and sent a burst of colors spraying through the momentary darkness in his head. He felt razors of pain in his chest and shoulder as he rolled over on the deck and struggled to rise.

"That'll teach you to go over my head again, buddy!" shouted Adolf the Pike.

Danny saw the tall brawny figure looming over him in a kind of hazy silhouette. He shook his head and slowly got up, gingerly rubbing his jaw.

"That's off-the-cuff, Danny Boy. You have a smart lip. Now keep it buttoned!"

He could see the long-jawed, leathery face and brooding dark eyes of the man before him. Off-the-cuff was spaceman patois for a silent agreement. The silence part was as much of a sacrament as paying a poker debt. Danny shrugged and grinned sheepishly, starting to turn away. But in the next instant he swung his good right arm and felt his fist come close to the backbone by way of the Major's solar plexus. Up came his left to the chin, followed by the right again, almost in a single motion.

Pike went sprawling back on the deck like a collapsing scaffold. Danny walked over and stood looking down at him, trying to seem casual in spite of the pain of his burns.

"As long as we're playing buddy games," he said, "there's one off-the-cuff for Jerry. Now knock it off, will you?"

Pike sprang to his feet as if to continue the fight but then reverted to a more subtle weapon. "Or was that maybe for hot Sachs Freddie?" he sneered through bloodied lips. "Just the smell of that Stone Age planet and you're getting your tiger skin ready, is that it? Back to the Id, and all that."

Danny thought of several volumes of retort, each one of which led into subjects more abstruse and unanswerable. The old roles that people played were hollow phonies. "What am I supposed to do, Major," he retorted, "stand here and prove something, or kiss your ass?" He walked away and was not followed.

Later, back in his quarters, he checked his jaw in the mirror and saw a dark blue lump where Pike's fist had struck him. As he looked at his reflection he paused to stare at a seeming stranger. The dark brown unruly mop of hair, the steady gray-blue eyes and the straight-lined face, and fairly generous mouth were all familiar enough, yet it seemed that he was glimpsing himself for the first time. Why? Was this the double-think again? Was he seeing things intuitively that he hadn't seen before? He also thought he was beginning to understand Pike's brooding, defensive-aggressiveness. Perhaps it was a shield of some kind. Maybe he felt responsible for Hahnemann's death. It had probably weighed heavily on his conscience ever since. Pike and Jerry Fontaine could be sharing the same bed of nails. He realized that he was suddenly looking at himself and others as persons. But the unanswered question was, instead of what?

Packaged people. The Mad Monk had said they were zippered up and turned off, the cyborg armies of the blind. "Until we know what we don't know," the holy man had said. Danny swore aloud and turned away. Was he psycho-phasing into the flips? He wasn't sure what was happening inside himself, and if that was the case, then what would happen to the lunatic fringe of real flippies when the final announcement came that they were faced with a forced landing?

No wonder Freddie was graphing curves, and they weren't the kind that went with leotards and picture-collar jumpers.

CHAPTER VI

Minutes after the landing decision, tab tech Eddie Ingraham deliberately walked out a manlock in his shorts. Promising signs of a possible life-support environment were still no garden of roses. If the fourth planet of the alien system didn't offer a foothold for survival, it would indeed be Boozie's end of the line. There had been a sudden flurry of religious turnings, but sporadic prayers had been cut off by the curt countdown warning.

The great star ship thundered and trembled under the new retro-thrust of the multiple engine clusters. Danny lay in his inertial rack and knew that more than the bulkheads were shaking. This was the real commitment. The inevitable that everybody had secretly known for over a year was out in the open now.

His awakening double-think told him that the world manifesto package was slowly ripping at the seams. The astral cord to Mother had been snipped by the Barrier Wall. There was no planned ideology for the advent of unplanned people, no more than there had been for the Earth dreams except to let them die. A metamorphosis was happening to their exported communal structure.

He had seen it in everyone's faces and attitudes. There was Freddie when her shield was down in that one split second revealing her undefined fear, and Boozie and his growing spaces of silence and blue-eyed contemplation. There was also poor Jerry and his searching, confused dejection, and stubble-haired Homer Fox and his unwonted nervous pallor, not to mention Fitz and his disgruntled absence of shallow satire, or Adolphus Pike, sullenly building his battlements. For what?

Was this, too, an awakening new-old instinct, a dark wisdom of nature like the lemming syndrome? A life-support environment was one thing, but what was the biophysical feasibility of survival when human nature lost its crutches? He lay there tensely and recalled his own reflection of a stranger in the mirror. What the hell was happening?

After the third retro-phase and the actual turnaround, the lasers were fired up again and the Sirius III was finally on course for its new home or its grave. The alien solar system lay a hundred million miles ahead. It would be two months yet before the ship would begin its maneuvers for an orbital entry. The bald fact of having a definite short-range goal, good or bad, seemed to have a settling influence on the majority, although an unpredictable restlessness was discernable among the minority. In the broadest analysis it was, as the Duke expressed it, "an emotional detente, a period of unique readjustment. We may have to make a total transition in our sense of values."

"Translated," said Fitz to his peers, "that means the end is going to justify the means."

There were apparently various levels to the readjustment or grouping patterns, as Freddie called them, ranging from the official and communal to the individual and secretive. There were isolationists who secluded themselves in their quarters, or elsewhere, refusing to talk to anyone.

On the immaculate bridge, for example, there was an atmosphere of unchanged order and purpose. As the Skipper had emphasized, the star ship was still an extension of World Authority under law, and Lyshenko carried on exactly to the letter of his word. P. Q. Bates was still making his punctual entries into the sacred log; the deck watches were still logging their instrument readings and daily navigational data. Also, Flight Command still worked in precise coordination with Project, cooperating as necessary with Alonso and with Poyntner's astrophysical lab and the observatory. The only slight change was that Boozie had taken over some of Fritters's work in telemetry. His electronic genius was being called upon to see if their photographic probe could be brought back to life in time. By now the instrumentation package was approaching its planned orbit around the fourth planet. It was vitally important to activate the probe if possible and get some close-range pictures.

In the mess hall and rec rooms were the communal groups and their two main topics of discussion: the colony potentials and the question of religion. So far, then, the bridge and the labs were providing for the government arm of the survival colony. The communal groups were working out the elements of community and the church. Down in steerage, in the power and machinery rooms, and maintenance areas and locker rooms, the talk was also drifting into the expected channels of survival, wild imagination, and sex. Although the latter subject was subdued and strictly under cover, it was no secret among the crew that a big question was rising: to hell with the Pits. What about the Lily and hot Sachs Freddie? A comment by machinist Burt Henshaw took the wraps off.

"Hell, if we don't find any native poontang, I'd even settle for the Big M!"

In spite of Tallullah's formidable professional posture, some had noted in her a human side that was in a way pathetic. In physiological age she had been labeled by Boozie as a caught-between. She was over her prime but not too old to dream. She obviously was proud of her figure and sought to preserve herself with her diets and regular health baths under her private sunlamps. By accident Danny knew the Big M was still a contender in the mating department. He had entered her quarters once in response to her request for a favor to pick up some projection slides. Although she was scheduled for lab work at the time, he had found her naked under the lamps. She was startled but graciously self-possessed enough to apologize. He had often secretly grinned about Tallullah and her buxom splendor, but now as they approached a survival world it was more grim than funny. The devil's mark was on the wall. What about the women?

Aside from such locker-room pundits as Henshaw, there were also emotional borderliners like Foxy, sometimes pitiably reduced to a state of neurotic anxiety. And there was old "Crotchy" Whitehead who was preaching fanaticisms. "There is only one preparation for us now, my son. We must seek our salvation under God!" His watery old eyeballs were as pinned back as Foxy's and as lost in the fog.

On the lofty upper decks was ordered structure and reasoned purpose, Danny thought. But was it all a hollow phoney with everybody really knowing the mess they were heading into? Sometimes it was almost reassuring to come across a towering roborg on sentry duty.

* * * *

There came a day when Tallullah Marsh had a tea party, but no one needed to read tea leaves to perceive the auguries of things to come. She was on the Colonial Charter team and her little gathering had actually been staged in the interests of some shrewd and delicate groundwork. The small group had assembled on the observation deck where the lounges and coffee tables came closest to the requirements of a social drawing room. With the steel safety shutters hermetically closed over the double-paned viewing panels, they could forget the immensities of the unknown starry void around them and almost pretend they were back on Earth. The one item of luxury was the tea itself, since water was now on a tightly controlled rationing system. It was a tribute to the Big M's clout with the Top Deck.

Seated next to her was one of the featured guests, Dr. Wilfred Odell of the Cultural Sciences group which Tallullah headed. It was Odell who had struck an optimistic note for the gathering.

"With any potential at all for mining and processing nuclear materials, we should be able to think of the colony as only an interim expedient. Someday we might be able to return to Earth."

"Particularly," said Tallullah, "since Captain Troy tells us we have an expert on board who might be able to build another S-link. What did you say his name was, Danny?"

"Torky – Torquato Verga. Given time, maybe."

"There's another possibility," said Jerry Fontaine who sat pensively beside Lalille.

His head was no longer bandaged, and with his wavy beard neatly trimmed he looked presentable or even simpatico, Danny noted, in an elfin sort of way, considering his primeval long blond hair and overly generous ears. His wide, soft brown eyes were somehow fawnlike, giving the appearance of always looking somewhere just beyond reality.

"Communication," he said, after a cautious pause.

Danny exchanged glances with Fitz, whose big Irish face tensed.

"What do you mean, communication?" Gogarty asked.

Then the secret came out. Frans Mabuse and Jerry Fontaine had been discussing a new theory of interstellar communication, one that might bypass the barriers of the space-time continuum and work on an instantaneous basis.

"Of course," he smiled almost apologetically, "it's just a wild idea at present."

Tallullah studied him intently with her sharp gray eyes.

"Have you reported this to Project or Flight Command?" Her tone was slightly officious, yet her mannerism toward Jerry was strangely protective, almost proprietary.

Jerry waved his hands defensively. He avoided her eyes, having lately developed a shy uneasiness in her presence. "No, I, ah, maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it at all. Frans is the expert on it, anyway."

"But it would be a boon to Earth. Even if we should never return, we could transmit our findings." This comment was from a dark-haired man with the lean and hungry look of a political prelate, which he was in a way. Dr. Auguste Saussure was the Project's expert in comparative theology and primitive religions. He was formerly a bishop in the World Church Ecumenical Congress.

"Perhaps someday other ships would be able to locate us, wouldn't you say?" Tallullah had a peculiar habit of tacking questions onto her conjectures.

Since Mabuse wasn't present and Jerry preferred to forget the subject the tea party drifted back to colony talk. The three women of the star ship company exerted a subtle influence on the overall perspectives of future planning. Just the primordial element of womanhood lent a protective and "rootsy" aspect to the subject of colony building. In this respect, Frederica and Lalille were seemingly self-conscious, showing a tendency to orient themselves to Tallullah whose bosomy, matriarchal presence offered a kind of mother-hen protection.

When getting into religion, Tallullah chuckled as if to conceal a hint of queasiness. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm neither a fundamentalist nor a New World religionist. Historically speaking, in such social structures as you have in the traditional community the church has always been a sort of central hub of the wheel. From the standpoint of the ethical focus, there you have your whole simplistic structure of basic values."

Danny looked askance at Fitz and Jerry. Maybe Mother Marsh was mentally building a convent for her girls? This might explain why he and Fitz and Jerry had been invited to the tea. Perhaps Tallullah regarded them as representative young blades who would be most likely to defend the honor of the two (or three?) nubile women of the future camp, or at least be eligible preferences should all else fail. Here was that "total transition in our sense of values" Alonso had mentioned. Adolf wasn't the only one at work on the battlements.

This opened up a genteel-sounding discussion of the kind of religious structure the colony might have, and Dr. Saussure was pleased to lead this part of the conversation. He was interrupted, however, by the late arrival of the swami.

Holy Sam had been invited, no doubt on Lalille's insistence, but he had been delayed. When he came into the observation lounge, his swarthy East Indian features seemed to be shadowed by concern. His deep brown eyes darted a signal of urgency to Danny when he sat down.

"Frans Mabuse would like to see you and Mr. Gogarty when you're through here." He smiled at the others, recovering his usual calm, as if by a practiced effort of will. "He may have some news for us soon," he said, with just a hint of evasiveness. "Something about the planetary probe."

Fitz brightened excitedly. "You mean he's fixed it?"

"Not yet, but he has hopes that proximity to the sun might cause some needed metallic expansion. His theory is that it might free the antenna arm."

Jerry was watching the swami carefully with a rather glum expression. Danny wondered if he knew something that the holy man was avoiding.

"Well, that would certainly be a breakthrough," said Tallullah briskly while Lalille poured a new cup of tea. She cleared her throat which was usually a warning signal of strategy. "Swami, we were just discussing your own speciality, religion."

Sam momentarily tensed but again controlled himself, glancing warily at Dr. Saussure. He smiled graciously as he lifted his steaming cup. "I'm sorry to disappoint you. Religion is not my particular cup of tea."

Frederica stared at him curiously. His statement seemed to come as no surprise to Lalille, but her great blue eyes turned apprehensively toward Tallullah and Saussure.

Odell chuckled wryly. "That's the last thing I'd ever expect to hear from a yogi, from India, where it all began."

"Yes," said Tallullah, looking mystified. "What are you trying to tell us, Swami?"

"That eastern yoga is similar to western yoga, which you refer to as alchemy," Sam said pleasantly. "It's a step beyond religion, a metaphysical science."

Auguste Saussure frowned uncomfortably. "Alchemy is occultism, a preoccupation with heretical teachings and satanic practices."

Sam smiled again, but firmly. "Among the uninformed, Doctor. Remember, until we know what we don't know–" The ex-bishop colored visibly. "Sir, are you inferring that the authority of Holy Scripture is to be questioned?"

"Not in the least, my son," said Sam, and then he added emphatically, "only human interpretations. We call the dogmas maya – the bondage of illusion."

"All right now, gentlemen. This is only a general discussion."

"But it's pretty bad timing," said Freddie suddenly. "Things are too unsettled."

Tallullah sighed. "Oh there you go with your graphs again, Frederica!"

"They're valid," Freddie said stubbornly, and her big amber eyes appealed to Danny. "After the landing decision, the main curves showed a trend toward a gradual new adjustment, but the minority curves went into a very high-tension peak. I think we've problems enough just now without getting into religion."

"I wonder," said Jerry, "why it's always such a problem, simply to believe in God." He looked around innocently at startled faces. "I mean, it's like making a big deal out of the sunrise, or the simple miracle of a flower."

Lalille smiled softly at him and placed her hand on his. "Bless you, Jerry!"

Fitz and Danny exchanged glances. Did their wistful friend have something going with the Lily?

"If you will allow me–" Saussure started to say. He was interrupted by a P.A. announcement.

"Attention, all personnel!" It was Philo's voice, sounding elated. "Project members and off-duty crewmen are advised to go to the nearest monitor facility. The commander and Dr. Madrazo have an important message for everyone on board. Our planetary probe has responded to telemetry controls."

"Thank God!" said Fitz, but his own words seemed to startle him. "I mean, at last we'll get to take a close look at where we're going!"

Which was one way to break up a tea party, Danny thought, and probably none too soon.

The telemetry room was jammed, but as a member of the flight staff Danny had gotten in. Two color photographs had come through so far from the distant orbiting satellite. While everybody waited for the computer to process more pictures, excitement ran wild.

"A rich green mat like that can only be tropical forests!" said Cyrus Stockton.

"It supports the scanning data and what we got from the bio-probe," said Poyntner, his voice high-pitched with intensity. "Water, surface temperature, atmospheric pressure, humidity, ionization and radiation levels–"

"The absorption lines dovetail perfectly," said somebody else. "And look at those oceans!"

"Not to mention that volcanic haze, especially in this northwest quadrant."

Alonso said, "You may have hit it on the nose, Cyrus. It looks like late Mesozoic or early Cenozoic."

"Now we need blowups of some of these shots!"

"That's right. We can start evaluating the landing tradeoffs!"

Men were grabbing each other, patting backs, their faces radiant with an almost childlike expectancy.

"We've made it!" was the consensus. "We've got a fighting chance!"

The previous futility factor in Freddie's curves had vanished. The Mad Monk's cyborg armies of the blind were scrabbling off their slabs. It was like Resurrection Day. All this was mild by comparison with the emotional explosion that came a few hours later.

Boozie had been swamped with telemetry tasks during the initial phases of the photo excitement, but Danny had noted a peculiar fact about his Belgian buddy. Throughout all the shouting euphoria, his dour expression had not changed. There was neither smile nor smirk on Boozie's drawn, ascetic face. The ice blue eyes had impaled Danny just once in the midst of shouldering past him briefly, he had half-whispered, "All is not roses, baby. See me!"

Some time later, this was what he was trying to do, but God knew where the hero of the hour might be in all this confusion. He had just pushed his way into the crowded and noisy rec rooms when the P.A. system and the monitors started rattling at once.

"Photo blowups have revealed," said the video monitors. Alonso and Lyshenko were both speaking from the staff room.

The bombshell hit. There were signs of intelligent life, such as rectangular and other unnatural markings in the jungles and mountainous areas. There were even structures of some kind, apparently stone but of cyclopean size.

"This can only mean a human or humanoid level of intelligence," Alonso said solemnly. "The indications point to an early stage of civilization. Ladies and gentlemen, the Star Quest has succeeded. Man is not alone in the universe."

If the Sirius III had been a ship at sea, it might have virtually rocked under the impact. Cheers echoed deafeningly through the rooms and corridors. People ran in directionless glee, merely to be running and shouting and interacting. Friends caught Danny and pounded him on the back. Grown men hugged each other, many with tears on their shining faces. In spite of his concern over Boozie's cryptic message, Danny couldn't help being caught up in the tidal wave of emotional release. This wasn't only salvation, it was the end of centuries of desperate searching. The other polarity had been found: a world of sentient life in the awesome immensities of Creation. The philosophical and even religious implications were too much to grasp. He was soon in the swing of it and hugging or punching anyone who came his way.

"It's happened at last!"

"We did it! We've got it made!"

"Man, it almost doesn't matter if we ever see home. We've got ourselves a toehold, buddy!"

And so it went, while Danny pushed into the corridor that led to the observation deck. Here he encountered Foxy who had recovered from his fears. The little blond runt tagged after him like a babbling child; his pale-agate eyes were as round as a teddy bear's.

"I chickened out, you know it, Danny? At these odds look at the pool we could have got going! We would have cleaned up! But, man, things are just getting started!"

"Don't count your money, Foxy. We may not be using it in the colony."

Suddenly like an omen, there was Freddie Sachs with her long dark hair let down, the jumper collar awry and melony innocence welling unheeded. She was pushing along almost beside him, beaming and responding happily to everyone who spoke to her. When he reached out to her and called her name, what happened then was wonderfully spontaneous. He took her in his arms, and they clung to each other.

"Oh, Danny, it's too much to believe!" she murmured into his ear. "Now there's really hope!" When she drew back slightly to look at him, there was a glorious sparkle of tears in her eyes.

He kissed her blindly.

It lasted for one magic, timeless moment until he whispered, "Maybe even for us."

She pulled away and he saw her big amber eyes before the shield snapped down. They had held startled fear clouded by either hurt or a fragile question. She turned and ran toward the observation deck. Foxy was babbling after him.

"Man, you slipped up on that one! She's the nervous virgin type, didn't you know? She can't even stand contact lenses, so when you come along like an octopus–"

Danny was deaf to him as he trailed her. Whether this was double-think or the Duke's transition of values, something had clicked irretrievably. The packaged ideologies of starman training had all come apart. As he envisioned the colony ahead of them and the years of a no-return, basic existence, he remembered her soft female essence in his arms, close to those tawny-gold eyes and the not so virginal warm lips. For just an instant she had been with him in that embrace.

Primordially he thought: should it be anyone else? Pike's sneering insinuation came back about the stone age planet and the tiger skin. This she is mine! said the Id. It was as corny as hell, but the role playing was gone. He didn't give a damn.

First, he had to explain, to reassure her.

CHAPTER VII

The observation deck was crowded with people who had come to catch a glimpse of the new world ahead. The steel shutters had been rolled aside, and the glittering star walls soared upward out of the cosmic abyss like long, fluorescent arms of coral in an infinite sea. The observation deck was just below the bridge so that it faced their goal. Just beneath their line of vision were the long, fragile-looking girders of the pod frame, stretching ahead like a ghostly hand in starlit silhouette. The forward retro-engine clusters were the final stubby fingers, pointing at a large, brilliant sun.

The blue filters were down across the viewing panels, which kept them from being blinded. The star ship was well within the alien solar system and the nearer planets had enough albedo to stand out in a 3-D mystical beauty from the stellar background. Some people crowded around a small deck telescope, but others were studying the more magnified electronic views of number four which were being transmitted over the monitors from the observatory. In one section of the room, somebody was praying aloud. It was Dr. Saussure, standing in the midst of a self-conscious but slowly growing flock, some of whom were kneeling.

"Almighty God," he intoned, facing the stars, "we invoke Thy infinite blessing in this historic moment, and we raise our hearts to Thee in soul-felt gratitude for this sign of Thy ever-enduring providence and grace."

It was too smooth, too packaged, said Danny's doublethink. He didn't know why, but it didn't concern him just now. Frederica was there, however, standing behind Lalille and Jerry. These two had dropped to their knees and were holding hands, no less.

He was intercepted by Fitz who was still wide-eyed with excitement.

"Man, this really turns me on!"

"I didn't know you were that religious."

"No, hell, I mean the planet!"

People shushed him. Danny caught Freddie's furtive gaze.

Just fleetingly it was that of a wary fawn, but then the clinicality came back and she concentrated stiffly on Saussure. He started toward her, but suddenly the prayer was interrupted by the blaring speakers.

"Attention, all personnel! Attention Emergency action three! Prepare for possible turbulence!"

There was no time to get to the pads or even the strapdown seats before the turbulence hit. The room trembled roughly as if the ship were traversing a graveled road. Shouts of alarm and amazement mingled with the insistent clamor of alert horns. The electrical display outside was polychromatic, splashing lightning streamers of rainbow colors across the stars.

"It's okay!" Danny yelled. "We're passing through some cosmic dust!" He knew that at their present velocity of close to a hundred thousand miles per hour they'd soon be through the very attenuated cloud. This one happened to be highly charged. The sensation of roughness was due to electrostatic interplay between the ship and the onrushing hurricane of microparticles.

When it passed as quickly as it had come, Danny and Fitz made a hurried exit along with Foxy. Crewmen were required to report to stations during or after an emergency. Foxy, they noted, was sweating again.

"Everything's okay on the bridge," Happy said when Danny put in a call upstairs. "But we're hitting another kind of flak just now. I'm sitting in for Pike again. He's down below on a security run, maybe a crisis call."

"What's happening?"

"We've got some flips. They could be dangerous."

"What deck?"

"Try E or F. I think in the galley area or maybe the reefers. But you'd better watch yourself, Danny. Somebody's been knifed already!"

Danny hung up and grabbed Fitz.

"What's up?"

"Freddie's curves, pal, and I don't mean legs. Let's go!"

By the time they reached deck E, the P.A. was warning everybody to clear the area. It was a crisis call. Crewmen and civilians fleeing the danger zone filled in scattered fragments of information. A man had died already, killed by a flip. Some other men had apparently backed him up, out of their heads on account of the colorful dust storm. There was something about the "hand of God." Two had been caught, but one was still running loose.

Several armed and helmeted Flight-Com guards ran by. "Hey, Gogarty, Troy!" one of them shouted. "You guys better head for the armory first if you're in on this. You'll need weapons."

They clattered down a narrow companionway to the deck below, followed by Danny and Fitz. They had lost Foxy somewhere. Evidently he had heeded the P.A. warnings and had retreated with the others. Danny was wondering what he and Fitz were doing here. It had been an impulse of the moment. Pike was in charge of security now. It was Adolf's job. Before he could make a decision, everything happened at once.

On F deck they could see down the corridor as far as the armory door. The heavy armored hatch was standing wide open and the dead body of a security man lay facedown across the threshold in a pool of blood. Danny and Fitz joined the FlightCom guards as they stopped to stare at the apparition that stood there over the body.

"It's Crotchy!" said Fitz incredulously.

Whitehead, the old micro technician and fundamentalist, stood there facing them, his gray hair wildly disheveled, his watery eyes staring madly. In his trembling hand was a bloodied carving knife from the galley.

"We must turn back!" he shouted hoarsely. "The monk and the swami were right all along, can't you see? We are an abomination! The warning of God is upon us! He has revealed His flaming sword! In His wrath He will defend this Eden world before us! Turn back or be damned!"

"He must have seen that electrostatic storm," Danny said. "The poor old coot!"

"Poor, hell!" said one of the guards. "He's killed a man, maybe two by now!"

"Hey, Whitehead!" the other guard shouted. "Throw down that knife!" He raised his beamer warningly. The stun weapon was capable of shocking a person painfully.

The old man wasn't in any condition to listen to reason. Instead, he dashed into the armory. Suddenly a powerful, sandy-haired figure appeared from behind the open door.

"I'll get him for you!" he shouted. "Hold your fire, everybody!"

"Hey, that's Torky!" said Fitz.

"Come on!" said one of the guards. "Let's get that nut before he gets us all in trouble! If he finds a grenade..."

They all stopped in the doorway to witness a scene that Danny would never forget. Torky Verga, a 240-pound athlete, was flailing about and screaming in dying agony, caught in the derrick-like arms and talons of a towering roborg.

"My God, stop that thing!" yelled Danny.

It was too late. The big man was literally disemboweled before their eyes. Suddenly, however, the cyborg monstrosity froze as if someone had turned off a switch. It stared at them remotely through its lenticular eyes. Down the aisle to their left, there was a rapid crackling of gunfire. They heard Crotchy scream. Out of the ammo racks stepped the helmeted figure of Adolphus Pike with a smoking machine rifle in his hands.

Danny stared at his belt. It held the roborg control. "Christ, Dolph, why didn't you–" He pointed at the mangled remains. "It's killed Torky!"

"Torky knew the rules," Pike said coldly. "He was out of his head to try that. This is a crisis call. It was announced. The roborgs are on, and this is the armory."

"But you could have stopped it!"

"I had my hands full," he said, referring to Crotchy.

"And you're a son of a bitch!" said Fitz. "Torky called out before he came in!"

"Guards!" snapped Pike warningly.

"Oh, screw it, Dolph!" Danny said. "That was off-the-cuff. There's trouble enough!" He signaled to Fitz, feeling slightly nauseated. "Let's call the meds."

"I'll take care of this," said Pike. "And you two keep shut about it. That's an order! As you say, there's trouble enough."

Danny didn't trust himself to argue, nor did he trust Gogarty's Irish temper. He pulled his companion away.

"So help me!" muttered Fitz between his teeth. "I'm going to get that bastard behind a bush someday after we've landed. I'll off-the-cuff him all right, the murdering, no-good..."

"Knock it off, Fitz. Torky's dead. There's nothing you can do to change it, so don't make it worse. Besides, that's a hell of a way to start a new world."

"I think I'm going to heave," said Fitz.

Their morbid preoccupations concerning Crotchy Whitehead and Torky Verga had brought the two of them farther into the depths of the ship. Fitz apparently wanted to withdraw from the milling crowds upstairs. His excuse was the damaged maintenance section. He was still steaming over Pike's tyrannical handling of the emergency, but now that a new world lay ahead of him he sought to balance out his emotions with his concern for the ship. As the master mechanic he had a heavy responsibility for the repair work schedules.

They soon found themselves down below on H deck making a desultory inspection of burned-out conduits and power distribution boards, with very much else on their minds. It was here that the Mad Monk found them. Marius Nolokov did not announce himself. Like a magician, he seemed to suddenly appear as a dark silhouette in the dim illumination of the emergency lamps.

"I've been looking for you, Troy," he said, somberly. "You, too, Gogarty. You'd better join us."

He came a few steps closer and his enigmatic features emerged from the semi-darkness. The riotous dark hair and long straight beard accentuated the deathly pallor of his rather elongated and sharply-planed face. The sheer blackness of his deep-set eyes gave a startling impression of skull sockets until a battery lamp was suddenly reflected in them, like far twin suns in a nether universe. He wore his habitual black turtleneck sweater under a light plastic jumpsuit of the same color.

"Jesus!" said Fitz. "Where did you come from, Noley?"

"The KPO," said Nolokov. This was ship language for the keel-pod observatory, a small retractable capsule under the hull. "I think you were looking for Frans. He's there."

"Boozie?" Danny glanced sharply at Fitz.

There was something in Nolokov's nature that often discouraged too many questions unless he was ready to talk. They settled for merely following his tall, silently moving figure now. The main question was Boozie. What was on his mind? What was he doing down in the KPO at a time like this? And come to think of it, what the devil was his connection with the Mad Monk, of all people?

Boozie sat in the cockpit center of the keel-pod observatory, surrounded by a bristling array of specialized astrophysical instruments. There was a dim green panel light in front of him, but other than that the small chamber was bathed in silvery starlight. The whole capsule was an inverted transparent bubble which gave a 360-degree view of the firmament. The sun side was shielded off by a retractable panel. Only two distant planets of the alien system outside were visible to the naked eye.

"Hail!" said Boozie, swiveling around in his seat and lifting a narrow flask. "Hail to us, the star gods, bringers of light!" Noting their strained, questioning silence he smirked fondly at his flask. "The last of the old shoot," he drawled. "Jerry says he'll play Noah for me. He'll plant me a vineyard."

They tried to talk sense into him, but he was in a cynically poetic mood.

"Ah, 'dreaming when dawn's left hand was in the sky, I heard a voice within the tavern cry, Awake, my little ones, and fill the cup–!' As the poet Omar said."

"It's my guess," interrupted Danny, "that Jerry has more on his mind than growing grapes."

"Jerry?" said Mabuse. "Now there's an earthy brother, husbanding secret dreams in the gardens of Alcina."

"You and Jerry were kicking around a new idea," Danny said, "about interstellar communication. Is that why you're here?"

Boozie frowned. "I'm here, dear Captain, bosom friend, because there's no place else to go, without taking a very long drop, like our worthy colleague, Eddie Ingraham."

"Come on, Boozie!" said Fitz. "You're back on the stuff, man! Tell us what gives!"

Boozie stared at them almost sullenly out of his somewhat bleary eyes. As he lifted the flask again, it suddenly vanished from his hand. Danny and Fitz shared his momentary bewilderment as he stared at his empty fingers. Then he glared up belligerently at the Mad Monk. "Damn it, Noley, don't play your Svengali with me!"

"Then sober up," retorted Nolokov flatly. He had used his powers of telekinesis to remove the flask.

"That's a lethal weapon! I could throw the book at you!"

"But you won't. You know why we're here."

"Where's that goddamn flask?"

"Later. Now are you going to say what has to be said, or do I tell it my way?"

Neither Danny nor Fitz had ever seen the Monk use his hidden wild talent like this. The unexpected stroke of seeming wizardry was disconcerting, but the issue at hand precluded any further wondering about it.

"Straighten out now, will you, Boozie?" urged Danny. "What's on your devious mind?"

"New worlds, my lad, and our vaunted boon of civilization, the packaged perfection of our advanced intelligence."

"Stow it!" Danny insisted. "What are you getting at?"

For an answer, Boozie reached laboriously into his jacket pocket and finally extracted something. Waveringly, he held out his hand. Fitz and Danny leaned closer between the scopes and spectrographic scanner equipment. All they could make out under the faint panel lamp were a few tattered scraps of what looked like plastic fiber.

"What the hell is that?" asked Fitz dubiously.

"In a word, gentlemen, sabotage!"

Someone had evidently caused the hydrogen explosion. Was the object to cover the destruction of the S-link and make it look accidental? Someone had sought to force the decision to abort the mission and make a landing. The whole cycle of discovery and growing suspicion had started with Jerry Fontaine. He had been down here in the KPO when the explosion occurred. He had dashed up the ladder to H deck and blundered into the fire area. That was when he had received his head injury and heard Fritters screaming.

Later, after recovering from his head wound and the beating from Pike plus the sedatives, he had returned to the recycling access shaft where Fritters had died. Something had been bothering him about the whole disaster. That was when he picked up the scraps he remembered having seen during his crisis of immobility. He had chemically analyzed them and then had gone to Boozie. There could be no question about it. The scraps were molyloc fiberplast, a supertough material used for casings in the preparation of high-powered demolition charges. They had kept their secret and looked around for somebody they might confide in. From the standpoint of trustworthiness, Jerry had opted for the swami, and that had led to Nolokov.

"Outside of Holy Sam," Boozie said, "he's the last one on board to ever get sucked in on ideologies. Besides, with that computer mind of his and his eidetic memory, he can put the pieces together better than any of us."

"Regardless of that," protested Fitz, "who the hell is crazy enough to burn his bridges behind him? Without an S-link–"

"What about the spare?" countered Boozie testily. "Did they know it was missing?"

"If they weren't damned sure of it," said Danny, "what would they have gained?"

"Now we begin to think!" said Nolokov.

"You mean somebody knew there wasn't a spare?"

"Probably got it out of the way long ago."

"But without a spare, to destroy the only existing, link is madness."

Nolokov returned his famous icy smile. "Not if the spare still exists."

"What!" The exclamation was simultaneous from Danny and Fitz. They stared down at Boozie.

He shrugged and waved a hand at the Mad Monk. "Noley, my boy, you're on the air!"

"This may have its beginning," said Nolokov, "long before our journey started. I am referring to an old ghost that was supposed to be dead, the Secessionists."

The incredible theory took form as Nolokov succinctly and coherently laid out the entire fabric of his suspicions. Long after the formation of a world government, some intellectual dissidents had started the so-called Secessionist Movement. They wanted sovereign states again. The movement had been suppressed, but many people had believed that the leaders of the secessionist idea had continued to build more extensive plans in secret. It was now the Mad Monk's theory that a secessionist group had managed to infiltrate the personnel of the Sirius III. Their idea might well be to land on the first suitable planet and to prevent the star ship from ever returning to Earth.

"What better secessionism could you have?" the Monk had argued. "They would have an entire pristine world to mold into a separate state, thus thwarting the lofty ideal of an Intersellar Super State."

"That's too far out!" Fitz objected.

"Unless you realize that all this took some long-term planning, in addition to guidance and control from the Top Deck," said Nolokov.

It was also explained that Jerry Fontaine had belatedly confessed something else. He hadn't been sure but finally he had shared his haunting suspicion with his confidants. Another thing had bothered him about Fritters. He had screamed at him for help, yet his eyes seemed to have a vacant stare.

"Possible hypnosis, gentlemen," said Boozie. "He may have planted the demolition charge himself, under suggestion. Perhaps he was a bit clumsy with some very exotic explosives."

Danny stared at him. "You mean, he was murdered?"

"Necessarily expendable," said Nolokov, "since by then even a brainwashed victim might know too much."

"Bull!" said Fitz with a snort. "I don't buy all that!"

Boozie smirked up at him from the cockpit chair. "Now what would you have done in our place, old buddy?"

Danny answered the question. "As second officer I would have gone to the Skipper with the whole ball of wax."

Boozie laughed. "A merit badge for you, buddy. I thought of that, actually, but Noley shot me down."

"So what's wrong with the commander?"

"Perhaps nothing," said Nolokov. "But if he's the mastermind, which I seriously doubt, you'd be trapped. On the other hand, if he's the pudding-headed martinet of the rulebook that I think he is, he would launch an investigation at once. It would get him nowhere. The opposition is evidently much too clever."

"Then what about going to the Duke?" asked Danny.

"Let me yabbut that one for you," said Nolokov. "That's part of my job, you know, to bring up the smellier side of everyone's so-called reasoning."

"What do you mean by smelly?"

"We go back to the untimely death of Dr. Hahnemann. Remember that this cleared the way for Alonso Madrazo to be the project administrator."

Danny froze for a moment, recalling the warp-storm crisis of almost twenty months ago. "But Pike was closest to him when the accident happened!"

"Accident?" Boozie stared up at him with his usual dour smirk.

"Now you're coming home to my territory," said Fitz. "I always suspected–"

"But that absolves Alonso," said Danny. "He and Pike could never work together."

"You'd make a good yabbut man." Nolokov smiled. "So now we dismiss both your sterling Skipper and the noble Duke. They're not smart enough to pull this. But all such types make perfect stooges, as history has shown."

"Then who?"

"We don't know yet."

"Maybe old Pointed Head," said Fitz. "I wouldn't put anything past him!"

"The pattern is loose," said Nolokov. "I have an intuitive feeling that all the clues are staring at us, but they haven't stood up to be counted: Hahnemann's death, Sergeant Fraters' possible hypnosis and murder."

"We have to keep our heads low," said Boozie. "This is strictly off-the-cuff. No fooling around with Top Deck politics at this stage."

"Noley, you said I'm a likely yabbut man," said Danny. "Let me try this one on you. So we have a mastermind outfit who want a world all of their own, right? How come they'd be silly enough to burn their bridges, as Fitz says, until they knew they had a safe place to land?"

"The ship was on a return course," said Nolokov instantly. "It was their last chance to force a landing. That's why the spare S-link was probably still in existence at the time of the sabotage. It was a return ticket, in case."

"I understand," said Boozie, "that you have added a little extra encouragement on that score, Danny, by spreading it around that Torky Verga might be able to build us a new one. What are you trying to do, get him killed? The probe has proven number four is a sure bet for the secessionists."

Danny and Fitz stared at each other, their faces as white as the Monk's.

"Oh my God!" Danny groaned.

They had to violate the major's order of secrecy. When they told the story of how Torky had just met his death, Nolokov tensed with a new excitement. Boozie sat in his pit and stared helplessly at nothing.

"So it's Adolf!" said Fitz. "Right after the news comes through that the planet's safe, he swings the axe. I'm going to kill that son of a bitch!"

"You'll do nothing," said the Monk. "He's obviously just a tool, if the whole plot actually exists. Besides, what will it get any of us to bring this to the attention of Flight Command or Project Administration? The damage is done. We're committed to a landing. Only time will tell us what to do now."

Boozie finally rallied. He raised his arms to the stars. "Sweet Mother Nature!" he exclaimed. "Don't look now, but somebody has sprung your chastity belt. Our noble breed has arrived, and you, my Gracious Lady, have been had!"

* * * *

The alien dreams persisted ... a far cavernous echo of chanting and distant flutes ... a phantom of ancient temple fires in haunted shadows ... a psychic call to cosmic forces beyond an unseen veil. Lalille had seen a great demigod face, dark scaled and brooding. Jerry had reported the ultimate in fantasy with nymphs and satyrs in an Elysian world. Once he had awakened in sweat from a nightmare, muttering fearfully about a saber-toothed beast with a horned face and blazing triple eyes.

As the star ship slowly penetrated the unknown planetary system, the mystifying part was that only a few of them experienced these consciousness alterations, as Sam referred to them. The swami also advised discretion in discussing the weird phenomena. He himself refrained from any further mention of his sensitivity to an external force of intelligence. He had cautioned Noley several times to silence when the Monk spoke cryptically of a space-time totality.

Whatever the causes, Danny felt subtle change emerging in himself, slowly and vaguely as if he were some new creature awakening from a cocoon. Did it have something to do with the Lily's astrological theories, new planetary influences, or Sam's more awesome egoic and personality ray from the Cosmos? Until we know what we don't know, Sam kept repeating mysteriously, as if he had known the answer to the Star Quest all along.

Danny had tried to approach Freddie several times on personal level, attempting to draw her into a mood of frankness. She had given signs of less rigidity in her attitude but had continued to camouflage her emotions. She and Lalille had taken up such a close company with Tallullah that they might as well have been novitiate nuns with their Mother Superior. Meanwhile, Tallullah had emerged in her new role as a member of the Colonial Council, graciously confident, a champion of reason and a pillar of propriety. Whereas the two younger women struggled with uncertainties, she was at once their shield and counsel. Which seemed to make sense, thought Danny, as long as the propriety front was negotiable.

And then there was man talk in the wardroom or in private quarters with such as Fitz and Boozie and sometimes Jerry Fontaine. Some intuitive force had drawn the four of them together as if Pike were the visible enemy and still others were unmeasured quantities. Fontaine and Mabuse were still reticent about the new idea concerning interstellar communication. It was too way out, Boozie insisted. So they would drift back inevitably to the main topic. If the secessionist plot were valid, would the unknown opposition attempt to thwart future plans for an attempted return to Earth? If they should one day produce enough nuclear fuel, what about the S-link problem?

This was an area of contemplation that had weighed most heavily on Danny's mind. All star ships were designed for an emergency method of interstellar flight where the blosupport and S-link operation were not needed. This was called the hiber mode, meaning a long flight in a tightened ecological system where crew members remained largely in suspended animation. The drawback was that only a few indispensable crewmen and the roborgs could be accommodated on board. Certainly the women as well as most of the other castaways would have to be left behind. It was an undesirable alternative which forced the thinking back to the missing S-link. If Nolokov's theory was right, the spare link might still be in existence.

"Find it," said the Mad Monk, "and you'll find the mastermind behind the secessionist group, the murderer of Ernst Hahnemann, James Frater, and Torquato Verga."

A moment arrived in which a small group of future colonists was gathered on the observation deck prior to landing. The months of slow, suspenseful approach and retrophasing were behind them. This was the orbital phase. A pilot team had descended in the shuttlecraft with a roborg and long-range data link and telemetry controls. The star ship drifted in free-fall around the shining blue-green planet. The viewing chamber had been overcrowded for days, ever since they had arrived in orbit, but now the deck wasn't as much in demand. They would be another week or ten days in their present phase, waiting on surface tests, going through inoculations and decontamination. Only the hardiest or most desperate of the world watchers remained.

This included Lalille and Frederica, for once unchaperoned by Tallullah, although Holy Sam seemed to be a worthy substitute for the Big M. The two girls continued to survey the vast curving face of the planet as if mesmerized by a crystal ball. Some of the scientific group were explaining the data that had been gathered so far. A curious fact was the remarkable similarity of number four to Earth, even including its single moon.

"Of course," said Cyril Stockton, "we're looking at a much more primitive world."

"As if," suggested the swami, "we had truly slipped back through time and were returning to Earth in the distant past."

Stockton's nervous lips twitched almost disdainfully. "A rather silly conjecture," he retorted, "since Earth is number three in the Sol System, not four."

"You're forgetting our little orphan, Vulcan," said Sam.

"I'm deliberately forgetting it, and you should realize that even if what you're saying were true, we'd at least recognize the constellations."

"If I remember correctly," said Boozie, "the Sol system travels through the cosmos at twelve miles per second. Hm-m ... that's about seventy-five light-years for every million years of time."

"Even so," said Stockton with easy confidence, "in a million years–"

Sam interrupted. "You yourself estimated the geological period here as comparable to the late Mesozoic or early Cenozoic, Doctor. Shall we compromise on the Miocene, say perhaps eighteen to twenty million years in the past?"

Stockton's twitch firmed into a triumphant smile. "I've got you there, Swami!" He pointed at the gorgeous panorama of green continents, blue oceans, and riotous cloud formations. "There is a humanoid stage of intelligence there, an early phase of civilization. On Earth, homo sapien didn't appear until the Pleistocene."

The swami smiled at the girls apologetically as he got to his feet, prepared to leave. "According to your post-diluvian sediments and few fragments of axes and bones, Doctor," he asked gently, "or to the true record of Nature?" With that he departed.

This was ammunition for more wild conjectures, and Stockton soon withdrew in disgust to join the small group of scholars who were clumped about the deck telescope. A few crewmen walked away, muttering about parallel universes. Danny, Mabuse, Fitz, and Foxy were left along with Jerry Fontaine and the two girls.

Danny had noted that Jerry and Lalille were very close together, apparently sharing the unutterable thoughts of what really lay in store for the man-woman relationship down there on the last world they might ever know. He looked at Freddie and noticed her meditative mood. Mabuse brought up the Colonial Charter and the heavy stress on militia and weapons control. When Fitz cynically mentioned Father Saussure's New World Church, Boozie shook his head sadly.

"They're planting dragon seeds," he said. "We're slipping back in time, all right, maybe to the Dark Ages again."

Danny had just managed to grasp Freddie's hand when Fitz blundered through with the unspeakable. "Seems to me they're pussyfooting around the main piece of dynamite," he said, grinning at the girls and Danny and Jerry. "Why don't you lovers get married? That would solve the question of sex, once and for all. Let's face it."

Lalille's great blue eyes swung toward him in momentary disbelief. Then she turned crimson and stared at Frederica. Danny still held her hand, but she suddenly pulled it away.

"All right, Doctor Sachs," said Boozie, smirking shrewdly at her, "there's a clinical doozie for you, right out on the old microscope slide!"

Lalille let out a strange choking sound as if she were going to cry. She rushed away, followed by Jerry. Danny forced a rueful grin. "Freddie, that's a lousy way of getting proposed to, but as you said, people shouldn't play roles, honey. I'll punch Fitz in the nose later. He's an Irish bull, but I can't say he told a lie!"

Frederica's tawny eyes flashed indignation as she sprang to her feet. The old rapier stiffness came back as she faced them furiously. Her lips were thin, totally drained of color. "For your information, Captain Troy, I didn't go on a star quest to play stud poker with the crewmen, nor do I have any intention of becoming the mother of a nation!"

With this revelation, she swept away in a storm of hurt and anger. As Danny stood up, watching her go, wondering what to do, Fitz clapped a consoling hand on his shoulder.

Foxy sighed resignedly. "Get ready, number four. Here comes civilization!"

"Or maybe the bubonic plague," added Boozie morbidly.

THE SECOND CYCLE

"The Star Sons brought forth fire devils and took Ravano captive. The giants were unleashed and the sacred children vanished into their hiding places. Then spoke the Gods of Prayava-Kutami in their wrath. This was the Second Cycle."

–Stanza 37, Vol. 16 – The Lahayana

CHAPTER VIII

It was a simple cup of water, clear, tepid and harmless, but a milestone in human history.

"This is our proper champagne for such an occasion," Alonso said over the loudspeakers. "It is the first water of another solar system ever to be tasted by man!"

As Danny sipped from his cup, he looked across the crowd, some of whom were seated on the ground. Most of the crewmen were shirtless and gleaming with sweat. He could see the two girls near the microphone stand, all decked out in tropical shorts and summer blouses as if they were ready for tennis. Here was a far different game, he reflected glumly, and they were already playing it. There had been talk of building separate quarters for the women in relation to plans for the church. Lalille had been tense, troubled and restless, but had managed to become absorbed in the colony work with Freddie, who was already the acting secretary for the council. Each of them was putting up a smokescreen. He had to admit that Fitz was right. If the girls had married, the game of feint and fend would be over with.

He sat there in the steaming tropical afternoon and was thankful for plenty of water, considering the sweat and humidity. But he wondered at the prosaic and physical level of his thoughts just now. Perhaps he was as tired as everyone else. As Boozie had expressed it, their wonder glands had been juiced out. Coming to this primitive planet and actually landing on it had stripped their emotions dry. The burden of what they'd been through and the unresolved question of what lay ahead was enough to leave them gasping like fish on the beach. It was a proper time for invocations and ceremonies.

* * * *

All day he had worked with an unreasoned feverish dedication, helping the crew with their tasks, setting up field equipment, laying outside cables, erecting solar panels so as to relieve the ship's nuclear plant of unnecessary power drains. He sat on a packing case with some of the crewmen and scanned the camp in unfocused wonderment as the Duke warmed up to his speech. The four-hundred foot hull of the star ship's silvery life-pod had separated flawlessly from the orbiting main frame and had used its gravitrons to settle down on a vast, stone-paved square. On three sides the great open court was surrounded by brilliant green jungles, but to the north it was dominated by an ancient temple half-overgrown with moss and vines. The cyclopean pyramid structure rose six hundred feet above the square, looking remarkably like a Babylonian ziggurat with its receding levels, its soaring flight of stairs between straightlined buttresses, and the low-roofed sanctuary on the flattened top. Nobody had had time to inspect it or even permission to do so. Exploration was forbidden until further orders. Two inflated field huts had been set up on the western edge of the square: one for the scientific staff, and one for security. Pike's guards and the motionless roborgs were more than enough reminder that everyone's "safety" was being provided for. The local inhabitants were still an unknown prove quantity except for colorful squawking birds and some insistent chattering, whistling, and occasional rumbling in the jungle. "So far the biggest danger I see," Fitz had commented earlier, "is that the roadblock works both ways. The natives can't get in, but nobody can get out."

Indeed, the complexion of colony life was taking on its subtler hues in a hurry, and Pike loved it, combat helmet and all.

By way of further panoply and display, the Duke proudly presented his big surprise. It was something he had probably been working on for weeks. He held the colored shield up so that it gleamed nobly in the sun.

"I give you," he said, "the coat of arms of the Colony of Terra Nova!" He stood there and beamed as applause and cheers rang out over the square. In his best dark suit and sunburst medal, he looked like some dignified Spanish Don of centuries past, claiming new lands in the name of his sovereign.

Then came the Bishop, Auguste Saussure, to give the benediction. Some heads bent devoutly as he raised his baritone voice in prayer. Poyntner and some of his atheistic hardheads quietly left the gathering and went over to their new field headquarters. Cyrus Stockton was with him.

"Man, I'm telling you," said one of the crew, "we have really arrived!"

On the near southern horizon, volcanic ranges loomed darkly. Even in the bright afternoon, they could see a reddish glow beneath the perpetual curtain of smoke that lay across the ominous peaks. Three times that day they had heard distant rumblings and felt the earth tremble under their feet.

"The question is, for how long?" asked somebody else. But no one ventured to answer.

Commander Alex Lyshenko had evidently timed his appearance so that what he had to say would be the last word of the colonial inauguration. P.Q. Bates was beside him, wearing oversized white shorts and a ludicrous-looking safari helmet, but his ever-present transcorder was with him. The ship's log was still the key journal of the mission.

The skipper again wore his parade yellows, as the crew called his sole dress uniform. The stocky, broad-chested figure stood before the microphone with the thick legs apart and the muscular hands clasped behind his back. The wide Mongolian face gleamed with perspiration. His heavy brows moved together as he squinted his already narrowed eyes against the lowering sun. A silence descended even on the jungle as Lyshenko began to speak.

"The Colonial Council and the Charter represent the official extension of World Authority here," he said, with his usual rasping gruffness. "You have all studied the provisional regulations. You know that Dr. Madrazo is the Chief of Council, which gives him direct authority over colonial administration. As commander of the Sirius III, I am still in charge of the ship and Flight Command. The new point I'm going to stress for the record is that on land, under present conditions, two special provisions are in effect. One: the ship's crew will be prepared at all times, under my direction, to cooperate with Council Authority and assist in carrying out the programs that have been developed in the interests of our survival here. Two: the security guard under Major Pike will serve henceforth as the colonial militia and will be expanded as necessary."

He cleared his throat as if for emphasis. "The initial phases of any adjustment to an alien environment present certain problems and dangers, especially in our own case. We have to be on the alert for uncontrolled emotions, divided opinions, and possible attempts at independent action." He paused to stare everyone down. "For the safety of this company, no one is independent! We are a unit. Any violation of orders will be dealt with under mode-one provisions. This gives the council the power to issue penalties, including the penalty of execution."

In response to a few murmurings of protest, he snapped a finger at Philo, signaling him to hold up Alonso's new coat of arms. He rapped the emblazoned shield almost disdainfully. "All these fancy symbols aren't worth the paint and trim that makes them, unless there's a coat of mail and a mace behind them! Law is the one ramrod that'll keep your backs up and your heads on straight! I stand here to tell you that this law is going to be maintained!"

This ended the ceremonies and some of the noncoms and swabbies crowded around Danny to complain.

"Jesus, Captain, who turned out the lights!"

"Yeah, what the hell! This isn't a chain gang!"

He listened to the bitchings around him and then suddenly cut them off. "Stow it, men! The Skipper is right. You may find out soon enough. Now get back to work."

He was aware of their shocked amazement as they walked off, arguing among themselves. Meanwhile he stared at Freddie's distant figure. She was talking to Lalille, Tallullah, and Saussure. The nuns and the Mother Superior, he thought, conferring with their bishop. After the blowup on the observation deck, he had done some thinking about Frederica. Maybe he'd been pushing things. It was way too early for tiger skins, if it ever happened between them. Meanwhile he could lose himself in a blind response to duty, like the roborgs out there, answering to their silent bells. As for Adolf the Pike, let him wave his stick. There was time to sort out the pieces. For his own stability, he was playing it all by the book. The Duke and the Skipper were still the law. This made sense to him on that first day of the landing, especially when he searched his mind for alternatives. There were none.

* * * *

A long and eerie tropical twilight came upon them with such a contrast that it seemed somebody had changed the scenery for a second act. The stars were few and remote because of humidity heat waves, and a perpetual haziness caused by volcanic action. The chief spectacle of the night was the pyrotechnical display on the southern horizon. Three particular peaks in the mountain chain were highly active volcanoes which occasionally spewed sparks and streamers of lava into the air, adding morbid brilliance to the blood-red glow of the smoke clouds above them. Earth tremors and distant rumblings had become as much a part of the environment as the other ominous sounds of the encroaching jungle.

Although the air was still humid, it was laden with that inimitable essence that only exists in tropical climes. The dense rain-forest flora seemed to add an almost cloying aura of animal vitality to the spice-laden air. As Jerry expressed it, here one sensed a quality of the universal earth mother, which was in a word – voluptuous. Yet more than that, he added, it was prepagan in its mood, even to the point of mythological enchantment. The young geochemist had temporarily eluded his personal problem with Lalille by surrendering almost animistically to the mysteriously vital blosphere around him.

To add a deeper but more disturbing mystery, Nolokov brought word to Danny and Fitz and Boozie that a curious meeting had just occurred. Dr. Jules Elliott had taken him and Sam to the Duke and the Skipper, who had at first tried to dismiss the subject he brought before them.

"That slab-brain, Poyntner, tried to shoot us down," said the Monk, in a tone of vicious contempt. "But Jules reminded them that the psi group had not come all these light-years just for the ride."

The point of the story was that the swami's unique faculties had sensed something. Holy Sam's ability to lock in on multiple levels of consciousness was a phenomenon that the non-metaphysical types found it hard to comprehend.

"The basics of occult-metaphysical knowledge include the reality of separate consciousness structures for a number of kingdoms in nature," Nolokov explained. "Mineral, plant, animal, human, and something else we don't talk about."

Sam had scanned the planet's levels of consciousness. He was aware of the presence of a human-type consciousness somewhere nearby, and also something else.

"It was in between," said Nolokov, "like a missing link of some kind." His deep-set eyes gleamed with a keen awareness of what he was seeing behind his revelation, but he was cautious with his words. "Metaphysically, this is more important than they realize. I think we're dealing with the ancient prehuman stragglers and hybrid forms that preceded the self-conscious stage of evolution."

"What do you mean?" asked Fitz. "Like Pithecanthropus?"

Nolokov smiled enigmatically. "You don't have the proper imagery. I'd say Jerry Fontaine is closer in a way. He's suggesting a prepagan situation to the point of mythological life forms."

"Come on now, lad," retorted Fitz. "The next thing you'll be saying is, we're surrounded by leprechauns!"

"Don't be an idiot!" countered the Monk impatiently. "This is science, not fantasy. Where exoteric science is concerned, your empiricists like Poyntner and Stockton don't know the first thing about evolution." He walked off abruptly, which was one of his characteristics. It was as if his perceptions were not reducible to language, and he either despaired of explaining his thoughts or disdained to.

"Sometimes that Svengali acts like he was talking to baboons," Fitz complained angrily.

"That's probably not far from the truth," commented Boozie.

"What?"

"Relatively speaking, Fitz. He and Sam are way ahead of us in some departments."

"So what's it boil down to?" asked Danny. "There may be humanoids out there somewhere, but what else? Satyrs? Centaurs? Unicorns?"

Boozie smirked. "In effect, why not? You think it's way out? That's exactly where we are, buddy. We are as way out as you can get! Time, parallel universes, or maybe another dimension. Don't let your packaged education get in the way. Stop being a tree. Out here, lost in the stars, who knows what's in the forest?"

"If anybody, maybe Sam..."

"That's about the only route right now, other than the Monk, but I get a feeling they're both clamming up."

"Scared, you mean?"

"No. More like leaving it to us baboons to find out for ourselves."

This was what brought home the impact of the alien world, with an imagery which lay beyond the limitation of words. The volcanoes rumbled, sending a new flare of angry light against the vine-grown face of the looming temple.

"A word just hit me," said Danny. "Lemuria."

"No holds barred, baby. This could be anywhere, anytime."

"I think I'll hit the sack, lads," said Fitz, "and I'll be coverin' my poor curly head to keep from hearin' the banshees!"

* * * *

A partial corroboration of Sam's sensitivity concerning between-forms of life occurred on the second day when Chief Engineer Bruno and Fitz took a tech crew to the nearby river to set up a hydroelectric generator system. They had been delayed by a sudden tropical cloudburst that finally passed as abruptly as it had come. Word came later from the river that they had shot a huge beast that looked like a cross between a rhinoceros and a prehistoric brontops. It probably weighed six tons. However, that wasn't the main surprise of their mini-expedition. Around noon the base camp was suddenly in commotion. Danny and other crewmen stopped their work when shouts were heard near the field huts and men started running to join the security guards. Bruno's detail had apparently flushed something out of the jungle.

"Watch out!"

"Grab it!"

"Don't shoot it. Use the beamers!"

The entire camp was alerted as a snarling and spitting apelike creature darted out onto the square and sought to find an escape route.

"Look out for those teeth!"

"Stand back. We'll gas the son of a bitch!"

A gas grenade exploded in front of the red-haired, dog-faced man-thing. Its narrow-boned, atavistic face turned toward the rising silvery fog of anesthetic gas, the beetling, elemental brows lowered over its savage yellow eyes as if confronting a demonic apparition. It muttered strangely, emitting surprisingly unguttural sounds that were hauntingly close to speech. Then it collapsed suddenly. The men closed in swiftly with ropes.

* * * *

Thus the "dog-faced man" came to the colony of Terra Nova. Later, when under control in an improvised cage of wire mesh and deck clamps, it was examined more closely by the scientific staff, including Tallullah and her anthropologists.

Even Lalille Sardou was called into conference to see what she could make of the thing's constant mutterings. Jerry Fontaine was not to be excluded. He had made himself unpopular with the militia by complaining of their inhumane treatment of the captive.

"Inhumane, hell!" one of the guards had retorted. "Will you look at that thing's teeth and claws?"

"Advanced primate," said Dr. Odell didactically, "but a ground creature, not overly prehensile. The pigtail, of course, is distinctly atrophic."

"Semi-erect," said Tallullah in buxom intentness from under her broad-brimmed sun hat. "Something like papio ursinus except for a heavier frame and the more canine features. I'd say it weighs close to a hundred pounds."

Danny turned when he heard a snicker behind him.

"There they go with their stupid labels," sneered Nolokov. "What in heaven or hell do they know!?"

"Do you know, Noley?" Danny half-whispered to him.

The Monk searched Danny's face as if speculating whether or not to confide in him. "Definitely! But if Sam or I attempted to explain the Memory of Nature principle we'd be no more understood than that pre-man hybrid itself!" Once more, he walked away abruptly, turning his back on the entire proceedings.

Danny got close enough to the examining group to see the creature and hear what Lalille was saying to everybody including Alonso, Alex, and Cyrus. He wasn't more than six feet away from Frederica whose long black hair lay over her shoulders, provocatively gathered into twin ponytails by rings of native white blossoms, strikingly pagan-like. As she was still obviously playing "feint and fend," he felt almost smug in ignoring her in spite of the sheer summer blouse that was gently sweated against her breast. He told himself that too much else was going on.

Amazingly, the humanoid, dog-faced captive was no longer snarling and spitting. Its slanted ears and two-toed horny feet were too close to the satyr shape for mental comfort. But its blind animal fury had subsided. The peering yellow eyes never left "the Lily's" angelic white face as she sought patiently to converse with it.

"It's not a language," she said, "in the sense of having any morphological characteristics. Yet it isn't exactly animal. It's..."

"Yes, Lalille," Tallullah urged her. "What is it?"

"It's almost – onomatopoeic."

"Nature sounds?" queried Odell.

"Along with its gestures if you'll notice – very imitative." The blond, blue-eyed philologist tossed back her hair and smiled at everyone nervously, seeming to grope for the right words, "I'm tempted to express an intuition here. This creature acts like a pet, as if–"

"Symbiotic relationship with a higher species?" asked Tallullah.

"Yes, as if it had been taught."

"Well, it certainly can't belong to the race who built that temple," commented Cyrus Stockton in obvious rejection.

A ripple of laughter came from the onlookers when the captive creature did a startling imitation of Stockton's nervous mouth twitch.

They were interrupted by Lyshenko. "It's that higher species we're looking for now." He regarded the captive dubiously for a moment and then gazed upward at the temple. "Tomorrow we start the air search. That should uncover something."

Later that afternoon and evening there was excitement of a different nature, which Fitz referred to as "stir fever." There were two violations of the non-exploration rules. Nolokov had blatantly scorned the sentinels and walked off to visit the temple. He had been particularly interested in its cyclopean architecture because of his theory of all such construction in remote antiquity. He and Sam had gotten into some heavy arguments on the subject with Poyntner and Stockton. It was the old idea that huge multi-ton stones had been lifted into place by some antigravitic force, which the swami called "another of Man's lost faculties."

When Pike's security men climbed the long flight of stairs and went in to drag him out bodily, the Monk had compounded the felony by using his psychokinesis. Two of the guards reported before the Council hearing that their stunbeamers had been ripped from their hands by "some kind of voodoo force." Noley declared that he had merely demonstrated the same force that had lifted the great stones of the temple into place. The ancients, he maintained, were capable of using teleknesis in unison, thus developing tremendous power.

In spite of this piece of enlightenment, judgment had been swift. He was confined to quarters and placed under corrective probation. A second offense would land him in the brig on rations. Boozie had seen him and passed some information through the grapevine. Nolokov claimed that the temple should be their first target of exploration. He had mentioned statues, carvings, and symbols that only Sam would understand, but he knew now that the race who had built it could no longer be in their present vicinity. As for his rough treatment by the militia and the summary judgment of the Council, the Mad Monk had told them all to be damned.

"It looks like Uncle Adolf is looking for chances to swing his pike," Fitz grumbled later.

"Noley should have known better," said Danny. "He's restricted by a special ruling from using that TK on anybody. And besides, a full investigation of the temple is on the slate. Rules are rules. One of these days somebody could try something nutty and get us all in trouble."

Gogarty wiped sweat from his brow and scrutinized him testily. He glanced about him furtively to make sure they were out of earshot of the other men who were working on the new water tower. "Look, Danny boy, duty and the rulebook are great, provided there's no shenanigans. You know Pike's a tool for that secessionist bunch. A time's going to come–"

"So we'll wait for it, if it ever comes. We're not just here for the summer, Fitz. Even if we get off of this rock someday, we'll be here for years."

The Irishman's florid square face brightened conspiratorially. "Aye, lad, but getting off is the question. I say somebody's going to try to keep us here, and they want no part of World Council Authority. You ask Boozie. That's why he's clammed up on any talk about his instant communication system!"

"What do you mean? He hasn't said much to me about all this since we've landed."

"That's the trouble with us. Sooner or later, laddy, we're going to have to form our own little club and get our heads together!"

"Did Boozie say that?"

"That he did, and more. He said we're going to have to set up some signals, before it's too late."

Danny straightened up from his work on the pump line. He met the big man's anxious gaze in silence for a moment. Finally he said, "Who's getting stir fever now? He's jumping the gun. Tell him I want to see him."

It was just after supper when the second violation occurred, but this time the offense had not been deliberate. In the early red-hued twilight, Jerry Fontaine was brought back under guard from the jungle. In his defense, he claimed he had merely lost track of where he was going. He had gotten absorbed in the fauna and flora and the amazing richness of the soil.

At the Council hearing in the staff room he had mentioned agricultural potentials, which had struck a note of interest for Alonso. He was sternly reminded of his value to the colony as a soil chemist and that it was not his business to go chasing butterflies. He was not confined to quarters like Nolokov but was restricted to the ship area, also on "corrective probation."

When Danny went to see him in his quarters, Boozie was sitting with him. Jerry was excited and clutched Danny's arm as he spoke, blurting out information he had not dared to mention at his hearing.

"I tell you this place is enchanted!" he exclaimed. "I swear I saw a nymph!"

Boozie smirked as usual and scratched his ear as if embarrassed for Jerry. "Could be something in the air, Danny. Fitz may get to chase a leprechaun yet!"

Jerry was too serious to be diverted. "For God's sake, I'm a scientist, biology included, don't forget! I know what I saw! I use the word nymph for lack of a name."

They let him tell his story then. He had wandered a short way into the jungle, merely examining the plants and small animals and insects, plus the soil, as he had more or less explained to the Council. He had found a small spring and was taking a drink when he caught a reflection in the water. He swore he heard a nymph-like voice that was imitating the sounds of the water and even the evening breeze in the leaves, "like a kind of music."

When he looked up, the forest creature was standing on the opposite side of the pool wearing nothing but a few garlands of flowers. She was distinctly female but delicately formed and totally unconscious of her undine mystical beauty. There was a childlike innocence about her that would have made it impossible to harm her, he said.

"So," said Danny, "you've made history, Jerry. The first man to discover an extraterrestrial human. You should have reported–"

"No! You don't understand!" Jerry's faunlike brown eyes pleaded desperately. "Not human!"

"What?"

"She was smaller, and too delicate with a different kind of face and head structure! Her skin was softer and clearer somehow, like rose petals. The face was beautiful in a strange, exotic way, mythological and fairylike. She had clouds of golden brown hair that hung on the breeze like gossamer threads, and, I swear it, her delicate ears were flared and pointed!"

Boozie slapped his knee. "Jerry, you're getting carried away! You didn't find any mushrooms out there, did you?"

"When she looked at you–" Danny started to say, but that was when Jerry grabbed his arm again.

"She couldn't look at me, not with her eyes! They were big, all right, but they were filmed over and staring blind!"

"Great. Then why didn't you snag her and bring her back?"

"She had some extra sense that guided her. When I got to my feet, she drew back into the ferns and disappeared."

"Do you think she was afraid of you?"

"No, maybe not. But she sensed the presence of the security guards before I heard them!"

"Well," said Boozie finally, "maybe I wasn't kidding you. We could be anywhere. Maybe the yellow brick road is next!"

* * * *

There was a final note of warning to the evening.

One of the guards had seen something that was probably more incredible than Jerry's wood nymph – a cyclops. He swore he had seen the powerful manlike figure in the jungle to the south, a giant silhouette that seemed to loom as big as some of the trees. It was outlined against the red glow of the volcanic ridge, apparently just standing there and watching the camp in silence. When one of the volcanoes had suddenly flared up with a new fireworks display, the guard swore he had seen an ominous gleam in a single, blood-red eye. A subsequent search with the long-range lights had not revealed anything at first. Belatedly, however, a report came in that humanoid footprints had been found, deep-set in the soil and eighteen inches in length. This was sobering. The shaken guard was taken to sick bay.

"Tomorrow," said Lyshenko with finality.

It meant that the air survey would begin, and whatever was "out there" would be discovered. The ground shook severely that night, and the primeval sky loomed red and angry over Boozie's "anywhere" world.

CHAPTER IX

The air search was delayed because of the weather. During most of the third day the sky was black with low-lying clouds, and a heavy torrent of warm tropical rain fell steadily on the base camp. It turned out to be just as well because the scout-ship needed some maintenance work. Meanwhile, one item of exploration was moved up on the schedule. A scientific group decided to visit the temple.

"I wish we could been there," Jerry told Danny later that day. "Noley said Sam and the Bishop almost came to blows."

"I can't imagine Holy Sam using his fists."

"It was mostly the great Dr. Saussure who was hot under the collar. And Stockton's sneering attitude didn't help matters."

The rain had stopped. The late afternoon sun was raising steam from the stone pavement of the open square. The rusty air was sticky with humidity. Danny had just finished supervising work on the scout ship, since he was to be the pilot the next day. He had stopped under the bow of the life-pod to chat with Jerry, who was feeding "Red," the dog-faced creature. It appeared that Red and Jerry had established an instant rapport, much to Lalille's mystification.

"He jabbers a blue streak when you get him going," Jerry explained. "He keeps pointing to the jungle as if he was late to the Mad Hatter's party."

"Maybe he's trying to con you into letting him loose," suggested Danny.

While the red-haired "satyr" eagerly devoured the fruit and nuts Jerry had placed in his cage, the story of the temple search was continued.

The mighty structure was evidently a monument left by a former race of "Great Ones," as Sam called them after he had inspected some of the inner chambers. The statues and wall carvings reflected a former barbaric splendor and a civilization that he judged to be metaphysically highly evolved.

"That's where the argument started." Jerry chuckled. "The Bishop called the builders primitive, superstitious heathens because of signs of sex orgies and some kind of barbaric rite where men fought bull-like animals with their bare hands. Sam told him flatly that he was the primitive. He insisted that the so-called orgies were related to an extremely ancient rite in which men and women were guided by the priest-kings or Great Ones, so that they could mate at certain seasons when the astrological conditions were right." Jerry grinned especially at this point. "Sam came up with a winner when he mentioned that such a system was far less primitive than our own, which he called 'irresponsible procreation dictated by the passions of the lower euro.'"

"What about the bull fighting?"

"That was another argument. Sam pointed out that it was an ancient rite to symbolize man's need for conquering his own animal nature."

Jerry's secondhand report of Noley's account was finally interrupted when Danny had to excuse himself. He had caught sight of Boozie and wanted to talk to him privately. The two of them finally ended up with Fitz in the deserted library and reading room on board. Boozie had urged the meeting in response to Danny's warnings about "Jumping the gun." Fitz and Boozie argued that the policy of wait and see was dangerous.

"You don't wait till they get the drop on you, Danny boy," said Fitz emphatically. "Pike's a tool for the master mind, and something's going on. I still say we'd better workout some signals."

It was the first time that Boozie opened up on his idea for interstellar communication. "I've kept shut about it because, if the secessionists want no contact with Earth, they're liable to arrange another accident like the kind that happened to Torky."

The concept was extremely hypothetical, but Boozie was secretly "fooling around" with the electronics. The original idea had come from Jerry Fontaine, although inspired by Sam. Back on Earth, extensive research had gone into the study of communication between plants. As early as the twentieth century it had been discovered that plants could communicate instantaneously, and were not subject to electromagnetic laws that limited the speed of light. The theory was that plants might be in some kind of communication with other plant life on other worlds throughout the universe.

"Well, plants are innocent enough," Danny quipped at this point. "Since they're not contaminants, it figures they should be able to get through Nature's chastity belt – no Barrier Wall."

Boozie went on to explain that biological telescopes had been experimented with successfully in limited space research, as far back as the twentieth century, but that was as far as the whole concept had gotten. Sam had explained that the plant kingdom had a special faculty which he called a collective consciousness. This, he insisted, was not limited by time and space. So Boozie was studying the possibilities, although at present he was stumped. He ruefully admitted that he didn't know how to modulate the "collective consciousness" of a forest, if the concept turned out to be valid at all.

The Belgian's ice-blue eyes searched their faces pensively. He finally smirked. "You know, throughout the ages, warlocks and wizards and witches have always mentioned an etheric plane where there is no time or space. Noley has told me that Sam can tap that place, but the swami calls it Akasha. The Monk claims this is the meaning of the Memory of Nature – seeing through time. Sam is supposed to be able to read the Akashic Record. That's a form of instantaneous communication in itself." He frowned stubbornly. "Anyway, something bugs me about it. I can't get rid of a hunch there's an answer somewhere in this whole idea."

Fitz grinned at him consolingly. "You might be pushing it too hard, lad. Maybe you need a trip to the Pit, just to ease the old libido."

Boozie glumly admitted that he hadn't made a Pit trip for months, ever since his HP tape had started to give him static.

Danny looked at him curiously. "What kind of static?"

Boozie shrugged his slight shoulders. "I don't know, like an interference with flickering lights."

Danny remembered his last session with Kitty Keene, and the irritating light reflections. He made no comment about it, attributing the holophonic aberrations to a possible magnetic field in the sector of space they had been traversing at the time.

Later, however, he was to recall the present conversation sharply.

On the fourth day the survey flight got off to an early start. The combination jet and turboprop carrier was a convertiplane and hovercraft, capable of amphibious landings and also equipped with tractors for locomotion through swamps. It was carrying a team of a dozen men in addition to weapons and instruments, including optical and infrared scanners, plus scintillometer equipment. The search for radioactive minerals was as much a priority as the "anthropological phase-in."

While piloting the cumbersome-looking scout ship above the sparkling green mat of the jungle, Danny had reason for recalling another piece of information Jerry had given him in regard to the temple inspection. Noley had told him that the highlight of the tour had been provided by Lalille Sardou. Apparently there had been something about the place that turned her on to an unsuspected sensitivity. She had impressed Sam as being clairvoyant, almost like a prophetess. She had seemed to be frightened by her own visions down there in the cult chambers and initiation galleries. The gist of the matter was that she "felt" that not all of the Great Ones had gone.

It gave him food for thought as he looked at the primeval terrain below. Were they out there somewhere, perhaps vastly aware of this earthman invasion? What about Jerry's nymphs or that much more ominous cyclops? He was thankful for the timeless reality of a warm morning sun, the gleam of rivers, the colorful flash of bird wings in the upper terraces of the rain forest. These things, at least, were a reference point for sanity.

"Attention, Bluebird," said the voice from his panel speaker. "You are approaching the coastline. Do not overshoot your pattern. Over."

"Nice to know we're still on the scanners," Dr. Odell laughed somewhat nervously behind him.

"Roger, Terra Nova," Danny answered into his chin mike. "First leg completed. One hundred miles. Now entering circle course. Over and out."

He heard lively conversation behind him as he side-slipped into a long gliding curve over the seacoast. There was also a whir and clicking of the big aerial camera. Cartography was high on the priority list. Their two land rovers would be blazing some trails as soon as the maps were ready. An ironical thought flashed through his mind. If human civilization ever did break through the "chastity belt" and come here, there would be alarm clocks in Paradise. As Boozie had expressed it with his usual cynical smirk: "Beware the star gods, my children!" Which, before the day was over, seemed to be prophetic.

From photo-probe and ship data obtained while in orbit, it was known that they had landed on an island continent which was about eight hundred miles from a major land mass to the north. They had chosen their present site because of the temple and other signs of civilization nearby. They were circling back to the areas where such signs had been revealed on the space photos. Meanwhile they were orienting themselves to the general terrain.

The jungle land sloped gently toward the sea, dropping gradually away from the volcanic ridges in the south. A lush drainage basin terminated in a large delta system at the coastline. In between were jungles and some patches of open meadowlands, as well as a few large areas marked by steaming bogs and swamps. Occasionally they caught sight of some of the larger fauna. They saw another ponderous brontops on the shore of a swamp, but most of the animals were more in the antelope class.

The consensus of the geologists was in agreement with Stockton: late Miocene. Or had that been Sam's evaluation? Danny wondered, thinking of the "Memory of Nature." Except for the mystery of alien constellations, this might as well be Earth, eighteen million years across. But what of temple-building civilizations so long ago? Again he thought of the Great Ones, and Lalille's eerie presentiment. "No holds barred, baby," Boozie had said, as if to summarize the whole situation.

A note of discord disturbed the expectant mood of the survey group when a message from base advised them to keep their eyes open for another "dog-faced man." It had been discovered that "Red" had somehow escaped during the night. Immediately, Pike accused Jerry, who had been requisitioned for the flight by Stockton.

"Hey, Fontaine, you were the last one seen near that cage!"

"I couldn't help it," Jerry confessed rather sheepishly. "I can't stand to see animals in a cage, much less a near-human creature like that."

"That makes you a two-time loser!" snapped Pike. "Not counting the time when you let 'Fritters' burn!"

"Hey, Dolph!" The unnecessary remark had fired up Danny's temper but he managed to manufacture a chuckle. "The woods are full of critters. Soil chemists and exobiologists are a little scarce in Terra Nova!"

Alonso intervened. He firmly advised that the matter should be shelved until their return. Once more he seemed to be shielding Jerry, but he added: "Fontaine, you are going to learn to follow the rules. This is a disciplinary matter!"

The cabin conversation soon returned to a discussion of the terrain below, but within a few minutes Adolphus Pike thrust his heavy frame into the copilot seat next to Danny. His deep-set black eyes glared at him menacingly. After turning off the ship's transmitter, he leaned close and muttered a warning.

"You're mouthing off again, Captain! That sniveling nature boy is in trouble! He's going to be straightened out in a hurry, by me! So you stick to the book, soldier boy, or I'll handle you next!"

Danny couldn't suppress an imitation of one of Boozie's smirks as he made a mock salute and whispered, "Heil!"

Pike glared at him. "That's insubordination!"

Danny leaned toward him confidentially. "The hell it is, Major! You read the book! It's been revised, and it seems the Council overlooked one little item. You're the big chief of the militia now, so you're not in Flight-Com anymore. I answer straight to the Skipper, flathead, so get off my back!"

Pike was interrupted by a call from Stockton, who needed some help with the equipment, but he managed a heated retort almost in Danny's ear. "Why should I, smartass? That really unties my hands!"

Danny calmly clicked on the transmitter again and reported. "Bluebird to Terra Nova. Everything's still under control." He gave his position, heading, and airspeed while wondering how long the "control" would last.

In the late forenoon the party was gripped by the excitement of new discovery. Surprisingly, this was within thirty miles or so of the base camp.

"There!" cried Zebby Kane, their chief zoologist. "I see cliff dwellings!"

It was soon discovered that the dwellings were far from being of the cavemen variety. A long, winding canyon cut a natural passage through a reddish sandstone ridge. The canyon walls were somewhat elaborately carved, revealing a definite community pattern of rock-hewn habitations.

"Primitive," commented Carl Sinding, "but vaguely Dravidian."

"Not as elaborate as Ajunta or Ellora," said Odell.

Axel Bjornson grunted. "In a crude way, more like Al Khaznah at Petra. No free-standing structures."

"Still a poleolithic culture."

The learned observations were interrupted by a chorus of shouts. The inhabitants themselves had been sighted.

"By God, they're human!" yelled Holberg, who was one of three security guards Pike had brought along.

Alonso came forward in the bedlam of excitement and took the copilot's seat. He pulled out the panel mike and covered the reporting to base. Both here and at camp the enthusiasm and wonder had to run its course as on that first occasion when the photo-probe had sent back evidence of civilization. Now there was proof positive that the long star quest had reached its goal. Intelligent humanoid life-forms would have been wonder enough, but this was the ultimate miracle. Man in his own image, light-years away among the unknown stars.

"Danny, hover, dammit!" yelled Stockton. "Slow down!"

He buttoned a retro-thrust with full flaps and activated the twin gyros. The scout ship almost came to a standstill above the canyon dwellings. This gave him a chance to take a better look for himself. About five-hundred feet below, he could see the tiny human figures milling about like bugs, their faces turned upward toward the ship.

"Well formed and copper toned," said Stockton who was at the floor scope.

"Not a weapon among them," observed Pike at the portside opticals.

"Look! They're dropping to their knees!"

"Maybe they think we're gods!"

"Of course," said Odell. "In a relative sense, that's what we are, to them."

"Doctor!" called Danny, interrupting the Duke at his micro-phone. "What's the procedure now?"

Alonso cut off his mike for the moment. "We land, of course. Are you serious?"

The worthy doctor glanced at him in mild surprise, but then gave him one of his patronizing smiles. "My son, to come this far, and not complete the voyage?"

Danny figured the Duke had a point, and yet – was the flowery question only some of his poetic flare for drama? Fantastic as the situation appeared to be, this was reality. There were hundreds of people down there. They might be on their knees now, but one false move by Adolf and his Gestapo could alter the picture in a hurry. In fact he took a very dim view of what was going on in the cabin behind him as he descended. Hand beamers and machine weapons were being distributed.

"Security will handle the flamers and the other ordnance," Pike announced officiously.

"Good God, Major!" Jerry protested. "They're supposed to be the savages!"

"Shut your yap, Fontaine!"

After the centuries of searching and bridging the endless starry gulfs, thought Danny, were they only proving that Sam was right about the Barrier Wall? His recollection of man's first contact with extra-terrestrial humans always remained hazy because of the memory scar of the disaster that followed. He recalled setting the ship down on the canyon floor in a clearing that was created for him as the natives drew back in obvious awe of the roaring "bird god" out of the sky. He had chosen the largest area, which seemed to be their community plaza. The canyon made a sharp turn into a widened bay, which was dominated by the most imposing habitations. Towering carved sandstone facades were broken by several shallow terraces that were connected by narrow and irregular stone steps.

His own observations and a storm of remarks from his companions were enough to give him a favorable first impression of the aborigines, in spite of technical jargon referring to "perfect mandibles" and "mesaticephalic" attributes including excellent "frontal and parietal" structures. It boiled down to the fact that they were well-formed humans and, above all, peaceful. They were obviously intelligent, exhibiting no indications of furtive savagery, which would have been characteristic of early primitives. Although almost naked, they were surprisingly clean and healthy looking. Apparently, there were no lice, no pockmarks, no eczema, no marks of yaws, or other evidence of hygienic ignorance. In fact their loincloths of animal skins were apparently cured and bleached.

"Most amazing!" Odell commented in a tone of wonderment. "They're not even warlike in spite of those splendid physiques. No weapons, no battle scars!"

"Let's hold off on the Paradise bit," growled Pike. "We have to watch out for last impressions, not the first ones!"

Alonso had instructed Danny to stay on board and handle communications with base. He remembered the strategic deployment of the other men as they went outside.

"Here!" Pike had barked at Jerry, slapping a machine rifle into his hands. "Maybe you'll learn something that's not in your flower books!"

The major and his three security men spread out on either side of the ship while the scientific group moved cautiously forward, armed with beamers and light machine weapons. They were covering Alonso who calmly took the lead, as dignified as ever in spite of his pale green Flight-Com jumper, which struck Danny as being somewhat incongruous for a bearded scholar and poet.

He remembered carrying on a lively conversation with men at the base, including Lyshenko, as he described the proceedings. The survey group was standing out there in the noonday light of an alien star, facing a kneeling and muttering multitude of coppery-haired humans who were children of some other dawn of time. The thought had flashed through his mind: did the Duke know what he was doing?

Apparently, he did. His gentle gestures of peace seemed to he reassuring to the natives. Some of them had looked warily at Pike and his men but not because of their weapons. The latter were too exotic to be recognized, but scowls of suspicion and egression were something more universally understood. It was not long before the chief among them appeared in the company of a woman who might have been his wife, but she looked more like his younger sister. Their copper-golden hair lay down over their shoulders. Although the woman's hair was much longer and decorated with flowers, it failed to conceal her prominent breasts, to which she seemed oblivious. The two came forward out of the crowd, accompanied by repeated cries of "Ravano!" and "Akala!"

Evidently these were their names. They were both distinguished from their people in clothing, bearing, and attitude as they came to a stop within a dozen feet of Alonso. Ravano and Akala were slightly taller than the others, and in their clear bright eyes was an expression of wondering respect and welcome rather than awe. The man was in his middle prime and obviously rugged. There were also a few long scars across the heavy square of his chest. Whether these were signs of the hunt or war could not be determined at the moment. They both wore gleaming yellow headbands and heavy metallic necklaces, apparently of silver. The earthmen muttered excitedly among themselves about the metal ornaments, arguing that they could not have been produced by this culture. Somebody suggested that they might have taken such articles from the temple of the so-called Great Ones.

Alonso shushed everybody and proceeded to speak. "We bring you greetings from another world," he said dramatically.

With equal solemnity, Ravano bowed his head slightly and replied: "Tativa yahosa bagenata samdtli vamaani-na."

Roadblock, thought Danny. Not even the Lily would have been able to help them here. That was the end of his hazier recollection of the encounter. What happened next could never be forgotten in any least detail because the peaceful scene was turned abruptly into a nightmare.

It started with screams of alarm and a reverberating bellow. The earthmen also shouted as two giant monstrosities emerged from the narrower canyon and charged the defenseless natives, crushing skulls and breaking backs with cudgels and fists. The red-eyed cyclops titans were disfigured by birthmarks or a pigmentation defect which mottled their skin with a camouflage effect of random coloration ranging from yellow and green to red or blue splotches across their arms, torsos and faces. They were at least a dozen feet tall, troglodytic in frame, and gargantuan in strength. They were also cannibals, tearing apart their living victims and eating hungrily at their spurting flesh with bristling fangs.

The stun-beamers had no effect on them, nor did the gas bombs. There were too many people in the way for the flamers, so the machine weapons came into play. These were effective, and the grisly giants soon sank to the ground after almost being cut in two by a hail of lead.

The bedlam continued, however, and Danny had little time to answer frantic calls from the base. Apparently under Alonso's instructions, Ravano and Akala were taken into "protective custody" by some of the armed scientists who pushed them closer to the ship. Ravano's cries to his people may have been in response to his apparent entrapment or to the general emergency. From the beginning of the attack, the native men had gone for their weapons, which were apparently close by. Many of the women brought them their stone-headed spears and ropelike slings. The latter had the appearance of triple-thonged bolas and were handled gingerly because of their hooks of bone and shell.

In moments it became evident that Ravano's concern was not for himself or Akala. Something else was happening that seemed to fill them with more consternation and despair than the one-eyed giants and their torn victims.

"Look!" came a cry from Bill Vinet, another of Pike's men. "What are those?"

"Danny!" shouted Jerry frantically. "These are the nymphs!"

If they were nymphs, there were males of the species also, thought Danny, as he saw a number of frail creatures fleeing along the terraces. They were a pale rose in color and utterly exotic or mythological in their features, just as Jerry had described his blind undine of the jungle pool.

"What the hell's going on!?" yelled somebody from the base.

"You wouldn't believe it!" Danny answered. But after that there was no time for communications. He figured the automatic cameras would have to tell the story later.

Suddenly an exquisite young nymph emerged from a cave on a lower terrace. Jerry shouted, pointing at her. Akala called out to the beautiful being in a strange, melodic voice, but the blind nymph girl walked off the terrace and fell to the rocky floor of the canyon. A groan of sorrow arose from the natives.

"Hey, you fool!" yelled Pike. "Come back here!"

Jerry dashed heedlessly across the open area to the side of the fallen fairylike form.

"I'll get him. He's out of his head!" Holberg's stubby figure was next seen running among the startled natives. There was no time for collecting wits. In one moment the armed men of the tribe looked questioningly at their chief. In the next moment a lone cyclops, streaked with natural orange and yellow splotches, came charging from concealment around the corner of the canyon. The local warriors threw spears and flung their menacing bolas, but it was too late. Three native women were mauled and torn asunder within a dozen feet of Holberg. He turned and fired his flamer at the towering beast. The searing heat only seemed to enrage it, but then something happened that secretly alarmed the earthmen most of all. An invisible force whipped Holberg's weapon from his hands.

"Telekinesis!" somebody yelled.

With a roar, the monster charged Holberg and in an instant he was dead, decapitated by wrenching claws. It wasn't Jerry's gun that brought him down. It took a withering fusillade from the other men. Some of them kept firing at the riddled corpse after it had ceased to struggle, as if fear of the unknown had cramped some trigger fingers.

Danny had a flash of memory – Noley's use of telekinesis on the guards at the temple, and his declaration before the Council that such forces had served to lift the great stones into place. Now here were mythological titans demonstrating the same psychic powers! There was no time to ponder over the mystery, however, because he suddenly saw something that made him flick a control switch in instinctive haste.

"Good God!" he yelled over the bullhorn. "Pull back. Come on!"

At least a dozen motley colored cyclopes were coming down the canyon face, leaping from terrace to terrace while throwing giant spears and hurling clubs. Several more on the rim were hurling boulders, and it seemed that some of the giant rocks were not thrown by means of brutal strength but by the eerie force of psychokinesis. A huge spear shaft crashed through a side port of the scout ship's cabin. Then Danny went out into the fray, pulling Jerry back and firing at the bellowing attackers. The natives huddled against the canyon walls to avoid the greater battle between the titans and the "sky gods," aware of the magic death of the high-speed machine fire.

Sweat was blurring his vision when he got Jerry back to the ship and climbed in with the others, helping them to pull in a few who had been mangled by falling rocks. Carl Sinding was moaning, out of his head from the shock of his experience. The titanic figures attempted an attack on the ship but the hail of gun fire was a deterrent. The spears, cudgels, and rocks from overhead were the greatest menace, yet more terrifying still was a violent rocking motion of the ship as if it were caught in a vortex of invisible forces.

"Let's get to hell out!" boomed Bjornson.

That still wasn't all. Inside the cabin, another kind of mayhem was going on. Pike was on top of Jerry in the aisle and was smashing blindly at him with his fists.

"You yellow son of a bitch, you did it again!" he yelled through his teeth. "You froze, with a 2K-66 in your hands! Charlie Holberg's dead!"

Danny moved straight at him and whacked him across the side of his face with his gun barrel. Pike rolled over with murder gleaming through the blood of the wound, while many hands sought to hold him down. Men were yelling. The gyros were in action. The ship was lifting off with the hatch still open. Kenny Makart, the third security man, was also a flight mechanic. He had managed to work the controls.

Pike made a lunge for him, but was held back by Bjornson, Kane, and Odell. In the same moment, he glared up at a rifle muzzle that wasn't Danny's. Alonso was there, frowning down at him while the scout ship veered northeast over the jungle. There was a firmness in the Duke's aristocratic face that Danny had never seen before.

"Mode-one crisis," he announced coldly. "Come to your senses, Major. I can have you executed!" There was a gap of staring silence except for the jets and the moans of the wounded. The gun barrel lifted. "Or shall we leave this one 'off-the-cuff?' But I warn you, private feuds of any nature endanger us all. They will not be tolerated!"

He nudged Jerry up and into a bucket seat. "As for repeated violation of rules and orders, we've had a very sorry example of the results of that. You, sir, are under arrest for immediate trial. Guard!"

Bill Vinet took Jerry into custody. This apparently mollified Pike to some extent, although his black eyes glared hate at Danny as he shouldered roughly past him.

Danny was only dimly aware of the men's reaction to the psychic powers of the titan monsters. Although the few remaining cyclopes below were seen retreating under a rallying native attack, their menace remained undiminished in everyone's minds.

"They're too dangerous to be alive!" muttered Bjornson.

"We should exterminate them!" rasped Stockton in a tone of revulsion.

Danny's main attention was drawn to the rear of the cabin, across wounded men, and past staring, sweating faces. He hadn't realized that Ravano and his sister had been taken on board. The chieftain met Danny's wondering gaze firmly and searchingly. Apparently a tragedy had occurred today which had deeper meaning for his people than the earthmen could comprehend. Evidently, Ravano didn't know if he were a prisoner or a guest, but it didn't seem to matter to him. Not even the miracle of flight seemed to concern him. Obviously, what mattered now was to find someone who could understand the true nature of his crisis.

Akala sat on the floor at the rear of the cabin, braced against the bulkhead with her long hair swept back over her shoulders. She sat rigidly in some kind of trance while her brown-nippled breasts rose and fell in cadence with controlled breathing. There was too much noise to hear her, but her lips were moving. Apparently she was chanting some kind of prayer or mantra, probably calling upon her own deity.

Certainly those who had come here to play the god game had failed.

CHAPTER X

"Don't lock me up!" Jerry had pleaded piteously. "I'll die in a cage!"

"You are in violation of charter regulations," Alonso had said as chief of council. "Your gross negligence and insubordination have impeded research and resulted in the loss of life."

"Independent action will be controlled!" Lyshenko had thundered adamantly.

The storm of excitement in camp almost obscured Jerry's quick trial and sentencing. He was sent to the brig for three months, subject to requisitioning for technical services or consultation. His pleas were drowned in a tumult of comments on much more absorbing events. For the time being, Danny and his friends had their hands full.

A full squad of heavily armed men had returned to the canyon village in the scout ship and made an air search for the cyclopes. After a long hunt with infrared scanners and night scopes they had only flushed out three of the monsters and shot them down. A second objective of the "mercy mission" had been to assess the mood of the natives, which was notably warlike now. Apparently their idyllic peace had been shattered chiefly by the disappearance of Ravano and Akala.

This was also a noisy issue at Terra Nova. Were these first two humans of another world to be held captive or treated as honored guests? The Council quickly ruled that the ethics of the matter were subordinate to the imperatives of survival. Lalille Sardou was the chief linguist; it was her task to break through the language barrier as quickly as possible. Such native leaders as Ravano and his sister could supply them with information that might save months of time, if not lives. Meanwhile, the royal pair were honored guests, except that they were restricted to the premises and kept under constant guard. A joint announcement by Council and Flight Command concluded that their eventual fate would be determined by their cooperation or lack of it. The interests of the colony took priority.

"You will find," said Lyshenko in one of his peremptory speeches, "that any maudlin sentimentalities in this regard are a luxury we can't afford. The obvious dangers of our environment call for only one consideration: self-preservation!"

Frederica hated him for it as much as she hated Pike. Lalille, however, was far too absorbed in her fascinating task to think of anything else. Moreover, Ravano and Akala appeared to be equally anxious to communicate. So the Lily was their constant companion except when she was recording her language tapes into the computer for analysis.

* * * *

Meanwhile, the camp work schedules tripled. Maps were quickly drafted and marked for mineral prospecting. Data returning from the daily air surveys indicated rich potential sources of coal, oil, iron, and other minerals, including possibly good deposits of uranium and thorium. Also, the matter of food sources and future agricultural planning was another item for the survey teams. The land rovers could not be used extensively until the jungle-cutting machinery arrived. This kept the big space shuttle busy bringing back equipment from giant cargo pods on the main frame of the Sirius III, which was still parked in a synchronous orbit.

Local hunting and general foraging had begun to provide new challenges to the galley crew if not to their "victims." Foxy had become quotable by devising a scrambled anachronism: "Brides' biscuits went out with brontops steak!"

In view of the apparent belligerence of the natives, there was increasing talk of consolidating the main camp within the massive temple, which was far more defensible. This concept gathered momentum when other humans were discovered along the coastline and in the extensive delta areas. From Lalille's language department, native names were coming into usage. The coastal tribes, according to Ravano, were the Golaks. He referred to his own people as the Talavat nation. The Golaks were purely savages, barbarians who were primitively armed but dangerously numerous and aggressive.

The self-preservation imperatives of a temple move were sharply emphasized by two events. One month after the abduction of Ravano and Akala, Terra Nova was attacked by a determined force of several hundred Talavat warriors. They were no match for the militia and the roborgs, but their stubborn bravery made a deep impression on more than one faction in camp. The casualties among the Talavats had been catastrophic. The survivors were allowed to remove their dead and wounded, but this exhibition of chivalry made little impression on them. They went away with many scars they would not soon forget, nor would Ravano. After this incident, the powerful chieftain's attitude changed from reasoned cooperation to one of sullen and calculated urgency, but he was at least more determined than ever to communicate.

* * * *

Two nights later a lone cyclops raided the camp in a bellowing frenzy of destructiveness. Again the giant demonstrated that his species was not to be stopped by nerve gas or flames. Before he was nearly sliced in two by lasers and bullets, he flattened a field hut, killed two men, and attacked a roborg. The cyborg brain of the ponderous machine was shattered when it crashed to the stone pavement.

Consequently, the move to the temple received top priority. The spacious chambers and Galleries offered ample room for about half of the colony members, whereas the remaining crewmen under Flight Command were still quartered on board the star ship's life pod. Once equipped with a ventilating system and lights, the interior of the towering temple began to be converted into fairly suitable living quarters. In the atmosphere created by statues and carved murals, the place took on the appearance of a great feudal castle. This impression was soon enhanced by the heavier ordnance that was installed in niches overlooking the terraces.

Rocket batteries and automatic rifles were what the Duke called a "metachronism." There beyond the Barrier Wall an unrhymed confusion of times and cultures was a penalty exacted by Nature.

For Danny, the increasing developments and mounting workload had made the days race by in a flurry of consuming industry. As a result of the first Colonial Assembly conference, the schedule of tasks had created a heavy backlog of assignments. Yet the old adage about idle hands worked in reverse for him. The more he had to do, the more he had to think about.

This was largely due to the history-making conference, which had lasted for days. Two areas of discussion had led to divided opinions. One of these involved the subject of an eventual attempt to return to Earth. There were two alternatives, each of which would require a long period of years in which to process the necessary nuclear fuel and reestablish the technology necessary for fabricating cores and blocks to go into the main propulsion reactor. One plan included all of the colonists but it would require the fabrication of another S-link, which was a doubtful undertaking. The other plan involved the hiber method, but in that case most of the survivors would be stranded on Terra Nova, possibly forever. The decision on this question was that only time and engineering skill would determine whether or not an S-link could be built.

The other subject was probably what Boozie had in mind when he once mentioned "dragon seeds." But the Duke and the Skipper were unanimous in backing what was called the "Hellenistic Plan." This was a euphemism for using slave labor. As Nolokov expressed it, they were really talking about a form of medieval feudalism which included not only enslavement of the natives but all the trappings of the Inquisition.

As Poyntner and the Duke explained, however, there was no other way to set up the industrial and agronomic structures they needed without a large labor force, and they couldn't conceive of the Talavat nation or the Golak tribesmen working as paid employees. The imperatives of the situation permitted no other economic or social alternative.

"Assuming," said Poyntner suggestively, "that our goal is to return the Sirius III to Earth, by either the S-link or the hibernation method." He shrugged. "Of course, were we to plan on a permanent residence here, other approaches to the indigenous races could be considered perhaps."

"He practically ran up the secessionist flag on that one," commented Nolokov later.

This was the point of schism, regardless of the Council's official endorsement of the Hellenistic system. The questions had been settled communally, yet on an individual level many problems were left unresolved. Enslavement of the natives was an ethical issue with which one struggled according to his conscience. Tallullah had commented that the natives would be compensated in terms of education and "religious enlightenment," but this didn't help stabilize the wavering scales of justice. On the other hand, to be left here forever or to return to Earth was a much more personal matter that definitely probed the depths of instinct. What watered the dragon seeds was that there were some options, depending upon one's philosophy and makeup. There was the awesome gamble of challenging the Barrier Wall again some day, or the perhaps more feasible gamble of "interfacing" with the native cultures and making a permanent go of it. This offered certain advanced guarantees of security especially if one were on the ruling side of a "Hellenistic" society.

Where Danny himself was concerned, he held to his first decision: the hiber trip if it happened, and the book. The Duke and the Skipper were still the law. That way he could leave the soul-searchings and struggles of conscience to others.

Or could he?

The first test of this question came when he saw Ravano again. He and Boozie had been helping out on the new intercom and P.A. system for the temple. Quite unexpectedly they had encountered him and Akala in a special session with Lalille. Freddie was also present, along with Sam and Nolokov and, of all people, Jerry Fontaine.

"I'm out," Jerry had beamed at them happily, "thanks to the women and the Bishop. Humanitarian amnesty. I was getting the flips in that cage!"

His scientific reason for being with Ravano was agricultural. He had come to identify certain fruits and roots in regard to their use and edibility.

"We are here to work with Akala on the temple inscriptions and symbolisms," explained the swami. "She seems to be a priestess. Of course," he smiled, "I'm really only excess baggage here."

The inference was obvious. Nolokov was so involved with Ravano's sister that he hardly noticed them, and it was small wonder. Apparently, Tallullah and the Bishop had perceived the perils of having an undraped heathen female running about the place, but the diaphanous bra she had finally tolerated was more of an enticement than the naked truth. Nevertheless, Akala was apparently eons removed from the sophistications of role playing. Still sullen and wary since the Talavat massacre, she was thinly civil to the Mad Monk, yet somewhat in awe of his brilliantly probing intellect.

The native pair's progress in English was amazing.

"It's the hypno-strobe," Lalille told them.

Which also explained the presence of Frederica. She was the machine's operator, since it was a psychological instrument. By means of subliminal impressions, the learning process could be accelerated with it. Danny noted that she was wearing the leotards and the torso jumper again, replete with the picture-collar blouse. Her dark hair was still down over her shoulders, and the fresh yellow flowers she wore in it added the pagan touch again. Moreover, she seemed to be in a friendlier mood than usual, probably due to the progress both of the girls had been making.

She even nodded to him and smiled. "These two are just marvelous!" she enthused. "They're learning English almost as fast as Lalille is learning Talavat."

Ravano sat regally on a ceremonial stone bench as if he were a king receiving his court. His keen brown eyes studied each person present, including Kenny Makart who was standing guard at the chamber's pillared entrance. On either side of him were massive floor-to-celling panels covered with carved inscriptions.

"One thing we've learned about their religion and social standards," said Sam, "is that they follow the code of laws left by the Lahas." He pointed to the panels.

"Lahas?" asked Boozie.

"Yes, the Great Ones who built the temple."

Makart had apparently made an exception for Danny and Boozie because of their tools and wiring equipment. Ordinarily, unscheduled or uncontrolled fraternizing with their guests was not permitted. It was an opportunity to learn much that had not been released to the general colony populace. There was still a considerable language barrier, but what Lalille had been able to gather from the two Talavats made an impression on Danny that troubled him vaguely. He couldn't analyze his reactions then, or why his gaze kept returning to the steady eyes of Ravano.

One mystery was partially solved. When they had first made contact with the Talavats in the canyon village, some kind of religious observance had been in effect for days. Much of it had to do with the blind, nymph-like creatures they had seen. The advent of the scout ship had broken some kind of spell and precipitated the disaster that followed.

"The nymph creatures are called Moals," Sam explained. "The cyclopes are called Raks. Both types are highly significant to disciples of the Mysteries who understand the Memory of Nature." He smiled resignedly. "Of course Poyntner and Stockton would call this gibberish, but what I'm saying is more important than they might realize. Either this is Earth in the Lemurlan epoch, or it's another Earth in what you might call a parallel universe."

Startling as this declaration was, the swami persisted in commenting on the Moals. His guess was that they existed in symbiotic relationship with the Talavats, at least under certain conditions which he avoided elaborating on.

"I am willing to wager that the Moals still possess the lost faculty, the collective consciousness of the lower kingdoms. Of course with them it's only intuitive, but it works its ancient magic. In Biblical doctrine, that lost faculty was what constituted the 'Fall' of Man. The 'Apple' symbology signified the acquisition of intelligent self-consciousness. It moved homo sapiens into a higher kingdom but at a price."

"Remember?" said Jerry. "I told you the Moal girl I saw seemed to have some kind of extra sense."

Sam went on. "I believe they are able to warn the Talavats of the presence of danger. Perhaps they can even control the Raks. When your scout ship came thundering in on them, it must have broken up the whole rapport."

"That collective consciousness," said Boozie. "Is it the same kind of thing you attribute to the plant kingdom?" He was obviously thinking about his interstellar communication idea.

"Of course! It also applies to the mineral kingdom. That's right. Ancient Wisdom teaches that atoms are a form of life. They have a deep and dreamless collective consciousness. What do you suppose holds the worlds together?"

The swami was getting deep. Lalille soon interrupted him with information of another kind. Ravano's crisis was related to more than the Moal situation, which had some vital religious significance for him and Akala. The volcanic disturbances had been very heavy recently and were taken to be a sign from the gods. He and his people had an intuitive urge to emigrate, to evade an impending cataclysm.

"I think Ravano and Akala have been trying to tell us that we are a part of some kind of prophecy."

It developed that the Talavats had hoped the visitors were the "Star Sons" of their oracle who had come to help them, but their disillusionment had been almost too much to bear when they learned otherwise.

"Yet they seem to study us as they were still hoping we might come up with a miracle for them."

Danny thought of the betrayal that was being planned for these innocent people. While Lalille went on with her commentary, he noted that Nolokov was staring across the room at something in dark fascination. When he followed his gaze, he saw that the Duke's coat of arms had been mounted on the wall. The emblazoned shield was like an impudent symbol of possession, gleaming there with its bright chromaplast trimmings.

A warning answer seemed to come in the next moment, and the Monk turned his dark eyes quickly toward Ravano when an unexpected revelation was made. Boozie had just commented about Ravano being the local chief of a local tribe when suddenly Ravano's eyes widened imperiously. He looked fiercely at Lalille and spoke to her rapidly in Talavat.

A troubled frown touched her brow. "He tells me that the people you saw in the canyon, the ones who later attacked the base camp, were only of one tribe. He and Akala were there on a visit. There are many tribes." She stared at everyone in surprise. "He is speaking of thousands more of his people!" This was obviously new information.

"Hum," said Boozie, "then who's the king?"

Ravano slapped his chest in righteous anger and spoke in English. His voice was deep and authoritative. "I, Ravano, king of Talavat nation!"

Boozie and Jerry and Danny all exchanged glances with Nolokov and Sam. They hadn't missed the challenge in the native monarch's eyes as he glared across the room at the shield of Terra Nova.

* * * *

Danny knew the overtime work was an excuse. As he worked with Fitz and Boozie and Foxy in the assembly hangar, he knew the air cars weren't this urgent on the backlog schedule. The kits had only been brought down that day from the cargo pods.

"So why don't you boys open up?" he finally challenged them. "I suppose you want to talk about getting your so-called signals together."

Boozie gave him a crafty smile instead of a smirk. He paused over the cowling jig and looked about conspiratorially. The hangar doors were closed. "Why Captain, how you talk!" He pulled out a flask and handed it over.

Danny opened it and sniffed it. The contents had a sickly sweet odor with a pungent hint of fermentation. "Where the hell did you get this?" He tasted it and made awry face. "It's awful!"

"That's uighyic, Danny boy. Don't knock it!" said Fitz with a grin.

"It's Talavat for ugh-yek," added Foxy. "You can have it!"

"Liquor's not allowed, Frans. You ought to know that. How'd you get it?"

The story was told of how Jerry Fontaine had cooked up a batch from certain native fruit juices – "strictly research of course." He had figured it might as well not go to waste, since he had promised Boozie a vineyard. While this was being explained, the man-hatch opened and Nolokov came in, his dark eyes far more somber than usual.

Danny felt his temper rising. "So that's how Zeb Kane got high last night. Damn it! Jerry's never going to stay out of trouble!"

"Last night is what I came to talk about," said Nolokov.

They fell to discussing the unfortunate events of the night before. A group of noisy colonists had staged a demonstration in the square to voice their protests against enslaving the natives. The militia had been rough on them, and Kane had landed in the clinic with head wounds.

"So they all knew the charter regulations," Danny retorted. "They could have stated their case in Forum."

"Perhaps, Danny," said Nolokov, "but now they may have another case. Pike's boys are getting out of hand. Zebulon Kane is dying of a brain concussion. They practically clubbed him to death."

Danny knew that his second test of conscience had come when the actual "signals" began to be discussed. Now came the reason for all of them being here together. Fitz and Boozie shared the "ugh-yek" while the subversive talk went on. Nolokov was the chief reporter. An underground movement was growing. There was a plan to desert the camp and take Ravano and Akala along. Behind this amazing idea was a plan to "interface" with the Talavats through their king.

Danny finally had to stop them. "Hold it!" he exclaimed, holding up his hands. "Somebody's really flipped! Besides, why tell me, for Christ's sake!? I answer to the Skipper and the Duke. You know I can't listen to this!"

Boozie smirked this time and placed a slender hand on his shoulder. "My boy, you saw the hypno-strobe at work last week in the temple. Did you ever think it might have been used on our fearless leaders? What if they've been brainwashed? You know, Captain, you could be duty blind. You might be of service to your chief if you'd open those faithful gray-blue eyes a little more."

The concept left Danny tongue-tied. He listened grimly as it all came out about how the underground group was planning to help build up the fighting power of the Talavat nation, since it was now known Ravano's subjects were numbered in the tens of thousands. The object was to eventually rescue Terra Nova from secessionist madmen like Poyntner, Stockton, and the rest of their self-serving hardheads. Ravano himself had been secretly queried on the idea, by way of Akala and the Monk. The king still didn't trust anyone, but he was listening, especially now that he knew about the slavery plan.

There were motivations here that Danny hadn't suspected, plans and strategies that were growing like a prairie fire. Boozie was convinced of the secessionist plot, saying that the "nuclear-fuel gag" was just a stall for time so that the "Monarchy" could be consolidated over a comfortable period of years and the entire native population could be enslaved. He further believed that if the insurgents escaped they would need an inside group here at the base, especially on the ship. He and Fitz were volunteering for that job, and for an additional reason.

"If things get too rough," said Boozie, "we may be able to pull a surprise hiber hop."

For the first time, Danny realized that a hiber trip could be accelerated. Under hiber conditions the life-pod could run on minimal energy with occasional solar help. The majority of the remaining fuel cores in the life-pod pile could be transferred to the propulsion reactor in flight, before the skeletal crew took the "long sleep." It was a narrow gamble with far less flight range, but it was just barely possible.

"So while the Talavats are beefing up," Boozie concluded, "Fitz and I and maybe Foxy will watch our chances to prepare the bird for an emergency hiber run. It may take time, but not all those years the secessionists are counting on. In other words, if the Talavats fail to rescue the colony, we've got a hiber ticket up our sleeves. That still leaves many behind, but it completes the flight mission, baby!"

As for Jerry Fontaine, he wasn't in the picture. He was too much of a maverick, too unpredictable and star-crossed. Besides, he was busy mooning over the Lily. The grapevine had it that the romance was on again with those two.

Nolokov mentioned another name, Axel Bjornson, known as the Axe. "His motives are beautifully simple," the Monk said. "It's a Viking's rejection of the package. He's turning on to what he was born with."

Danny asked Fitz, point-blank, what his motives were.

"Well, it's the Irish in me," Fitz said, nipping at the flask. "This colony plan is like mixing the green and the orange. There'll be confetti flyin' here before they're through, and I don't mean the paper kind. You can count me out of the great Colonial Assembly, boys, but I'm with you behind the fence!"

Foxy had his own philosophy on the matter. He didn't like what he called the double-P, meaning Pike and Poyntner. "I sort of go along with the Axe. Maybe I'm a Viking at heart. I like the sea better than jungle rot. I might settle down on the beach some day with one of those chesty Talavat orals. I can't face up to another try at the Great Big Empty. I got burned once fooling around with Mother Nature's chastity belt. I'm staying here. As for the slavery deal, maybe some of old Abe Lincoln is in me. I'm not much for the big plantation scene. Next thing you know, they'll be planting cotton."

Danny had fought for time in all this. He had been desperately trying to gather his wits in the midst of an internal tug-of-war. The thoughts expressed here had been like a bombshell which further tore at the seams of his own package. What should he turn on to? Where was honesty and a wheel to put his shoulder to? The possibility of the Duke and the Skipper being hypno-strobed was preposterous, and yet– He needed time. Above all, perhaps, he needed some basis, some positive proof, of a secessionist plot. With that he could go the Skipper and maybe avoid an eventual massacre on both sides.

"Who's the real leader of the underground plan?" he asked abruptly.

"I am."

He found himself staring into the Mad Monk's enigmatic dark eyes.

"As for motivations, they are largely the same as those of the majority, but there's one thing more. Akala has told me of a long-lost sacred temple of the Lahas. It seems the Lily's hunch was true. Some of the Great Ones may still be around."

Suddenly the alert horns started blasting. The man-hatch opened, and Axel Bjornson's massive frame came through. His big florid face was taut with excitement. "They're after Fontaine again!" he shouted. "This time he's really in trouble!"

* * * *

The big lights were on in the square and other search beams were sweeping the area from the temple terraces. Men were running and shouting. There was a gathering cluster of confusion and conflict at the north end. By the time Danny and the others got there, they saw Jerry being clubbed, and Pike in the middle. Bjornson and Fitz tried to break it up but were stopped by a bristling line of beamers and machine rifles. Jerry had to be held up by the guards. He was a bleeding mess, his brown eyes glazed from shock.

"You boys stay out of this or get shot!" said Pike, glowering heatedly at all of them. "This time your little mascot's had it!"

Danny moved forward to the gun line and faced him. "I'm still in Flight Command, Adolf, so answer up! What the hell is the charge?"

Pike sneered at him. "Bootlegging for one thing, and maybe attempted rape!"

"Rape!!" came simultaneous cries from the crowd.

"No! No! It isn't true!" Freddie came pushing through in frantic tears and threw herself against Danny. "I saw it all. It's a mistake! Jerry just forgot himself. He's been so desperate for Lalille. She cried out once, and the guard–" She couldn't go on.

Danny held her but glared at Pike and his men as they dragged Jerry past him. He could reconstruct the scene – a lovestruck, lonely romanticist, carried away by a tropical night. Maybe the Lily's religion got in her way. Girls in love had yelped before when they drew the line at "no-man's land."

"Just a damn minute!" he called out. He left Freddie and pushed forward. "You don't have proof, Dolph. There are no charges against him!"

Pike kept going while adding his own shoves against the prisoner. "The booze alone is enough. He doesn't like the brig, so maybe we'll get him a real cage!"

Danny ran into trouble when he grabbed his arm. He had forgotten Adolf's club. It landed hard on his skull, and lights flashed through his brain.

He lay on the ground with the lights still flashing. They flashed and strobed at him like those irritating reflections on Kitty's beautiful red hair. Kitty Keene was holding his head against her warm young breasts. His mind was on a rocket. The Pit flashes! Hypno-strobe! Half the ship could have been brainwashed through the Pit, using the computer! That could explain the "double-think" and all the "futility" garbage. They had been priming everyone to vote for a landing. There was something he could play by the book! The Skipper would have to listen to him!

"My God!" he groaned.

Suddenly he realized that Kitty Keene was really Frederica. It was her warm young breasts he was pressed against. She was sitting there on the ground with him and softly crying.

CHAPTER XI

His unexpected breakthrough with Frederica was interrupted by a stretcher trip to sick bay. His head injury had been compounded by his fall to the pavement. A number of other patients were added to the clinic load because of the melee involving Jerry's capture – and Zebby Kane was still in critical care, not expected to live. The grapevine was on fire with rumors. Everyone was in an uproar over the militia's growing heavy-handedness, especially since Jerry Fontaine was apparently having the book thrown at him. The liquor charge had been tied to Zeb Kane's condition plus suspicion of inciting a riot. Jerry had been "remanded into custody" pending a closed special hearing. Ugly rumor had it that he might be up for execution. As for the so-called "attempted rape" charge, that was left dangling as a useful negative inference.

Meanwhile, Lalille had gone into cloistered seclusion, protected by the "Big M." And the Skipper had acquired a new name. There were resentful whisperings now of "the Khan and his Pike" – although, of course, "Adolf" ostensibly answered directly to the Council.

His temporary entrapment on a clinic cot also made him a focal point for the underground reports. Boozie, Fitz, and Foxy had come in that same night with whispered news from Nolokov and Bjornson. The insurgents would have weapons and maps, maybe even air cars. Just who in Security was going to "come over" was a taboo subject even for Danny's ears. But the whole insane plan was developing like a volcano. Ravano was still standing them off but listening. He didn't trust the false "Star Sons" and he feared to place the lives of himself and his sister in the hands of probable madmen.

Danny kept arguing for time. His chief trump was his theory concerning the "Pit flashes." When he explained it to his three confidants, Boozie became excited.

"Buddy boy, you just may have hit it!" he said. He knew the principle of the hypno-strobe and explained it. "It compresses verbal suggestions into millisecond flashes. You get the stuff subliminally and it's anchored in the subconscious." When asked if this process could be channeled into the HP consoles in the Pit by way of the computer, he was sure of it. "And remember, our boy 'Fritters' was a computer maintenance tech. No wonder he was strobed and killed, after they brainwashed him into making the changes! But man, if I could lay my hands on some of Freddie's monitor tapes, I could break down the flashes, if that's what they are. If there are any hypno-signals on those tapes, we've got a case!"

"For what?" asked Fitz dubiously. "Proving that we were conned into a landing? Don't look now, but we're here!"

"The real trick," said Foxy, "will be trying to con 'Hot Sachs' out of her X-rated flickers!"

"That's my territory," said Danny emphatically. "I'll get to her soon enough!"

"Down boy!"

Boozie's double entendre included a warning signal. Dr. Alonso Madrazo had come to check the latest casualties...

* * * *

It was sheer accident but there she was, on a tropical night with her open picture collar and the welling innocence limned in platinum by the moon. She wasn't wearing her horn-rims. He had come to find Alonso, but he was not in his chambers. With his mind on his fight for time, he had reconnoitered around the temple, considering its defense points. He was wondering how the underground plotters would have a chance with their plan to take the royal captives with them. In checking the searchlight system he had stepped out onto the western terrace of the ziggurat.

An old moon was lowering over the distant sea, as swollen as Jerry's "universal earth mother." Long ago, hand-carried water had kept a garden alive here. Ever since the temple move, it had been irrigated from a water tower on top of the sanctuary. Plants and flowers were here again. A fresh young garden was growing riotously from the fertile red soil of the planter trenches, and here too was the aura of animal vitality of the forest, laden with spice from yellow blossomed atraya vines. He remembered hearing that Sam had been coming here to meditate.

When Frederica turned and saw the bandage on his forehead it seemed to remind her of their previous contact and of everything else, the sorrow and conflict, the tragedy of Jerry, Lalille's confused seclusion, and her own uncertainty. He took her into his arms and simply held her to him in silence. For a magic moment, the "feint and fend" was cancelled.

The magic part was the absence of words. They looked at each other, lost in a far place where everything was suddenly "off the cuff." The "package" was gone along with the masks. He kissed her gently and she responded repeatedly. For the first time since he had known the formidable Dr. Frederica Sachs, her soft white arms were around him. The endless starry light years they had come, across the Barrier Wall... And it was all so simple. Or was it?

When it was time for words, she suddenly turned to the low stone parapet and stared at the jungle. He studied her shining female silhouette. Her dark hair lay down her slender back, touched with silver by the moon. Her head was slightly bowed as if to hide her face from either him or herself. He remembered Foxy's "nervous virgin" remark. Did the worthy doctor actually have a hangup? Perhaps the roles should be reversed here, he thought. His arms ached to hold her again but he couldn't take advantage of a moment that was only a flimsy bridge for both of them. Much had to be determined first regarding the future.

Joining her casually at the wall, he decided to put her on his "couch," to draw her out in a safer type of conversation. They had never talked, he told her, about themselves as persons, about who and what they were, back home before the star quest began. He gently held her hand and spoke of Earth dreams. What had happened to them?

She found she could talk a little about more distant things. As if she'd been caught naked in her boudoir, she used the past as a screen. But were there revealing tatters in that fragile partition that she was unaware of? He wondered, searching as he listened to her, suddenly protective and wishing he could give her the security she seemed to need, for all her stiff-necked clinicality.

Her unspoken theme was that the Earth dreams couldn't be, not with the world engulfed in its own psychosis. There was something about her parents having fought the growing insecurity of society and failed. Her father had died of alcoholism and her mother had finally taken pills. Her own dreams, if any, had been to start a foundation for a study of the psychic problems of man as a species. As for herself personally, marriage meant children. She agreed with the swami's criticism of irresponsible procreation. She couldn't see bringing a child into the world where the tragedy of her parents could be repeated.

At this point she turned abruptly to him and sought his arms. "Oh God, Danny! Before we can live, there has to be security and hope!"

He didn't follow up the chance to caress her. He was thinking: "chastity belt." For her the child symbol was the Earth dream of the world, too precious to be contaminated by futility.

"You want hope, doll?" he said suddenly. "How about looking behind the scenes?"

That was when he opened up on his theory about the Pit flashes. At first she was amazed, even scientifically fascinated. But when the implications began to focus, suggesting that somebody like the Duke could have been brainwashed, she tightened up again.

"What about Tallullah?" she challenged. "Do you think she could be trapped like that, I mean brainwashed by any method?"

"Baby, let's face it. On the Council she could be a tool without knowing it. She's like a clucking mother hen, as vulnerable as any of us."

Freddie's great amber eyes flashed sudden defiance. She stiffened angrily, taking her old white-smock stance. "If anybody's brainwashed, or if anybody's waving a secessionist flag, it's your tyrannical Skipper and his chief butcher, Major Pike!" He tried to hold her and calm her down but she whirled away from him furiously. "How do you know you haven't been hypno-strobed? Do you know what you're doing or saying, Captain Troy?"

He firmed up his voice. "Freddie, I want your monitor tapes."

She glared at him in outraged disbelief. Her face reddened in mortification. "So that was all you wanted of me! You and your love and kisses and your Earth dreams! That's worse than attempted rape!" She slapped him hard. "You and your runty Khan can go to hell!"

He stared at her, but before he could think of a follow-up, Foxy came running out on the terrace and grabbed his arm urgently.

"You gotta see something, Danny. Come on!"

As he went away with his stubble-haired little friend, hardly hearing his excited babble at first, he was thinking: her chastity belt had something more than chastity behind it. He couldn't fathom it at the moment, but the "feint and fend" was back. The tapes would have to wait, but for how long? Time was running out.

It was a cage. It was made of native duraca poles and sturdily bound with metal strap clamps. It stood on the edge of the square near the security hut, brightly illuminated under the field lights.

"They say it's for Jerry, a substitute for execution," said Fitz angrily. "What the hell. They know the lad'll die in a cage!"

A small crowd of sympathizing dissenters surrounded him and Fitz and Foxy. The tyranny was getting out of hand. Could the Duke or the Skipper possibly sanction this, or was it only Pike's taunting sadism? It was too late to see Lyshenko that night, and early next day he was ordered to pilot an urgent survey flight. A rich iron deposit had been located. High on priority lists were basic materials now, to begin the long cycle of the industrial buildup.

* * * *

The next afternoon, Boozie found him in the shower module on board the life-pod. The frail Belgian's blue eyes gleamed in triumph.

"I did it!" he exclaimed. "You were right, Danny, about those monitor tapes. The flashes were only hash from overload, but when I slowed everything down with a delayed playback, the words were there on those flickers! They're loaded with hypno-signals. You know – like give up, all is futility, the Jumper route is the only way to go, et cetera. We were had, my boy!"

Danny stepped under the drying blower but stared at him. "How the devil did you get Freddie to–"

"We didn't. Foxy stole a couple of tapes from her lab."

He knew that could really get his face slapped, but the damage was done. Or maybe the battle was won. He wasn't sure. If Boozie actually could show this proof– His racing thoughts were interrupted by Boozie's report on the insurgents. The underground plan was bursting at the seams, only waiting for Ravano's decision.

"If you're going to make a case, buddy," urged Boozie, "you'd better head for Top Deck and see the Skipper!"

Danny finished drying and slipped his clothes on hurriedly. He knew the time had come for a showdown, now or never.

* * * *

"A Forum hearing is a serious thing, Captain," said Alonso. "And your charge has dangerous ramifications."

"Especially now," grunted Lyshenko irritably, "when we're getting rumors of all kinds of subversion. Your timing stinks, Danny!"

He couldn't tell them that time was going up in smoke. He had stuck to his guns, knowing his rights according to the Charter and as a staff officer in Flight Command. He had requested the closed meeting in the staff room and had told them the whole story about the Pit strobings, in spite of the presence of Philo Bates and his eternal log transcorder. He failed to notice at first that P.Q. Bates had become unusually nervous.

The Duke smiled at him with a touch of grim assessment. "How do you know, Danny, that you haven't walked into the lion's den? We could be your so-called Master Minds...!"

"It's like the World Bank," said Danny. "If that goes under, who's to worry? It's over with. Look, sir, my only route to keep from flipping has been the law." He knew he was withholding information about the underground plot, but he was fighting it, wasn't he? He was trying to stop it by lancing the root of the problem. "I'm loyal," he asserted firmly. "I serve the mission the ship was assigned to. I've volunteered for hiber. I'm still answerable to both of you. Until somebody tells me differently, I'm going by the book. That's why I'm here."

At this point, Philo Bates hastily excused himself. He looked genuinely ill, which was his excuse. No one seemed to consider his absence a loss. Lyshenko took over the transcorder.

Alonso went on to say that the evidence, even if valid, might only imply that Sergeant James Frater was psycho-phasing, probably with some of the more fanatic Jumpers. He repeated that the subject was extremely dangerous, perhaps for Danny himself. There could be unexpected repercussions.

"For a Forum decision I want more Council backup," declared Lyshenko. "Let's get Al in here!"

Danny didn't like it. Alfred Poyntner could be the Master Mind, but there was nothing he could do about it. Poyntner came in swiftly, his sharp face set for a battle. When he heard the whole story about the alleged secessionist plot and the alleged evidence of the tapes, he sneered sarcastically.

"You've obviously jumped the gun, little captain. Don't you see the implications if such a Forum were to be heard? The whole thing would be a serious reflection on Madrazo and Lyshenko." As the Duke and the Skipper exchanged significant glances he delivered his coup de grace. "Or are you implying, perhaps, that these two gentlemen have been brainwashed?"

There was only a distant gleam in the Duke's dark-brown eyes, but Lyshenko impaled Danny with a Mongoloid glare of sudden challenge and suspicion.

"Frankly, I thought of it," said Danny. "Pointed Head" had touched his temper button. He might as well play the whole hand, straight out.

"You what?" bellowed Lyshenko.

"Yes sir. Pike is getting away with murder. That's not like you or the Duke. Jerry Fontaine is the best example."

The Skipper banged a fist on the table. "You're damn right he's the best example! When I said there'd be no independent action I meant exactly everything he's done!" He went on furiously, adding up all of Jerry's violations including the fermented liquor.

"We can't execute a man with his knowledge," said the Duke. "He's too valuable to the colony. In ancient tradition, you know, public censure was often achieved through use of the pillory. So the next best thing is the cage, since he gets sick in the brig. He goes into it tomorrow as a lesson to everybody."

"But that's the same as execution!" Danny argued.

"And why not?" said Poytner cuttingly. "Knowledge or no knowledge, my vote was for execution!"

"The hell you say, Poyntner!" Danny knew he wasn't going to hold it all in much longer. "You'd kill a man for a little native moonshine?"

"Hardly!" snapped Lyshenko. "But for the deaths of others as a result of insubordination and irresponsibility, yes, damn it! He's a danger to the colony. Holberg died because of him, and now Zeb Kane!"

Danny stared at him. So Kane had died and Jerry was getting the blame. The poor devil did have a jinx.

Just then the stormy session was interrupted from an unexpected source. The room swayed and a deep rumble of thunder shook the great sphere of the life-pod. The thunder came from the ground.

"Earthquake!" shouted Lyshenko. He turned swiftly and struck an alarm button behind him. The alert horns started their clamor, but they were drowned in a sound like Doomsday. This was a big one. Danny remembered falling twice before he got out of the wildly gyrating life-pod, caught in a panic where personalities were reduced to arms and legs and shouting faces.

Outside the sky was on fire. The southern horizon was ablaze with exploding streamers of lava. The ground jerked ruthlessly and virtually swelled before their eyes as cracks appeared among the paving stones. As he lay on his face with the rest of the crowd he could hear the frightened shrieks of jungle creatures in the night. The trees and the tall, graceful ferns whipped back and forth as if a hurricane had struck the forest.

Time seemed to be running out in more ways than one. A falling toolbox had caused the only casualty, Philo Bates. The Skipper would have to get somebody else for his incessant log entries now. The massive temple had withstood the heavy earth shocks remarkably well, which said much for pyramidal design. The only damages had been caused by short-circuit fires. However, the near catastrophe launched some emergency planning. The star ship's life-pod was to be kept on operational standby at all times. In case of a really "bad one," all hands could be lifted off on the gravitrons.

"Which is a dandy excuse for Fitz and me and Foxy to stay close to the ship," said Boozie the next morning. "Besides, I need the electronics lab. I haven't given up on the space communication project."

The latest underground word from Nolokov was that Akala had been triggered off religiously by the quake. "She reads it as a sign from Ramor, their local deity," the Monk explained. "According to her, the Talavats have got to get off the land and go north."

"Except that the sea is the barrier," added Boozie.

Ravano was still the key standoff in the breakout plan. What was needed was one final trigger to make him attempt the escape.

"Noley, you tell your boys to hold off," Danny argued.

"The Forum hearing is tomorrow. If I can get the Top Deck to do a Watergate on the hard heads, we won't need a revolution."

The Monk smiled cynically. "If I had time I'd give you a 'yabbut' on that Forum idea. You may be putting your head in the dragon's mouth."

All day long, Danny had Nolokov's cryptic remark to worry about, until they locked Jerry up in his outdoor case. This was a third test for his conscience. The tyrannical aspects of such an inhumane move increased his internal tug of war. There were dark moments when he stood there in the crowd, watching Jerry's abject misery and hearing sadistic taunts about liquor and rape from the garbage elements of the "safe-side" slavery endorsers. They were moments in which he saw himself running with King Ravano.

The Bishop was at the cage, magnanimously delivering maudlin prayers for the "sinner," and Jerry was shrieking and cursing at him through the wooden bars, telling him to take his salvation and "stick it."

"I'll find my own God!" he shouted in pathetic tears of blind frustration and anguish.

"Damn it!" growled Fitz. "Maybe Noley's lads should take him with them when they go."

"I might just join them," said Foxy grimly. "There's more out there for both of us than there is in Adolf's prison camp. Jerry's hung up on his orchids, and I might build myself a boat again and head north for bigger country."

"All's well that ends well," smirked Boozie. "Shakespeare."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" demanded Fitz.

Boozie drew them all to one side and told them. "It took an earthquake to knock my think-tank together," he said. "When I saw the ground trying to come apart last night, it reminded me of Sam's lecture about the mineral kingdom. Atomic consciousness and all that. He said: 'What do you suppose holds the worlds together?' Then it hit me. Gravity!"

"So what does that get you?"

"Maybe the instant communication system. With the ship's gravitrons I might be able to swing it. Instead of a forest, how about modulating gravity?"

"What?" said Danny, emerging finally from his pit of despond.

"That's right – gravity as an instant universal carrier wave. If everything goes to hell around here, we can at least tell 'Mother' why her boys and girls will not be coming home."

* * * *

"Record of special Forum, ship date A.D. 2277, Terra Nova, starting at fourteen-oh-five. The plaintiff, Second Officer Captain Daniel Troy, versus anonymous defendants, hereinafter referred to as the Alleged Suspects. Charges in hearing as follows: That alleged suspects are a secessionist group who have..."

It was all there in the log playback as Danny had stated: the sabotage plot, the alleged hypno-strobing, whether in or out of the Pit, the alleged murders of Hahnemann, Frater and Verga, the planned forced landing, masterminding a tyrannical monarchy with no intention of a return to Earth, the potential source of an eventual blood bath, and so on.

As he listened to it and watched the faces around him in the staff room, he had a sense of being rammed along a track by a rocket sled. When he was hit by the news that the Council had invoked the crisis clause and made it a closed Forum, he had felt the hot breath of the "Mastermind" on his neck. It all seemed rigged from the beginning. Even as he further stated his case and used Mabuse as a witness for the tape evidence or when he presented the demolition fragments from the explosion, he felt caged like Jerry, looking out at a very hostile world. The stiff-necked presence of Freddie was like another slap in the face. She had filed a cross-complaint, requesting a second Forum in relation to her stolen tapes. To make things worse, Boozie's hard evidence was gone. The tapes had been coincidentally burned in a fire which had supposedly been caused by the earthquake. Alonso was right. The whole thing was dangerous. The Duke and the Skipper were forced to be on the defensive because a hidden mastermind would be a reflection on their leadership. Even Tallullah was present in matronly outraged propriety. Adolf the Pike was watching him in smug disdain, and Poyntner and Stockton had their heads together in scowling deliberation, preparing the Council's rebuttal. Here indeed was the lion's den.

From a seat by the rear bulkhead, Boozie's ice-blue eyes were saying, "You could be duty blind." Subliminally, however, he caught the deeper message: that an alliance with Ravano might help their fearless leaders in the long run. Noley's plan was suddenly blazing with a new light of farsighted logic. Here they were lying on marble slabs, the cyborg armies of the blind, except for the not-so-hidden mastermind...

Poyntner's rebuttal and cross-questioning came on with all the sulphurous heat and stench of dragon fire. There was no feint and fend. It was an open, flailing attack and it was out for blood. The first bombshell was Freddie in the witness seat. All of her tapes had disappeared!

"Convenient, Captain," crowed the point-headed one in deadly triumph. "You and your friend rig two stolen tapes with false evidence and get rid of the others because they show nothing!"

"It's also convenient," Danny stubbornly retorted, "that a fire destroyed what we had to show."

But that was beside the point. The barrage continued. The ship's log had been computer-analyzed. The summary conclusion was that a landing decision had been mandatory due to the PNR; all deaths were accidental, and Jerry Fontaine was the most likely suspect for the sabotage. As a psycho-phased Jumper he could have planted the bomb that destroyed the S-link and caused the convenient death of Sergeant Frater. Certainly, Mr. Fontaine's past actions and present status seemed to corroborate such an analysis. In fact, an execution judgment might now be justified.

The sword of retaliation whipped onward, dripping red with victory blood. Pike was helping the attack by casting shadows of suspicion on Danny as a possible accomplice in a subversive plot to discredit the whole colonial and mission administration.

Danny's charges were unanimously discredited, but there was to be a further hearing to handle cross-charges against him. Meanwhile, he was grounded, with no use of any air or ground vehicle permitted. He was restricted to the base, and the same went for Frans Mabuse.

* * * *

A final lightning bolt was struck at dawn of following day. A huge pre-breakfast crowd had gathered around the site of Jerry's cage. Even Lalille Sardou was there, sobbing out her remorse and sorrow, with Tallullah and Freddie and even Alonso trying to keep her from sinking onto the pavement stones. The cage had been violently ripped apart by some powerful jungle beast. Giant catlike tracks had been found, and a guard had been mangled beyond recognition.

Danny glared at Pike who was standing nearby. "My God!" he exclaimed. "Isn't anybody making a search?"

"Why?" said Pike flatly. "Either now or if he's brought back, he's a dead man." As Danny started away, he poked him with his club. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Hell, I'll go look for him myself!"

"You're grounded, but you can try. All I need is one excuse, buddy boy!"

Danny felt his temper coming up like a piston, compressing his nerves for a final explosion. Noley's dark eyes caught him in a fixed gaze that warned him. The Mad Monk was six yards away. Suddenly he saw in him his weapon, so mighty a sword as to make the "Pike" a sliver in a tempest. Decision gripped him coldly, and he walked away.

What helped that decision was a last look at Freddie. Their eyes happened to meet just briefly. Her shield was up, the mask was on. She gave him a withering look of contempt and walked stiffly away with Lalille. She was gently escorted by her father and mother images – the Duke and Tallullah.

He saw Foxy approaching and grabbed him. The little instrument man was startled by his expression but even more so by the subject of their whispered conversation. In the end, Foxy agreed, spurred on by his emotions concerning Jerry's fate and by the no-search restriction of Pike.

Two minutes later, Danny was talking to the Monk.

"You need something to trigger Ravano and I've got it. His crisis need is to emigrate to the mainland, eight-hundred miles to the north. His barrier is the sea – no boats. Foxy's a boat nut. He was raised in a family of boat builders. Tell Ravano to run with us and give us a military alliance. In exchange we'll organize his forces into a real army, and we'll help him build a fleet. Tell him maybe that's what Ramor was trying to say the other night, that his oracle is true. At least some of the Star Sons are turning on!"

There had been untidy threads left dangling as an aftermath of the Forum hearing, at least for Danny and his confidants. There were such unsolved coincidences as the timely theft of all of Frederica's tapes and the burning of Boozie's test spools. Where had Philo Bates gone in such a pale-faced hurry before he died or was murdered, and if the latter, by whom and why?

The Duke and the Skipper were either brainwashed or still on their slabs, Danny told himself. But his own duty blindness was gone. His work wasn't here anymore. It was out there somewhere beyond the arm of the Mastermind who was obviously somebody like Poyntner or Stockton. In fact Boozie had checked data control and found that months before the explosion the two alleged suspects were at the top of the list for requisitioning computer time. They could have strobed Fritters to get him to alter the Pit programs. It was enough to go on, for now. He knew that somewhere in star ship regulations there must be something to cover his actions. There had to be an emergency in which a staff officer might be justified in overriding the commands of his superiors.

He waited all day for the results of his message to Ravano. The Monk couldn't always get to him or even Akala in spite of his legitimate assignment to work on the hieroglyphics in the temple. The militia was on edge. Every move now would be suspect. A lot of amateur dissenters were compounding the rumors of subversion.

Late that afternoon he told Fitz and Boozie of his decision, merely confirming what Foxy had come running to tell them. Boozie gave him a small package and told him not to lose it.

"It's self-explanatory, buddy. Just open it when you're out on safari."

"We're behind you, Danny lad," said Fitz. "But not all that far. We'll be holding the fort."

Boozie had a warning for Danny. "You'd better try to be scarce. There's a new scuttlebutt. The Forum hearing against you is tomorrow. It's possible the gendarmes may come before that to take you into custody. That would really ground you!"

It meant that the best time for Noley's breakout would be this very night, thought Danny. Later, he learned it was the worst time. Everybody involved was keeping a low profile, and there was still no word of Ravano's reaction. Danny felt the walls closing in. Yet he still thought of poor Jerry and prayed somewhat agnostically that he might have been saved by a miracle. Jerry Fontaine, who only wanted peace and freedom, with a dreamer's foot in fairyland, was gone to find his own God.

* * * *

When it happened it came all at once. He had started up the temple steps, hoping to find the swami for a possible final chat. A land rover squealed brakes at the foot of the staircase and a stabbing spotlight held him. The bullhorn said, "Stay where you are, Troy. You're under arrest!"

He froze, watching the gendarmes get out of the wheeled vehicle, combat helmets and all. Their beamers were pointed at him. Just then, however, he heard a crackling of gunfire at the southwestern edge of the square, followed by screams and savage yells. The alert horns started to bellow, and roborgs started to move. Several laser shots streaked from armored cyborg bellies into a milling mass of half-naked barbarians.

The P.A. blared, activated from the security hut. "Mode one! Mode one! We are under attack by savages! Unarmed personnel retreat to nearest shelter!" This meant the ship or the temple.

"It's the Golaks!" shouted a man who was running across the square. "Jesus! There's hundreds of them!"

The guards below returned to the rover without a word and drove back toward the developing massacre. Crowds began to come up the steps in a panic. Suddenly, somebody grasped him powerfully by the arm. He turned to see Axel Bjornson, who was more florid-faced than usual.

"Now!" said the Swede, breathing heavily. "While they've got their hands full!"

Ravano had given his consent. The break was on. Now it was the best time, as if Ramor had answered his heathen children. It was almost too smooth but he recognized the computer mind of the Monk behind it. It had been a ready plan, only waiting for the right moment to press the button. The Golak raid could not have been better designed to provide that moment. The main searchlight activity was on the south side of the temple facing the square. The two newly assembled air cars landed on the second terrace on the quiet north side, which was covered. The scout ship had been "fixed" so that there would be no pursuit.

As for getting the royal captives to the rendezvous point, there was Kenny Makart from security. He and several other of Pike's men had come over, along with an armload of weapons and ammunition. It was undramatically simple. All available fighting men were out in front with the roborgs. All attention was focused in that direction. The two air cars rose quietly from the dark side of the towering temple and disappeared into the night.

To Danny, the "package" imported across the Barrier had shattered. He thought of Boozie's quote: "All's well that ends well," and he wondered. This was only another beginning. Who could see the end of it? As for gods and star quests, he recalled a line from the ancient Shakespearean play:

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,

Which we ascribe to Heaven...

THE THIRD CYCLE

"The sky voices spoke of war. When men rode the three-horned beast, and the winged vessels of Kimbu Dyota crossed the Yena-Miyus (World of Waters). Then entered the Krias into Na-Thitasu (the Call). And this was the Third Cycle."

–Stanza 64, Vol. 16 – The Lahayana

CHAPTER XII

The long-haired, bearded figure stood poised on the rock like a wilderness creature, motionless, instinctively wary, keenly attuned to his environment. He wore a patched and frayed fatigue jumper. In his work-hardened, sunburned fist he held a 2K-66 machine rifle.

A long siege of monsoon weather had left the rain forest gleaming with a primeval green vitality. As if to demonstrate Holy Sam's plant-consciousness theory, the entire jungle seemed to breathe in a dream sentience of its own in the bright new warmth of the morning sun. Two miles to the north gleamed the high silvery dome of the star ship's life-pod. This and the towering temple marked the site of Terra Nova, which was now a sprawling settlement. The chained Talavat slaves and the hypno converts were bending their coppery backs in the tilled fields like lay brothers serving a monastery. This wasn't far from the truth considering the Bishop's World Apostolic Church and his new so-called Cistercian order.

Gray-black smoke was already rising from the steel mill and the ore-processing plant. Industry was feverishly attuned to the imperatives of survival in a world that was still unaware of time's illusion.

Danny extracted a glittering device from his pocket and switched it on. It reminded him of the moment three years ago when Boozie had given him a small package and told him to open it when he was on "safari." The micro-transceiver had been their lifeline of communication ever since.

"Mongoose to Buzzard's Roost," he said into the mini-mike. "What's the latest?"

Boozie's familiar, cynical drawl returned to him over the secret frequency band. "You tell us. The militia is out there after them on the South Road. You'd better move in. Sam took the Lily with him."

"Lalille? What the hell!"

"For some spooky reason, the swami needs her. She's had it with the Bishop since the inquisition bit."

Danny hesitated. There was a naked bitterness in his gray-blue eyes as he stared at the distant settlement. "What about Freddie?"

"Stiff as a wooden indian. She's playing mother hen to Tallullah now. The Big M has flipped on religion like she's running scared, trying to convert the whole damned camp." When Danny remained silent, he added more swiftly: "I kid you not, soldier. You'd better get in there fast!"

"I see the runner now. I'll get back to you later."

Danny pocketed the transceiver and leapt from the rock. Axel Bjornson emerged from hiding, also bearded and deeply bronzed by the tropical sun.

"Looks like trouble," said the Swede.

The native warrior reached them, still breathing lightly from his long run. He pointed back down the trail and spoke swiftly. Danny's Talavat was fluent whereas the Swede was still having difficulty with the melodiously flowing language.

"He says the escape party was captured. He's talking about a 'devil dragon', and Golaks..."

"Christ!" exclaimed Bjornson. "That means an armored rover! And with those doped-up Golaks."

"Don't forget the plan. Let's go!"

The Axe turned his mighty frame and lifted his rifle. Out of the scrub jungle behind the rock emerged a group of fifty Talavats. They were tall, long-haired, beardless, and powerful, all armed in accordance with the new Law of Ravano. In addition to spears, stone knives, and bolas, they carried quivers and crossbows on their backs. The latter inventions had been an earthman contribution.

"Let's hope it works," Axel mumbled.

Silently, the war party trotted down the trail with Danny in the lead. As Danny jogged along the deeply shaded trail, his mind swiftly scanned events of the past few years. He was wondering what they added up to and where they were leading. Certainly the dragon seeds mentioned by Boozie had yielded their poisonous fruit. The Hellenistic system of the colony had more than fulfilled Noley's prediction. It was an almost feudal system using slave labor and backed by an ecclesiastical camouflage for tyranny, with chained heathens, drugged and strobed Golak troops, and an embyronic industrial machine that was tooling up for war. According to Boozie and Fitz, Lyshenko had gritted his teeth and gone along with the church trappings and the Bishop's monastic order because they helped him in the rising emergency to "hold the binding on his rulebook." As for Alonso, he had pointed to history as the best counsel. There were, said the Duke, traditional precedents for their situation.

A crisis had recently occurred in Terra Nova when the clash finally came between the Bishop and Sam. Not that the swami openly opposed him, but too many confused colonists had come to him in his flowering ashram on the temple terrace, seeking words of quiet wisdom instead of the confessional. He had told them that instead of being sinners they had been born into a bondage of Illusion but that such bondage could be lifted when Man acquired a "single eye." Of course, such men were politically dangerous. There had been enough defectors, and more than enough contraband tools and supplies had been smuggled out to the insurgents.

The ancient deadly weapon of the Holy Inquisition had reached out for the Indian sage. In an open challenge concerning charges of heathenism and idolatry, he had been questioned with regard to his so-called multi-consciousness faculties. He had made repeated reference to a presence here which the natives had deified as Ramor. Was he, then, a paganized convert to this false deity?

Sam had attempted metaphysical honesty, saying that the name of God was legion, whether He was called Ramor, Allah, Jehovah, Buddha, Brahman, Adonai or Krishna. Accused of the vilest heresy, he had countered by pointing to the "convenient bigotry" of imprisoning female captives as a substitute for Pit use by the men. It was all based, he said, on the invented dogma that the Talavat innocents were heathen savages and therefore soulless animals. He had quietly told Auguste Saussure that he was gravely misusing his "assumed apostolic position" by acting the part of an anti-Christ.

"Actually, my son," he had concluded with serene confidence, "your task before God is to turn and face an overshadowing obsession, which is your own Dweller on the Threshold."

When it became known that Holy Sam was to die a martyr's death there had been an uprising. Apparently it had been fairly well planned. A diversionary fire in the grange barns had camouflaged the breakout, aided by more defecting militia men. Sam had taken Lalille with him for urgent reasons of his own.

It was this escape party that had just been recaptured. Fortunately, however, the insurgent forces had foreseen this possibility. They had a plan that must now be put swiftly into operation.

* * * *

The nyanyos were described by Bjornson as a cross between a prehistoric horse and stag. Owing to a frontal three-horned bone structure that emphasized the white central horn, Noley had pointed out that on Earth similar creatures were in the Memory of Nature and that they had given rise to the so-called myth of the unicorn. So the earthmen castaways had called them that. After all, the Raks were the cyclopes or Titans, the Moals were the forest naiads and nymphs, and the dog-faced man-creatures called dakshas were the satyrs. Why shouldn't there be unicorns in Boozie's "anywhere world"?

One of the first tasks of the insurgents had been to show the Talavats how to tame the unicorns and ride them bareback. Within three years, Ravano's forces had thus been strengthened by a fairly effective cavalry. Danny had called the mounted troops the Lancer Corps. The present rescue plan included the lancers. Their silent fleetness and capability of rapid dispersement provided the advantage that was needed.

The lancers had scouted the militia unit and their captives. Taking game trails parallel to the South Road, they had kept out of sight or silently dispatched Golak sentinels who blundered into their way. They had long since ridden ahead and swiftly completed their work. By the time Danny's unit arrived at its destination, the head of the militia column was in sight. They all took cover in the copious underbrush and waited. The lancers were strategically deployed on either side of the narrow jungle road. In all, the insurgent forces outnumbered the militia unit in a ratio of two to one.

However, there was the rover to contend with. The bulky six-wheeled vehicle was equipped with armor-plated sides in which there were pillbox slits bristling with high-speed automatic guns. Some of the defecting men were manacled and tied by ropes to the slow-moving vehicle, but Sam and Lalille were no doubt riding inside. Behind the rover and the bound captives came a rear guard company of at least fifty Golak warriors. These were Neanderthals in size, savagery and stupidity, but they had been hypno-strobed and dulled to obedience by an induced addiction to the dhura leaf, a native drug similar to coca. They were armed chiefly with stone axes and cudgels, although some of them preferred their enormous hunting spears.

Suddenly, Bjornson's heavy hand gripped Danny's arm. "Jesus!" he whispered. "Look at the two on the end!"

Danny looked, and froze. The two Golaks bringing up the rear of the column were more erect and intelligent looking. In their powerful hands they carried old-fashioned bolt-action rifles. This in itself did not constitute the menace. It was where the rifles had come from that was history making. The feared rumors were true. Terra Nova's infant industry had begun to turn out rifles!

It could be the death knell to all insurgent planning. Three years had been needed to build up the counter-forces this far, but guns for the Golaks threatened to stop the clock. Once more, time was running out. And once more, Ravano was their point of impasse.

"Let's get this over with," muttered Danny. "Axel, you'll know when to knock out those two on the end, in about thirty seconds now."

The Swede grunted as all eyes followed the lumbering rover. To attempt an open attack on those shielded automatic weapons would be suicide for all of them. The ponderous vehicle suddenly broke through a camouflaged dirt covering and plunged into a pit that had not been there two hours before. The rear guns were the only weapons not blocked by the dirt walls, but the gunners inside only had a choice of shooting sky or birds and foliage.

At first, Danny only heard the flat-toned murderous chatter of Bjornson's heavy 2K. He himself charged out and blasted the rover's radio antenna. Then he was aware of savage war cries mingling with cheers from the manacled prisoners. The Talavat infantry joined the lancers against the Golaks who had survived the Swede's merciless fire. A huge spear barely missed him as he jumped onto the hatch of the canted vehicle and banged his rifle barrel against the cover.

The problem with these savages, he thought swiftly, was that they didn't know what to do with prisoners. This was why the Talavats revered the pacifist laws of the Lahas. War was no game. It was an unwanted rite of extinction. And the Golaks didn't know the meaning of death. Ravano's surviving warriors would soon be chanting their holy mantras, seeking forgiveness from Ramor for the blood on their hands. Until then, however, they were as blind to death as their more primitive brothers. This had been a strategy stopper in their training. Casualties could be brutally high. To prevent too great a toll on the insurgent side, Axel had also been brutal.

The pressure was already being relieved. A dozen lancers loomed over him and Axel on their snorting and prancing unicorn mounts as the hatch began to move. The prisoners lay flat on the ground to be out of range of the rover's tail guns, but this did not suppress their enthusiasm.

"We knew you'd do it, Danny boy!"

"By God, the Axe sure trimmed the gorillas down to size. Look at those Tallies ride!"

* * * *

Five sullen militia men climbed out of the hatch and surrendered their weapons, after which Axel lined them up along the roadside. Danny gave a hand to Lalille who was helped out by the swami. Native scouts had freed the prisoners on the rear edge of the pit, and the latter were now avidly clambering into the rover to claim the heavy automatic weapons.

"You can walk from here to the base," Danny finally told Pike's men. "You can come back later for the rover." He met the narrow-eyed gaze of his erstwhile superior in Flight Engineering. "We're not guerillas, Happy. Your side shot up the air cars for us, but we don't destroy priceless equipment. How come you're with Adolf's chain gang wardens?"

"I'm sticking to something you chickened out on, Danny," said Ogden Hapgood accusingly. "I'm following orders and still playing it by the book."

"You'd better look behind the book, old buddy." Danny remembered something Boozie had told him. "Stop being a tree and look at the forest," he repeated. "I'm supporting the mission we were sent on. You boys had better figure out where your heads are."

Danny was watching Vinet who stood next to Hapgood. The young spaceman was a valuable instrument man and cartographer. He could read his wide-eyed expression as he looked at the freed captives, now happily burdened down with heavy weapons and ammo. Nor was he missing the crossbows carried by the Talavat scouts, or the lean-hipped lancers on their nervous, well-trained mounts. It was common knowledge that Ravano's beefed-up forces numbered in the tens of thousands.

"You wanted to say something, Billy?"

Bill Vinet slowly grinned. "Yeah, maybe. I'm thinking there's a hell of a lot more room out here than there is on Adolf's funny farm." He stepped forward and the freed captives cheered.

Danny had plans for this new recruit, based on something Kenny Makart had suggested. Among other things he knew terrestrial navigation regardless of alien constellations, and he could make compasses out of lodestones if he had to. Foxy was going to get a new hand in the boatyards down on the delta.

The last phase of the rescue plan involved rapid dispersement. Danny and Axel had taken over two of the lancer's mounts and were bare-backing Sam and Lalille into the wilderness as fast as they could go. As Danny leaned forward against the girl's slender body and clutched the nyanyo's flyingmane, his face was against her flushed cheek, and her blond hair whipped into his eyes occasionally. Even under the strain and commotion of their flight he could have spoken into her ear to give her encouragement, but he remained silent, biding his time. Perhaps she wasn't ready for the startling secret he had planned to reveal to her.

She had looked pale, frightened and lost when he pulled her out of the rover. When she finally saw the ripped and bloodied carcasses of the Golaks and some of the Talavats sprawled on the red earth as far as she could see up the road, she had hidden her face against the swami's shoulder. Her ordeal during the inquisition had apparently shaken her to a point of emotional crisis. He could feel her trembling like a child and it awakened his sympathy for her. He held her tightly, deliberately giving her the strength of his arms.

The Lily had given astrological readings to others during the long star trip, but she had never revealed her own analysis. Noley and Sam had gradually filled him in on that.

"Pisces with Sagittarius rising," the Monk had told him and Boozie one day. He had described her impressionability and her clinging need for security, her vague and restless aspirations. The languages were a part of her search for far horizons where there were perhaps other rainbows.

"But she's an advanced Pisces," Sam said later. "Neptune rules those hidden depths, bringing shifting currents and hidden storms to her psyche. She's an emerging type." He failed to explain what he meant but he had emphasized one thing. "For her there has to be a God."

That had been behind the issues of Sam's persecution. She had seen behind the Bishop's falsifications and had made a tearful defense of the swami, according to Boozie's stormy report. Suddenly in the uncertainty of the uprising she had run with Sam. Impressionability? Confused search for security? Restless aspirations? She was obviously without convictions yet, probably wondering what she had gotten into. He knew that just now she was adrift in her "shifting currents and hidden storms," a karmic Cinderella.

A distant droning sound impinged on his thoughts of the girl who was clutched so close to his chest.

"Danny!" boomed Bjornson's voice behind him. "Hit the river!"

They had been heading for this particular unmapped river all along. From the cries of the lancers ahead, he knew they were almost there.

"What's happening?" asked Lalille tremulously. She suddenly heard the roaring gyro engines above them and tried to turn. "The scoutship!" she exclaimed, terrified.

He held her more tightly. "Relax, blondie. We've been expecting it."

"But they have infrared scanners and gas bombs!"

In the next moment, he plunged with her and their mount into the cool, dark waters of a narrow but placid stream. There was a stormy spray of water as bodies splashed in all around them. Soon the shaded river was dotted with heads looking up, humans and unicorns alike. Above them the upper terraces of the jungle formed a heavy canopy. They could just touch the streambed and keep their heads above water, but Danny held her in his arms to give her assurance. She was wearing her green golden caftah, which was soaked against her body, reminding him of Jerry's description of the forest nymph – a childlike innocence of undine beauty.

"Cool water plays hell with infrared scanners," he told her with a forced grin. The grin was a mask to cover his own uncertainty as the cumbersome scout ship hovered and blatted and drifted about, not five-hundred feet above the tops of the trees.

The waiting lasted a while as the big convertiplane scouted the general area and crossed over the river several times. The biggest task was to keep the triple-horned nyanyos in the water. When not distracted by this activity, the Talavats returned to their haunting, high-sung mantra chants, attempting to placate Ramor for the lives they had sent this day onto the sunset journey.

When the emergency passed and only the excited screeching of the birds and sloth-like khaitabus could be heard overhead they all came up on the fern-lined shore to collect themselves. The ninety-degree temperature of the tropical morning kept them from feeling any chill from their immersion. The rescue mission had been accomplished.

"Where do we go from here?" asked Burt Henshaw, one of the new defectors. Wet and hairy and needing a shave, the stocky machinist wore a small boy's expression of wide-eyed expectancy.

Bill Vinet and the other recruits gathered around as Danny turned Lalille over to Sam. The lancers were organizing their mounts again.

"It's a far piece," said Danny. "We're making a rendezvous here with the scouts and some pack animals. I suggest we rest and eat before we go on."

"But where are we going?" persisted Henshaw.

"To the red-ridge caves."

Vinet appeared to pale slightly. "Hey, that's Rak country!"

He was referring to the dangerous cyclopes.

"Not at present. You'll find out. Where else could Ravano move his headquarters underground?" He smiled at the swami. "You'll be interested to know that we finally found the lost temple of the Lahas, Sam." He avoided looking at Lalille when he added: "Or rather, somebody found it for us."

He saw her blue eyes widen at this, but she seemed too weary and unsettled to make any comment. The swami also remained silent. His dark-brown eyes glanced at the men around him. Apparently he wanted very much to say something, but he preferred to wait for an opportunity to speak in private about the matter.

This was a new Sam that Danny hadn't seen before. By all indications, he had been liberated from more than an execution. He had gained some weight, but his extra stature seemed to be due to a new projection of personality. His look and his voice had lost their former gentility. The effect was one of dynamic purpose. Intuitively, Danny sensed even more but said nothing about it. Behind the holy man's facade of ageless wisdom loomed an awakened power. It made him think of Noley's reference to a fifth kingdom, beyond the human stage "something we don't talk about."

* * * *

After the pack train arrived and the camp settled down to eating and resting, Danny found it impossible to ward off questions from the new recruits. Therefore, he used the time to brief them on the general situation. Ravano's forces had been trained and equipped as planned. Also as promised, Foxy and some of the original defectors were working on the fleet. With a combination of ingenuity and smuggled tools they had rigged up a crude sawmill. Down on the delta they had set up a boatyard under a canopy of flowering lianas and other tropical foliage where their machine rifles had taught the Golaks to leave them alone. Talavat labor had helped them to put in an earth dam so that they could drive their main ripsaw with a giant water wheel, using a combination of wooden gearboxes and drive belts.

The boat designs were far from elaborate. Foxy had been using heavy timbers for keels but couldn't refine his milling operation enough to produce much planking. Instead, the hulls were pole-ribbed and wrapped with a combination of skins and gum-treated fiber cloth. The latter was something he had taught the native women how to weave, using long fibers from the inhudesi forests, a name given to dense growths of thirty-foot cane-like trees in the swamp country. Such fiber mattings were also used for sails. Within the first year, two prototype vessels rigged with lateen sails had made the trip to the northern mainland.

Since then, fifteen ships had been built which were capable of carrying a hundred people each, including women, children and crewmen. The vessels had been making round trips for more than a year now and had transported close to ten thousand emigrants to the mainland. Some boats had failed to weather ocean storms and had sunk. A few others had been spotted by the scoutship and had been ruthlessly destroyed. The Talavats had since learned to slip out on the night tides and be far at sea by dawn. Currently, ten of the remaining vessels were en route back to the island continent of Lankara to take part in a major maneuver. This was based on the fact that Foxy's crew, using an army of native workers, was completing fifteen more ships.

That would complete the promised fleet and make it possible to begin the final cycle of evacuation.

But there was the main bone of contention. A conflict of philosophies had developed between Ravano and the insurgents. The revolutionaries, now led by Danny, were concerned with one main objective: to rescue Terra Nova from the secessionists and reestablish the mission of the star quest. One way or another, the Sirius III would have to eventually challenge the Barrier Wall and attempt to reach the Earth. To do this, and the time for it was becoming critical, Ravano would have to meet his part of the bargain. Before thousands of strobed and drugged Golaks could be armed with single-action rifles, the upgraded forces of Ravano would have to join the insurgents in a decisive attack on the colony base. What blocked this action was the Talavat religion. This obstacle had become more problematical than ever now that the evacuation fleet was nearing completion.

Danny went into the native religious background, at which point Lalille and Sam became his most attentive listeners. Both of them knew the laws of the Lahas from the temple inscriptions and their extensive talks with Ravano and Akala, but they were concerned with how much this would affect the insurgent plans. The main hurdle was the prophecy, which was more often referred to as the Oracle.

The Talavat shamans were known as the Krias. They were a special caste of priests who maintained a closed mystical order and whose laws and rituals had descended to them from the "Great Ones." On rare occasions, sometimes separated by hundreds of years, the Krias had achieved a peculiar state of group Revelation which was called an Oracle.

"That state," said Sam knowledgeably, "is known in eastern philosophy as kryasakti. It is a strange parallel that the priests refer to themselves as Krias. Incidently, kryasakti is a limited form of the collective consciousness in nature, similar also to the lost faculty of the Moats."

As Lalille and the swami knew, several generations ago an Oracle had occurred. It was this prophecy which had warned of cataclysm and established the crisis related to the emigration problem. It was the belief of the Talavats that the fire gods of the mountains were growing angry, that the day was nearing when the volcanoes would fully erupt and destroy Lankara. The prophecy had also referred to the advent of the Star Sons in their Maitluccan or Sky Dragon, and it had intimated that the Star Sons would save them from destruction.

However, several things had gone wrong. One of these was the loss of their symbiotic relationship with the Moats, whom they regarded as sacred beings. The strange rapport of ages had been disrupted by the coming of the Star Sons. This and the Rak attacks had been considered to be an evil omen, but the crisis of Ravano's captivity and the violent earthquake had caused the monarch to accept Danny's proposition concerning the ships.

"What more does he want?" asked Henshaw at this point. "We're filling our part of the bargain, aren't we?"

"It's not such a bargain for the Talavats," Danny explained. "The laws of the Lahas condemn war. Self defense is something else, but now that Ravano sees his whole fleet taking shape he takes a very dim view about waging a major war against Terra Nova. As for the few Talavat slaves, philosophy covers that. The slaves themselves know they are expendable."

"Seems to me he's a welsher," said Billy Vinet.

"Not exactly. You saw his troops in action today, although they prayed to be forgiven. Small forays, delaying actions, rescue runs to obtain more help and weapons – all these things are aimed at gaining time for the fleet completion. But there are two other stumbling blocks."

He went on to explain that Ravano had one major argument with regard to the Oracle. The king had conceded that he might see himself obligated, even by Ramor, to fulfill his arms pact and attack the colony base, except for one thing: the prophecy was incomplete in its fulfillment.

"The Oracle made mention of a star. The advent of Mait-luccan, the Sky Dragon, was to have been marked by the appearance of a new star in the heavens. So far, no star. Therefore, he sees that as a warning."

"Or a damn good excuse!" retorted Axel heatedly. "That's the way I see it."

"You said there were two stumbling blocks," the swami reminded him.

"That one's also tied to their religion," Danny answered. "Now they're waiting for another Oracle."

Groans of complaint were heard from some of the new men, but Sam persisted.

"Do they have any reason to expect one?"

"According to them and Noley, yes." Danny smiled faintly. "The Mad Monk is practically next to Khyatri – that's the name of the head shaman. He and Akala and Khyatri are involved in some spooky ritual that they refer to as na-thitasu, 'the Call."'

Both Lalille and the swami seemed to tense at this.

"Danny," said Sam quickly, "I'll restate my question. Do they have any reason for performing the rites of na-thitasu?"

"Well ... according to Noley and Akala, some of the ancient inscriptions seem to promise a second Oracle."

"I knew it!" exclaimed Lalille. "It was the strange thing I sensed in the temple!"

Sam's dark eyes met Danny's gravely. His swarthy countenance was strangely animated. "That second Oracle may be the key for all of us. I predict the imminent return of the Lahas."

"What? You mean the Great Ones?"

"Yes. And this is why I have come."

One of the recruits, a wiry middle-aged Finn named Juhani Kivi, slapped his knee impatiently. "Well, I didn't come here for all this hocus-pocus! Are we going to fool with magic or are we going to move?"

"Yeah," said another man, "if this keeps up we'll have to attack the base ourselves"

"Hey, Danny!" called Henshaw. "What if Ravano doesn't deliver? What do we do then, just stand out here with egg on our faces?"

Danny assured Sam and Lalille with his eyes that he wasn't dismissing the swami's statement so lightly. He had seen many strange things among the Talavats and their Krias, and Sam's new aura of power had impressed him indefinably. To pacify the men, however, he stated a simple truth.

"Not at all, Burt. In that case there's a second plan. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. We're still riding with Plan One."

Later, after everybody had eaten, Danny had a chance to be alone with the bearded swami for a few minutes.

"You didn't say much about the lost temple of legend," said Sam. "How did you find it?"

He hesitated and made sure that Lalille was out of hearing range. "Jerry found it."

Sam's eyes widened abruptly. "Jerry Fontaine? Thank God! He's alive!"

"But evidently somebody's keeping it a secret at the base. They almost recaptured him. I want your advice. Do you think I should tell Lalille?"

The swami gazed pensively at the blond girl who sat alone by the river, perhaps looking into its depths at her own shifting currents. His concern was fatherly but shadowed by deeper thoughts. "First, you must tell me about him. How did he escape, and how did he survive alone in the jungles?"

"That, my friend, is a legend in itself."

CHAPTER XIII

Before the nine earthmen and the girl had finished their early lunch the Talavat warriors melted into the towering forest and started back to Ravano's hidden stronghold. Eight of the unicorn beasts had been left behind for Danny's group. Also, a dozen lancers had remained to function as sentinel outriders during the trek to the red-ridge country. The only dangers now were the normal kind – large predators of the jungle, hunting Golaks out of their territory, or a chance party of Raks. The small cadre of earthmen was fairly bristling with heavy weaponry and there seemed little to fear at the moment.

This time Bjornson grinningly took Lalille as his welcome passenger on one of the huskiest unicorns and Danny rode with the swami so that he could tell him the strange saga of Jerry's escape and survival. The holy man's chubbiness made it necessary for him to ride behind Danny and hold on to his work-hardened torso.

"I always believed Jerry had one foot stuck through a magic mirror," Danny mused as they rode along near the rear of the column. "There's a kind of unreality that keeps mixing him up the damnedest things."

I know," said Sam mysteriously. "Like alternating between parallel universes. In a psychic sense, this is where Lalille is."

"I mean, his present bio reads like a cross between Peer Gynt and Sindbad the Sailor, but a kind of jinx cloud follows him. No wonder he's a jungle hermit. He's been through a kind of hell that would drive most men mad."

"How did he escape?"

"That was the weirdest of all."

First came a description of the chaitla, which was the Talavat nickname for chaitu-iticcan, the "devil dragon." This giant beast was the most feared carnivore in the jungle and was even avoided by the Raks. Almost the size of a rhinoceros, it was something like a giant saber-toothed tiger with a residual mixture of saurian features. Its lower backbone had a bony ridge that terminated in a powerful reptilian tail. Its fearsome head was also bone-rimmed and its three lambent-yellow eyes were protected by flared, horny sockets that made it look like an oncoming nightmare, especially with its multiple fighting fangs. It could charge "like Husu the storm god" on its four running legs but was also equipped with two extra limbs in front which could serve as legs or arms, depending upon its needs at the moment. Centaur-like, it could raise the forward part of its torso almost erect and tear at an enemy with its powerful talons and sharp incisors.

Sam interrupted at this point. He referred to the Memory of Nature again, which revealed that in the course of all prehuman evolutions a number of experimentations had always occurred.

"Maybe that's why the chaitlas are rare and seldom seen," commented Danny. "They're dying out like the Raks."

"Stragglers and leftovers from a previous lifewave," said the swami as if to himself. "So it was a chaitla, then, that tore open Jerry's cage and killed the guard. How did Jerry survive?"

"Well, this gets into some of your territory, Sam. At least it must have something to do with your levels-of-consciousness bit. There's some kind of strange rapport between the chaitlas and the dakshas."

"You mean the 'dog-faced' men?"

"Yes, and in this case I'm speaking of Red, the one we captured."

"And Jerry set free."

"Exactly. Red was an imitator, you'll recall. When he saw Jerry in a cage he must have decided to return the favor. Those little satyr buggers can ride the chaitlas."

"Aha, the lost faculty! But I'll wager the Moals are behind it somewhere. That's where the real symbiosis lies."

"Right you are, but you're getting ahead of me. Anyway, that night Jerry went through the Looking Glass. He rode with a satyr on the back of a tiger dragon and ended up in fantasy-land."

Thus, Jerry Fontaine, the gentle dreamer whose elfin soul had been caged by the world-cult package. Confused by his star-crossed displacement, disillusioned and withdrawn in lovelorn despair, he had found the one place in creation where his psyche could survive and heal itself. Deep in the forest and mountain vastness he had come among the Moals in their hidden retreat, a mythological world existing in unborn time. Red was his passport, and his understanding of earth forces and an intuitive feeling for the beauty of innocence had done the rest. He had settled among the rose-tinted nymphs with their unseeing eyes and their seventh sense.

Sam seemed to understand more than Danny the reasons for Jerry's hermitage and his occult rapport with this more esoteric realm of nature. Probably a part of the magic had been the negative rapture of isolation from sorrow, hurt, and ugliness. It was a finality he accepted as irreversible, like a soul-commitment to other-dimensional destiny. The soaring cloisters of the forest were his troll-like sanctuary, forming a cordon sanitaire between the predawn children and the far Babylon he had failed to cope with. The green, gold, and purple galleries, the branching grottos and verdured chambers of the multi-terraced jungles with their cathedral shafts of light from flower-framed windows in the lofty canopies above these were the enchanted halls of a timelorn castled city, peopled by mythical beings long lost to racial memory, whether this was Lemuria or a parallel world in some forgotten universe.

Here he had entered into the symbiosis. He had linked himself to the between consciousness of prehuman creatures in a fairy-ringed unreality that was functional to his nature. The birds of gorgeous plumage and song, the giant scarlet-winged butterflies and bronze-golden spiders and brilliant-veined fungi and the spiral-striped serpents that lurked in the hidden hollows or hung in living-tinsel camouflage from orchid-trailing giant lianas these and the life-giving streams and fish and a myriad of other small details of his primordial environment formed a bounteous secret kingdom that dissolved the bars caging his being. In a kind of ecstatic madness of newfound release, he had embraced the Moals and their dog-faced brother orphans of evolution as his own.

Their seventh sense, described by Sam as an intuitive collective consciousness, was capable of warding off the carnivores and even keeping the one-eyed Raks at bay. The swami also explained that this group-spirit cognizance altered the responses of animal instinct and turned beast awareness back to its dreamless state. Whatever the reason, the unconscious power of the Moals was like a spell cast upon the forest. Since the advent of Maitluccan, however, the sightless but seeing ones had withdrawn into a world known to themselves.

Within that ring-pass-not of seclusion, Jerry had been "blindly" accepted by the furtive nymph race because he at once knew their language, unable to reproduce its nature music but responding en rapport. Here among them he met that same undine spirit he had first discovered by a forest pool and described to Danny and Mabuse. The prepagan rose-petal creature, the girl genie with the golden-brown gossamer hair and her exotic nonhuman face – this flowerlike child-adult being had provided solace to the unrequited stranger in a land less strange than the world that had rejected him. He had come to know the dryad caress of her delicate cool hands and the strangely vital warmth of her fay young breasts. Because of her laughing imitation of rippling streams which sounded like ukulele, he had fondly named her Buli.

All this Danny had learned later. Before he went on with his story, the swami gave him information that helped to explain a part of the incredible event he was about to describe.

"You know the anthropologists in the colony have taken a great interest in the Moals, Raks and the dakshas," said Sam. "Of course they don't understand the real laws of retardation working in evolution but they have at least observed some important facts. And our original contact with Ravano and Akala also filled in some of the missing pieces. For example, there has been hybridization between separate species. The Raks have often taken Talavat and Golak females for mating purposes and the surprising result is the dakshas, the dog-faced men. On the other hand, the Moals so far have appeared to be monogenetic." Sam chuckled. "If I had told them the Moals have evolved from a previous androgynous species, they would have subjected me to their own inquisitor's rack."

He went on to describe some heavy arguments he had gotten into with Tallullah and Odell and others on this general subject. The Raks were a hominid species which was dying out, because apparently sterility had begun to set in on the male side whenever there were human crossings with Raks. He had again pointed to the Wisdom of Nature in this regard, or to a Universal Intelligence which guided evolution. The case of the mule, a hybrid between horse and donkey, was a typical example of a line being drawn against further hybridization.

"Darwin's famous observation of the Andaman islanders even failed to convince them that an actual Intelligence in Nature will control cross-breeding when a time comes for it to be controlled," he explained. "When white settlers began to mate with them, the women became sterile. This process of sterilization is occurring with the Raks. It appears to be very rare now that a daksha will be born as the result of a Talavat or Golak woman being raped by a Rak."

Sam went on to say that Tallullah's group had been very anxious to observe the Moals in their native habitat, but they had very rarely been able to even see one of the furtive subrace creatures. Only through Akala had Lalille and Nolokov learned that the Moals were not dying out.

"As Marius says, modern empiricists are lying dead on marble slabs as far as any knowledge of actual evolutionary principles are concerned. I can only tell you that the Moals, Raks and dakshas are of a previous lifewave. The Raks are stragglers who are failing to cross over into the present life wave. The dakshas could possibly begin to be monocrenetic, in which case they might well become the progenitors of the future anthropoids of this planet. The Moals are definitely making the crossover. They are emerging successfully toward the human level."

"Are you saying that a time will arrive when your Intelligence in Nature might turn on the hybridization process, between Moals and humans?"

"Not only might but shall."

"Okay – then that will explain what happened ... I can go on with the story..."

* * * *

Danny's discovery of Jerry had almost cost both of them their freedom. The event had occurred more than a year after the breakout at the base and Ravano's liberation. He and Makart had gone with a group of native scouts into the Upper Basin country to do some hunting and reconnaissance. Talavat observers had reported the presence in the area of a heavily armed exploration party from Terra Nova. They had a bush cutter with them and were making a new road as they went, working by day and camping by night. Evidently they were planning to expand their mining operations.

The Upper Basin was rugged canyon country although probably the most scenic part of the local terrain. Its riotous flowering jungles, vine-grown cliffs, racing rivers and waterfalls created the prepagan mood Jerry had once described in connection with the animal vitality of the land and the voluptuousness of the "universal earth mother." Here was a mythological enchantment which could harbor nymph, satyr, or cyclops, and much more of an unknown nature.

Suddenly, while making their own camp one late afternoon, they were surprised by an air car. It had fired at them and they had scattered, only to run into ground troops who had been alerted by the air car's radio signals. A skirmish had ensued, and men had died on both sides. Then there had been a running confusion and sporadic hand-to-hand fighting.

"That's when it happened," said Danny. "Makart and I and two of the Tallies came running into a small kettle basin between the overgrown cliffs. I remember it was sunset, and a pinkish twilight glow had filtered through the big trees on the western rim, but that was only part of the unreal nature of the place. Other figures were flitting about in the midst of hurried chirping and musical sounds as if a covey of quail had been flushed from their nests. When we also saw the chattering dakshas scampering about, we knew. We had stumbled into a Moal community. They were scattering in all directions.

"Two things happened then that brought us to a dead stop. For one thing, our pursuers showed up on two sides and suddenly had the drop on us. Some of them were Pike's regulars, some from the geology group – and also I remember seeing Ricky Campara, one of the medi-techs. But the real stopper for everybody was the figure at the cave entrance between us.

"At first we thought we were looking at a bearded, long-haired caveman, but he was too erect and alert looking for that although he was only wearing a skimpy loincloth and carrying a spear. I remember feeling cold all of a sudden as if I were seeing a ghost. It was Jerry Fontaine."

"Did you speak to him?"

"Too much was happening. Two of the militia men recognized him and yelled at him to freeze. They knew they had a prize catch. Just then, however, the shock of the evening hit us. Out of the cave stepped Buli, the Moal girl with the golden brown hair and the pointed ears. One surprise was that she was no longer blind. Her big, shining green eyes were looking right at us out of that mythological nymph face."

"Ah!" said Sam with a note of intensity. "The great transition on the Shadowy Arc! She's an advanced type, gaining earthly sight at the cost of inner vision. Her name should have been Eve!"

"Well she ate the apple, all right. She was all rounded out in front, pregnant as hell."

"Pregnant? But–"

"Leave it to Jerry, Sam. With him, if it's not supposed to happen, it does. The poor lonely bastard had dropped his cookies into a fairy crock, and God knows what the offspring would have been!"

"Would have been?"

"That's right. Jerry's jinx hit him again, in a way. The next thing we knew, hell on six legs came tearing into the clearing. The screaming roar alone, with that snarling three-eyed devil face, was enough to paralyze us, but the way that chaitla moved and bowled over armed men with its whipping dragon's tall and ripped them to shreds with its flying claws – it seemed that bullets wouldn't have time to reach him. All I remember is running. It was a blur. I thought I saw Jerry chasing Buli in our general direction.

"To make a short story shorter, Makart and I and one of the Tallies got away. I couldn't find Jerry. At the time I assumed that he had either been killed or captured, or he and his pregnant pixy had made it to another hiding place."

"But you've seen him since. You said he found the temple for you. Where is the girl, Buli?"

"Probably dead. Jerry never found her again."

During the rest of the long trek, Danny finished telling the saga of Jerry Fontaine. It was during his months of searching for Buli in the hidden places of her people that he had discovered the once lost temple of the Lahas. It had been obscured from the Tallies for God knows how long because the area had been Rak country until recently. The temple meant nothing to him at the time because he had been faced with a new problem. Something was happening to the Moals. The crisis in which Buli had been lost with her unborn child had been some kind of trigger. The nymph-like subrace began to lose its faculty of collective consciousness. The faithful and protective dakshas seemed to have more of the seventh sense than they did. An unexpected number of the Moals began to demonstrate that they could see physically with their eyes.

Yet with the loss of the old faculty they became more helpless and were soon pathetically dependent upon Jerry. They followed him with their old companions, the dakshas, accepting him as their leader.

"His responsibility was far greater than he may have realized," Sam commented as this point. "The Moals were actually in racial transition. They were crossing over, emerging from a between world of waiting, into the fourth kingdom of Man. In a historical sense, Jerry's role was like that of a World Watcher."

"A what?"

"A Laha, one of the Great Ones. There's too much to tell, Danny. Go on with your story."

"There's not much more of it to bring you up to date. Jerry hadn't lost his wits, as it turned out. He knew of our plans. He contacted Noley and me, finally, and had us make a proposition to Ravano. He wanted passage to the new land for the Moals, in exchange for leading us to the lost temple.

"Ravano agreed because the Moals have always been sacred to his people, but the temple was everything, being a part of their prophecies. In one sense it was a drawback to our plans because once he and his Krias found the temple the rites of na-thitasu started. The Call was out for the Oracle. That was more than a year ago. Some of the Moals have been taken over to the mainland. The rest will go in the final evacuation. In the meantime, Jerry still sticks to the jungle as if hoping to locate Buli somewhere. Maybe it's just that his whole experience, the Star Quest itself and the twisted results of it here, has made him distrust his own race."

"It could be a form of self-rejection," suggested Sam.

"It's ironical since he doesn't see his own hidden strength."

"And what would that be?"

"There's much to tell."

"Damn it, you keep saying that, Sam! When is it all going to be told?"

"Soon, perhaps."

They discussed the mystery of why Terra Nova had never been informed about Jerry's survival. They both agreed that perhaps Alonso and Tallullah had considered Lalille. They still couldn't know if he was alive, and any future contact with him could only lead to more grief. Legally, at least, Jerry was persona non grata to the Council.

"Which leaves us with my first question," said Danny. "Should we tell her he's alive?"

"Under present circumstances, no." After a few moments, Sam returned to the principal subject. Again Danny noted the curious change in the holy man's voice. He spoke with a new and authoritative confidence. "As to the rites of na-thitasu in the temple, don't look upon that phase as an obstacle, Danny. The Oracle may be the key to Ravano's decision."

"What makes you think there's actually going to be an Oracle?"

"All evolution and history is cyclic. There are great transition stages between such cycles, and this young world is now at such a Threshold. At such times, intervention is permitted."

"Intervention? By whom?"

"The World Watchers."

Danny was silent for almost a minute as they rode along the trail. "Sam, you know Poyntner and his hardheads would call you a nut for saying a thing like that. I can't afford the dreams, Swami. I have to deal with reality!"

Sam smiled secretly behind Danny's shoulder. His voice deepened slightly. "Such as the reality of thought in the Golden Acre of Earth's so-called ancient history? – the flowering of wisdom through Chaldea and Babylon and through Egypt and Persia and Greece? Such as the reality of the Renaissance, the fall of the Ancien Regime and the divine right of kings? – the French and American revolutions and the quantum jumps of the industrial revolution? – the acquisition of nuclear power by the democracies in World War Two? – the rise of New Age Consciousness which abolished the Bomb and forged a global society? – or now the Star Quest itself...? These things are not accidental, my son, no more than your unsolved mystery of the UFOs or the Devil's Triangle. Men will not always persist in lying blind and deaf on their marble slabs. The bondage of Illusion–"

"Aw come on, Sam!" Danny exclaimed irritably. "Look, I'm sorry old buddy, but that's all wishful thinking!"

"Then what about the reality that you yourself experienced – the Barrier Wall which prevents untimely crossings of cultures in the universe."

"Theory!"

"Was it theory that swept the star ship unaccountable light-years through time and space?"

Danny frowned. "You mean, that was intervention?"

"Precisely, as I've said all along."

"I don't believed it!"

"Belief is a weak word. It implies a confused dichotomy of mental orientation. There is either knowing or not knowing."

"And you're saying you know."

"I know. Don't waste time asking me how, Danny. All I can tell you is that we are at a crucial point here in the cosmic continuum."

Danny shook his head and frowned in troubled thought. "Well whatever the hell it is I hope that something happens soon. You know I mentioned to the men today that if Ravano didn't make up his mind there was still plan two. I think you know what that means."

"Your hiber trip?"

"What else?"

"Danny, I don't think you realize this, but in Lalille we seem to have a prophetess. At least on this world some of her latent abilities have awakened. She foresees the Oracle and more."

"What do you mean by more?"

"Perhaps plan three, neither hiber trip nor major war."

Danny stopped the unicorn and allowed the rear guard lancers to pass him on the trail. He couldn't turn to stare at the swami but here in the humid heat of the jungle stillness he could at least hear him better.

"Sam, could you spell that out for me?"

"The original mission of the Star Quest might still be achieved, with some bloodshed perhaps, but without a total war of elimination."

"That isn't telling me everything. How?"

"Basically, Danny, you wouldn't be compelled by this blindness to duty, to make your lonely hiber trip with a few of your friends. It may not be necessary for you and Frederica to be separated."

Danny froze. Before he could react to this thrust at his deepest personal dilemma, an urgent buzzing sounded from his pocket. Slowly, he took out the transceiver and stared at it wonderingly. When he turned on the receiver he wasn't prepared for another of Sam's realities. It was Boozie, who fairly rattled the minispeaker in his excitement.

"Ye gods, Danny, it actually happened! I did it, man. We've got it!"

"Got what for God's sake? What is it, Boozie?"

"Are you ready for this? No, you're not, so brace yourself! Listen to this tape!"

Out of the tiny phone came a series of sounds never heard before. Danny felt the tense grip of the swami on his arms as he heard a far cacophony of strange voices in many tongues, tantalizing strains of music from unknown instruments, and complex pulsing patterns of high-speed data transmission. It was as if Boozie had tuned in on multiple wavebands across the galaxies.

No, not as if. It was!

"I tried the reception end of the experiment first," Boozie explained swiftly, still in a strained euphoria of discovery. "I tried rectifying the gravity carrier, thanks to Sam's idea. What holds the worlds together also keeps them in contact. Poyntner would hand me the inverse-square law but there's a tension factor in some kind of universal medium."

"The collective consciousness of matter itself," whispered Sam.

Danny hardly heard him. "Jesus, Boozie, what do the Duke and the Skipper think of it?"

"Are you kidding? They still could be brainwashed! Whoever's the mastermind would have my ass if he knew I was onto instant communication!"

"So what are you going to do? Good God, Boozie, you might be able to contact the Earth!"

"Don't jump the gun, baby. That was your line, remember? Who on Earth is fiddling with gravity rectifying these days? But maybe I could contact somebody out there, like standing on a star and thumbing a ride!"

"Then do it! It might change our whole bag of marbles here before somebody gets hurt."

"It's not that easy, Danny. For a stellar transmission on cosmoscope I have to modulate the fields, using the gravitrons. That means beaucoup power, lad. I have to find some way of modulating the lasers."

"You mean the main propulsors, out in orbit?"

"That's right, and it will take some doing to counteract thrust with the nav jets. But Bruno's with us. He and I and Fitz have been working on it. We're also thinking up excuses for taking the shuttle out to the pods."

The rest of the trek to the ridge country was made in a kind of separate dimension, with Danny and Sam contemplating the tremendous implications. This was the goal of the Star Quest. Man was not alone among his stars. Now Earth had to know, one way or another. Even if the hiber trip was the ultimate answer.

Or would Sam's principle of intervention yield a still more unexpected solution?

CHAPTER XIV

The red-ridge country was in the foothills of the prayava-kwatni or Fire Mountains. The volcanic region had been honeycombed by earlier geologic upheavals. The reddish and somewhat barren ridges contained a virtual city of natural tunnels and caverns. Until the advent of the Star Sons in their Maitluccan, this location had been a principal habitat of the Raks, but now for strange reasons of their own the giant cyclopes had drifted elsewhere as if they, too, were restlessly anticipating a cataclysmic change.

Approximately half of Ravano's forces in Lankara had been concentrated here. The other Talavats and their families who had not already emigrated to the mainland were located in the delta country to protect the shipbuilding camps against marauding Golaks. The main body of trained warriors and lancers, however, were with Ravano. They lived in jungle camps north of the ridge-rock formations, but in case of trouble, such as the appearance of the scoutship or air cars, they took cover in the extensive maze of caverns.

By this time the number of insurgents who had defected from Terra Nova had grown to over thirty men, more than half of whom had been working with Foxy on the fleet. However, when Danny returned with Sam and Lalille and the latest recruits, he found Ravano in a surly and uncommunicative mood because apparently the Star Sons had been pressing the monarch again for a decision.

"His Royal Highness is selling us short," reported Kenny Makart. The stocky, black-bearded former flight mechanic and security guard had been browned in the sun almost to a shade of mahogany and the hardness of his physique resembled the same material. "Maybe we'd better pull a strike in the boat yards until he helps us take the base."

"The Tallies would go on with the work," said another man. "Foxy's taught 'em enough by now."

"The fleet's only part of the problem," advised Kerby Zellon, a sallow-faced machinist and toolmaker. Ever since defecting the rather gangly spaceman had worn a battered hat to shade him from the sun.

"Yeah, it's the temple bit now," grumbled Bjornson. "He and that chesty sister of his are working the shamans overtime. By God I'll tell you, the Monk's no help! He's really flipped on this voodoo business!"

"Hey, Danny," put in Henshaw, "maybe you'd better shake out plan two and let us have a look at it."

"You may not like it," Danny answered.

The veteran insurgents were familiar with the hiber trip idea and they remained silent. Plan two did not merely involve a wild, lonely gamble by a six-man specialized star crew, it meant leaving the colony stranded, probably forever. Moreover, since the Council had decreed that all defectors were subject to execution should they be caught, those who had left Terra Nova would have to face a future life with Ravano's people in the new land. The reaction to that prospect again depended upon one's makeup and personal philosophy. Some like Noley and Foxy were self-committed to interfacing with the natives and in fact some men had already chosen Talavat girls as their future mates. The majority of the insurgents, however, were behind plan one. They could only see a return to the colony, with or without native wives, once it had been rescued from the secessionists. They favored a continuing development of nuclear cores for the star ship's propulsion, and many still believed that an S-link could eventually be built although it might take years to achieve the right technology for it. If Ravano failed to strike now the chances for victory would fade swiftly. The Golaks would soon be armed and the Tallies would have emigrated.

Danny sought to encourage them all with the news of Boozie's cosmoscope, but that proved to be a mistake. After the wonderment had worn off to some degree the general mood firmed up all the more in terms of plan one.

"Christ!" exclaimed Bill Vinet. "That means there's all the more chance for us to survive! If Boozie could contact Earth there might even be a chance for rescue!"

"Or maybe we could get instructions on the S-link," added another man.

"If we could just get rid of Pointed Head and Adolf," growled the Axe, swelling his heavy chest belligerently. "Or maybe get the Duke and the Skipper to see it our way.

"Look, boys, for my part you know I'm going native, but no life will be safe on this rock if things don't change at the base. Give those secessionists enough time and they'll probably set up a king or a dictator of some kind. They'll try to enslave us all!"

The pressure was too great to be countered by anything short of a showdown with Ravano.

* * * *

The monarch's court had been established in a large cavern near the hidden site of the sacred temple. Many of the larger chambers of the higher red-ridge country were partially open to the sky because of explosive action in the distant past. The major network of caves was actually a system of old volcanic flues, and some parts were still untenable because of the presence of small molten potholes and underground geysers. The court chamber was spacious and split-leveled, providing ample over-head concealment while offering sufficient sky holes for air and the venting of smoke from torches and cooking fires.

Here Ravano received Danny and his small delegation with an unwonted display of militancy and power. He even wore a regal fur over his sturdy shoulders which had an orange golden tint and was jangling with what the American aborigines might have called medicine beads and bones. His royal metal headband supported two white feathers from the eagle-like kvakule bird, representing the sun and the moon, a universal totem of affinity with the gods. Next to him was the coppery-haired Akala in undraped pagan seductiveness and as mystical as ever. They sat on a long rock bench between tall duraca poles which supported huge flaming torches. They were surrounded by a royal guard of two dozen fully-armed Talavat warriors, crossbows included.

Nolokov was off to one side looking more Svengali-like than ever with his now heavier beard and his deep-set brooding dark eyes. Sitting next to him on a low basalt ledge were Khyatri and several of his holy Krias. The high priest was tall, middle-aged and lean, of a darker copper hue than normal, and on his shaved head he wore a three-horned shaman headpiece fashioned from a nyanyo skull. It was said that the triple horns were symbolic of the three spiritual pillars of the world. He wore a metallic linked necklace and a gorgeous white fur loincloth that included a sweeping tall.

One feature of the meeting helped to soften some of Ravano's initial surliness. He and Akala were obviously pleased to receive Lalille and the swami, who both spoke fairly fluent Talavat. In the past few years Ravano had all but abandoned his broken English. And it was in his flowing Talavat that he spoke to Danny.

"I am aware of why Vigranyi Tarnura is here," he said with a deep-voiced formality. "The sun and moon hasten for both of us." He had given Danny the native name of Gray-eyed Star Son. He then made an amazingly concise summary of the general situation and concluded: "The olden prophecy yet waits for the shining star, and until then I am not bound by Ramor to die for my word. Meanwhile, we wait for the second Oracle. If it does not come before the fire gods of prayava-kutami give us their final warning, or if the winged vessels of Kimbu Dyota are ready without the Spirit Word being heard in the holy temple of the Lahas – we must go." He had used Foxy's native name, the White-haired One.

When Danny tried to counter his argument, he became surly again. "Does not Vigranyi know that thousands of warriors must take the sunset journey to conquer Maitluccan and his prayava-chaitus?" The latter term was a reference to the feared roborgs which they had named "fire devils" as if they were evil progeny of the Sky Dragon. He had always personified the colony as the Dragon itself, which in a sense was somewhat intuitive.

Danny and Bjornson and the other men realized that little could be gained by arousing the powerful monarch's enmity. This was particularly true since they no longer had any bargaining point to speak of. The fleet was practically completed. However, Nolokov drew them aside later and gave them one of his yabbut angles. He pointed to Lalille and Sam who were already in a close and urgent-seeming conference with Ravano and his sister as well as with the high priest, Kahyatri.

"Don't overlook your high cards," he admonished almost impatiently. "Lalille and the swami are practically regarded as Krias. Anyway, don't knock this Oracle business. That's hallowed ground. You're not going to argue them out of it. But Sam and Lalille may be what we've needed. We might get some action yet, sooner than you think."

"What kind of action?" asked Danny doubtfully. A bitter mood had come over him.

"The Oracle! The sooner it happens the sooner we'll know Ravano's decision."

"Aw stow that baloney!" said Bjornson, equally disgruntled.

The Monk's eyes flashed enigmatically. "You're on your slabs again. You don't know what's involved!"

Danny stared at him and felt a coldness creeping over him. It was a coldness of decision again, the same as when he had decided to defect. This time the personal stakes were higher. "Noley, I think I've had enough of Sam's hocus-pocus. I've decided to go for plan two."

Bjornson and the others muttered among themselves while the Monk returned his stare in dark contemplation.

"The hiber trip?" he asked finally.

"That's right. At least the Earth deserves an answer."

"So six of you go. What about the colony?"

Danny smiled grimly as he started to walk away with his companions. "Maybe the great magic of Ramor will shield the noble colony of Terra Nova from evil days. I'm not a miracle worker, just a star jock stuck with a job to do."

Later, the men considered plan two more seriously but they were dubious. The hiber trip was a suicidal gamble and might not accomplish its purpose. Besides, they argued, maybe Boozie would still make contact with Earth, using the cosmoscope. When he relayed to them Boozie's fears on that score, they still demurred. The majority finally favored waiting a while longer to see what Holy Sam would come up with. Danny knew they were grasping at straws.

There were several days of indecision, during which their own issues were overshadowed by an increasing Talavat anticipation of the Oracle. There was also a mystery involved in the disappearance of Lalille into inner sanctums of the temple. According to the swami, the high priest and Akala were apparently taking the Lily as a kind of novitiate into the deeper mysteries of kryasakti.

"She seems to have cast a spell on them," he said, "as if she were a part of prophecy."

Late on the second day, Danny went up on the ridge and sat alone to look at an angry red sunset. He was thinking of the hiber trip. The six-man crew was a strategic item. All of them had to be quadruple experts. So far there was himself, Boozie, Fitz, and Bruno. They needed two more. Foxy? He had already found his chesty Talavat girl and gotten her pregnant. Maybe Hapgood? If he'd only get his head on straight. They'd all have to decide soon, because he finally realized bitterly that there was no other choice. Where was Sam's mysterious intervention now? Who was there to provide the so-called intervention, the pagan gods, or maybe galactic greenmen tuning in on Boozie's cosmoscope?

He threw a stone down the slope disconsolately and thought bleakly of Freddie. He remembered the night on the temple terrace: her shining female silhouette under the moon, her searching responses to him. Before she could live, she told him, there had to be hope. Their Earth dreams had died among alien stars.

Suddenly, a gaunt dark figure came running up the shale slope toward him from the caves. It was the Monk, strangely agitated. Danny had a presentiment that something vital had happened or was about to.

"Danny!" Nolokov called to him while still climbing. "I think I have the answer!"

The answer? To what? There were too many questions for any one answer to solve them all. He waited, saying nothing. But what came next brought him tensely to his feet, staring, while Noley blurted out his story.

"You mentioned shield. It was a trigger for my subconscious. I told you once that all the clues were staring at us, that they hadn't stood up to be counted. Well, now some of them have come together. I think I can name your mastermind, or at least one of his main partners in crime. And this is really something you can take to the Skipper! You can even reopen the Forum hearing with a thing like this. Maybe there won't be a war, Danny! We can have peace by Lyshenko's precious book!"

Danny grabbed the Mad Monk's wiry arms. "What the hell are you talking about?" His blood and his thoughts were racing.

Nolokov's eidetic memory had finally come through. "Back on the ship, that time Boozie was plastered, down in the KPO, and we told you about the sabotage. Just before that you and Fitz were in the maintenance section. I heard you two talking about the chromaplast trim."

"So, what about it? There wasn't any, not even for the Skipper's new aquarium."

"That's the point!" exclaimed Noley triumphantly. "But that was months before we landed, and long before that the supply of chromaplast trim had been exhausted!"

"I don't get it."

"Shield, man, Alonso's shield! It's trimmed with chromaplast! The Duke made it way before the explosion! He knew we'd be forced to land! He's one of the head secessionists!"

* * * *

Boozie was not overly surprised when Danny contacted him and told him about the shield.

"Very timely, however," he commented. "It fits in nicely with something else that's going on. Maybe we can stick our necks out on what we've got."

"What do you mean, something else going on? Don't play games, Boozie!"

The mini-speaker crackled blankly for a moment. He and Noley were still on the ridge. The sun had lowered behind the horizon, silhouetting the two tall figures against a darkening magenta sky. Behind them the long fingers of volcanic clouds reached over the primeval world, red-limned in restless reflected fire.

"Speaking of games," answered Boozie finally, "this one should interest you."

"Damn it, Boozie!"

"Freddie is here with me."

Now Danny was silent for a moment. He was aware of Noley watching him with a new intentness.

Boozie went on. "She's been bawling, half-hysterical, maybe scared."

Danny glared tensely at the glittering transceiver in his hand. "Freddie? What happened? What made her come to you?"

"It seems Holy Sam advised her before he left. If she ran into something she couldn't handle, she was to come to see me, probably meaning you, by way of our private channel."

"Then put her on, for God's sake! Let me talk to her!"

"She's in no condition just now. I've hidden her here in one of the pad rooms. She's in one of the slings, trying to ride out some heavy emotional inertia. I gave her something to calm her down but your poor little gal still has the shakes."

"Jesus, Boozie, will you tell me what's going on!?"

"I'm trying to, baby. I'm trying to."

Then came Boozie's story of latest inside developments. Noley's suspicions concerning Alonso's shield seemed to fit the situation exactly. Of late, the Duke had been displaying strangely grandiose airs. He had even started using his full signature on various Council documents: Dr. Alonso Madrazo de Andragoya.

"He's flipped completely," Boozie commented. "Noley's right. This whole thing was probably coming on for years, but now that the Duke has made a feudal castle out of the temple and he has the other trimmings – slaves, plantations, an ecclesiastical arm with a puppet Pope – an ambitious militia captain, meaning our friend the Pike, it's really gone to his head. He has visions of empire. Maybe too many history books, the 'traditional precedent' and all that."

"What's the Skipper been doing? Is he putting up with all that crap?"

"I think he sneers at it, sort of like letting Alonso have his toys. The whole system helps him run things by the book. Lyshenko is blind to the fringe developments as long as he thinks the aims of the star mission are being ... supported. The mines and processing plants are going, the nuclear cores are slowly taking shape, and the mini-industry here could maybe produce an S-link someday. Meanwhile, guns for Golaks are also by the book. To him it's a justified defense to buy him time."

"Where does Tallullah stand in all this?"

"I think in fantasyland, but that brings us back to Freddie."

Tallullah had coyly confessed to Freddie that she was contemplating marriage to the Duke, "a refined and capable Christian gentleman," someone to trust and to relieve her inner loneliness, especially if the colony were doomed to remain here forever. Freddie had begun to be protective of her then, deeply sympathetic but also worried in a professional sense. Was love really involved, or a self-deception whereby Tallullah herself could avoid the phobies or some kind of psycho-phasing? Her worry had taken a new turn, however, when Tallullah had shown secret concern for Freddie's future. She had finally urged her to consider her role as a woman in the colony. Marriage was the only rational answer, she had advised. Then had come the shocker: Somebody had asked Tallullah to open the subject to Freddie. The prospective suitor was Adolf the Pike.

"The son of a bitch!" fumed Danny. "When did all this happen?"

"Just after you rescued Sam and the Lily. It seems the Big M can't stop playing the mother hen. The swami's escape and Lalille's commitment to the insurgency must have jolted her into a decision. Maybe for her own sense of security she had to figure out the kind of world that she and Freddie could survive in."

"Survive hell, it's a nightmare! Is that when Freddie came to you?"

"Well, she's made two visits today. The first time she came, she pretended she just wanted to use me for a sounding board. She seemed so hopeless and lost that I decided to play her my cosmo-tape. When she heard it and knew that the stars were alive with other intelligences, a change came over her as if she were coming out of a trance. Suddenly she was all business. She showed me what she had really come for. She had brought some monitor tapes she'd been keeping personally. It seems she's had second thoughts about your Forum hearing in the light of all these developments. I ran the tapes through the delayed playback, and she saw the evidence herself, straight out hypno-strobing. Well, she ran with that to the Duke."

"Jesus, not the Duke!"

"We didn't have your input concerning the shield just then. I couldn't stop her."

"My God, what's happened since?"

"Plenty, but not out in the open."

Then came the final part of the story. The great Don Alonso de Andragoya had received Freddie and her findings with an outward semblance of noble calm and reassurance. He was the same old imperturbable Duke, a man of considered reason. He told her that the existence or nonexistence of a secessionist plot in the past was now immaterial, that she must look at present realities. He had rather unctuously patted her hands and advised her to think in terms of permanency here on Terra Nova. If one day they should all return to Earth, well and good, but if that should never happen, and in any case it was still many years away, her surest course was to settle down and become a colony wife.

When she had argued with him, although by then she was confused and uncertain again, he had smiled benignly and told her that perhaps the time had come to reveal a great secret to her. He took her to a wall panel and opened it excitedly. Apparently the ancient temple had more hidden chambers than had been suspected during the original explorations. He led her with a seeming possessiveness into rooms that were suitable for a grand private suite, and more rooms and passages continued somewhere beyond them. These rooms, he said, were to become the royal chambers.

"What he meant," said Boozie, "was the spider's parlor."

"What do you mean?" insisted Danny heatedly.

"The Duke's a madman. He told her he could offer her a whole new world and everything her little heart could desire, that he was preparing to establish a monarchy, and that he was to become King Alonso the First. Among the accoutrements of a royal court, of course, would be the monarch's most favored concubine."

"Very traditional," said the Monk sarcastically over Danny's shoulder.

"What the hell, Boozie!" yelled Danny. "Are you trying to tell me–"

"Right on, baby. His Highness made a pass! Freddie fought him off and got away. That's why she was out of her head when she came here less than an hour ago."

Danny stared at Noley who met his gaze with dark conviction. He turned back to the transceiver, trying to control his voice. "Hey Boozie, it's all coming apart over there. Let me talk to her."

"Maybe you're in no condition to use your head just now."

"Do what I say, damn it and listen to what I tell her! There's no time to dick around, buddy! You're both in danger!"

"We're all in danger. Forget your mastermind. Alonso's flipped. I didn't tell you what else was said. The scuffle in the snake pad was a big one and the Duke started yelling at her after he got his face scratched up. He began to make threats, telling her that there was no escape for the colony, that he would be the ruler of them all. He must have been quoting Hernando Cortez because he swore the ship would be burned behind us. We'd have nowhere to go except forward with the Monarchy, which was to be a foundation for the glorious Andragoya dynasty."

Just then, Freddie must have joined Boozie. Danny heard her voice. It sounded shaky and slightly brittle, probably because she was struggling to be brave and clinical. "I'm here, Danny. If there's anything you can contribute, now is the time."

He hesitated, wanting to comfort and reassure her yet aware of her mask. It was still there in her voice, if slightly awry. "All right, you two. I'll tell you the only route you've got!" Perhaps there was too much authority in his voice.

"You're a wanted fugitive, Captain," she retorted quickly. "Are you to be the judge now?"

"Neither I nor yourself, baby, so get out from behind that god-damn screen and listen! You're both in danger. If Alonso knows about the cosmoscope, that makes Boozie a target like Torky and the others."

"She doesn't know about the shield yet," said Noley, close enough to the transceiver to be heard at the other end.

"Boozie, you tell her that! It's further evidence you need. Freddie, you have to go to Lyshenko."

"To your butcher friend? Why should I!"

"Because he's not what you thought he was, damn it! You should know that, after fighting off Alonso the First! You go to him now. Place yourself in his protective custody. You and Boozie give him all the evidence you've got, including the new input about the shield. Then tell the Skipper I want to talk to him."

There was a silence.

"Well, did you hear me?"

"She's gone over to sit down," answered Boozie. "Give her time."

"There isn't any! I don't give a damn what or who she thinks I am. This involves all of us!"

"You've got her wrong, Danny. As for what she thinks of you, when I played her the cosmotape I knew what she was thinking. There's new hope out there in the stars. She was thinking of you. She doesn't want you to make the hiber trip."

"This is no time for going into that. Will you take her and go to the Skipper, right now?" When Boozie agreed, Danny had one more question. "Incidentally, about those monitor tapes she brought you. Who's were they?"

"Yours, baby, every trip you ever made to the Pit."

* * * *

Within three hours, Danny's transceiver buzzed again insistently. Boozie had made the call as usual but this time it was not in secret. It came from the staff room, and the next voice heard on the mini-speaker was that of Alex Lyshenko.

Now came Law. Now came World Council Authority. The Skipper was still the gyrostabilizer, the main voice in the wilderness that spoke with firm direction and decision. At least he had finally examined the evidence and had uncovered more. Ever since the Forum hearing on Danny's charges, he and certain others had done some secret probing. The main discovery was that the ship's log had been rigged all along, carefully precoded by Philo Bates so that any computer analysis would come out in favor of the secessionists. When Philo had bolted in panic and run to the unknown mastermind, he had been promptly eliminated. Items of this nature had caused Lyshenko to start groping for a new strategy. Then the evidence brought in by Boozie and Freddie had made his course clear.

"The laws and regulations under which I am commissioned still cover the present situation," Lyshenko concluded emphatically. "Therefore, my action will be as follows, so listen carefully, Captain."

The way he said Captain was an unexpected boost to Danny's morale. The tone seemed to infer that the Skipper now understood his motives and still regarded him as an officer of Flight Command. But all was not roses yet. The Skipper's idea of action was earthshaking, largely because it was coldly logical. The bold plan struck straight at the core of the total abstractions and emotionalisms.

The message landed like a bombshell in the middle of Ravano's court. Danny had met with the insurgents concerning Alonso's shield and the alarming conversation with Boozie and Freddie. Sam and Noley had strongly advised sharing the information with Ravano. To them it was an encouraging sign that the "Interventions" were already at work. They insisted that such things presaged the advent of an Oracle. Bjornson and others, however, were of another opinion. They favored telling Ravano but only because it was necessary to put some real pressure on the king.

"Let him know he's facing a madman," argued the Axe. "Alonso might not wait for a war. He could start one of his own!"

This had been imparted to Ravano at a bad time. The holy rites of na-thitasu had entered a new phase in the temple. A period of fasting had been declared. All Talavats were beginning to concentrate on religious instructions from the Krias. The call was out for the Oracle and the caves and nearby jungle camps echoed the undulating high-voiced mantra chants of the devotees.

Ravano sat alone on his bench between the torch poles, except for his elite guard. Akala had joined Khyatri in the temple, and the Monk had soon followed her. The king now stared sullenly at Danny's transceiver as he quietly translated for him.

Lyshenko was going to bring full charges against Alonso and his unknown accomplices, not in Forum but in an open Colonial Assembly. Prior to this, however, he intended to be prepared with a pragmatic program for the Council's consideration. To do that he needed backup. For that purpose a truce meeting would be necessary. The bombshell was that he and some Council members were coming to confer with Ravano. Danny was to give him the location of the hidden headquarters since Boozie had said that kind of information wasn't his to divulge.

"We'll come in an air car tomorrow at noon," said the Skipper. "This is a truce flight, Danny. I'll expect You and King Ravano to guarantee safe passage."

When Ravano had this part translated to him he frowned. "Ask the Dragon Chieftain this," he said in a voice husky with inner tensions. "How can there be a jihva-na-ksatu between us?" The native expression, "bond of blood," was the only equivalent for guarantee. When this was translated back to Lyshenko the speaker crackled emptily for several moments. Then the Skipper demonstrated more insight than he had been given credit for.

"Tell his Highness that only one thing is stronger than blood. It is the word of chieftains. You translate it any way you want, just so it boils down to one thing. The two of us are making a swap, his word for mine."

The appropriate translation was made. Ravano was apparently impressed but he was too shrewd to let it appeal to his ego.

"The Dragon Chieftain has the word of Ravano," he answered finally. "I know not how this High Talk can serve our divided causes, but I will listen. Let him come, but let him be prepared to speak with few words. The time of na-thitasu is upon us."

When this was taken care of and the camp location was given, Danny had a final question. "Sir, I suggest you're taking a chance coming out here. How do you know your back will be covered?"

"Quite simply, Captain," returned the Skipper briskly. "Alonso is in custody pending the Assembly hearing."

"And Pike?"

"The major will do precisely what the Council orders him to do. By crisis provisions, I am now completely in charge. That is all, Captain."

When the transceiver turned off, Henshaw expressed his doubts. "I still think he's flipped. He's sticking his neck out a mile. Who the hell is the Council now, old Pointed Head and his hardhead secessionists?"

This was the general consensus of all insurgents present.

Danny was torn between agreeing with them and hoping in wild desperation for one of Sam's predicted interventions.

CHAPTER XV

At dawn the forested slopes north of the red-ridge country were pervaded by the mournful, far-echoing undulations of the maita-bhavas. These were the sky voices of the signaling horns which were made of hollowed bone and perforated for producing musical notes on a pentatonic scale. Ravano's word was being disseminated. The Dragon Chieftain was coming with other Star Sons. This was High Talk time. There was to be no resistance.

"Well, here goes all or nothing," Boozie said later that morning over the transceiver channel. "Sometimes I think the Skipper sticks so close to his book that he sees the forest but not the trees, especially what's in the underbrush. If you boys have any clout with Ravano you'll have to carry the ball. Maybe this powwow can do something or things might get worse. How do you feel about it?"

"Either lost in the woods or out on a limb." Danny's succinct answer was not intended to be facetious. It was an expression of his position at the moment.

"In which case, back to the drawing board." Boozie told him that he and Fitz and Bruno were quietly working on plans for the hiber trip, just in case. The recent production of nuclear cores for the propulsion pile were slowly being installed in orbit.

"Seems to me they're slow as hell about those cores, considering the progress they've made. It still looks like a political sop, to keep peace until the mastermind takes over. The cores we've got now fill about thirty percent of the safety factor set by the Homer Committee, based on finally having an S-link and taking everybody along. At the rate they're going, even with an S-link breakthrough, we could be here for years yet. But for a suicide try under hiber conditions for six of us, it gives us a trip range of over a year, that is, with additional core transfer from the life-pod pile, after we're under way. Who knows?"

Meanwhile, some other work had also been going on "upstairs," meaning out on the orbiting pod frames. They were preparing the pulsor unit for Boozie's gravity-modulation experiment. The frail Belgian genius was still hoping to make an interstellar broadcast with his cosmoscope.

"In fact," he concluded, "it's more or less legal now, though still under wraps. The Skipper and Pointed Head know what I'm doing. They even said I should speed it up. Not the hiber part, of course. That's still in our blood pact department. But they see that an Earth contact or any contact might change the local situation."

"Poyntner?" This came as a jolt to Danny and his men. "You mean he knows about the cosmoscope?"

"Hell, he's suddenly backed the Skipper full tilt since Don Alonso went crackers. In fact, he'll be with the delectation today."

"You'd better keep plan two on the burner."

"That's sort of the way we see it here. Anyway, blessings, my son."

"How is Freddie? Is she protected?"

"About as well as she can be, I'd say. She's still the Council's secretary, so you'll see her, too."

Danny tensed. "You mean she's coming here with Lyshenko and Poyntner?"

"That's right, buddy, but I think running the Skipper's transcorder is the last thing on her mind. Since the Alonso bit, and after hearing the cosmo-tape, your little white-smock gal has had a case of the dangling hang-ups. Terrifically lost, but searching with her eyes wide open."

* * * *

Below the main caves a red-rock slope reached down to the jungle. Its angle and curvature provided the natural contours of a semi-amphitheater, and as such it had been used by a people long since vanished with the Lahas. Although crumbled with age and broken by seismic upheavals, the ancient tiers cut in the rock were discernible. There was still the semblance of a clearing below where the arena had been. Native legends spoke of a time when men had struggled here barehanded with ubyahans, which were creatures similar to a Pliocene type of bison. Far from being a sport dedicated to sadism, however, it was alleged to have been a religious rite, as had been explained by Sam in the main temple of Terra Nova. In fact, some such ritual still prevailed, and the ruling caste of warriors like Ravano and his lieutenants bore the scars of such encounters. Physical though these dangerous battles were, the Krias argued that the rite was symbolic in its nature, representing the conquest of the animal soul by the spirit.

Danny briefly sensed the irony of the situation when promptly at noon the air car landed in the arena. The thirty-foot hovercraft had been transported through time and space from a far future world, and here it sat on hallowed ground, a blasphemy of culture contamination. In a crass defilement of nature's chastity, the pragmatic imperatives of a mechanistic society were about to interface with the more instinctive imperatives of a dawn race in one of the cradles of creation. When Danny had first embarked on the long voyage of the Star Quest, he had not been capable of such insight, but more than the star ship had been affected by traversing the Barrier Wall. At least with some of the castaways the old packaging had been ripped open, and through a glass darkly he caught a glimpse of timeless things as if with another eye. He could understand why some men could adjust to the idea of not merely interfacing with the Talavats but actually committing themselves to a share in their destiny. It was like trading the hollow phonies for something real.

These realizations came to him briefly, yet at other times the "package" predominated. Then duty would prevail and he would struggle to stabilize by aligning himself with his commanding officer. The mission of the Star Quest took priority. This was the attitude he had groped for today, in order to face the ordeal to come and look Lyshenko straight in the eye.

King Ravano had not felt obligated under the circumstances to prepare a welcome or to even appear on the scene initially. He had been in conference all morning, first with the Krias and then with several of his sub-chieftains who had arrived during the night. That was just as well because Danny and Bjornson had their hands full trying to pacify the insurgents who were present. Most of them still swore that Poyntner was the mastermind and that the Skipper was brainwashed. They also took a dim view of being in any conference with Council members who had issued a blanket death penalty against them. So there had been few preparations for receiving the delegation with any ceremony.

The air car sat quietly where it had landed, as if its occupants were cautiously studying the situation. Danny suddenly realized that the picture his group presented couldn't look very promising. Eighteen sun-darkened revolutionaries squatted along the amphitheater tiers in the company of recent defectors. The bushy-chinned veterans were mostly shirtless, looking like a ragged assortment of pirates and guerrilla saboteurs. Every one of them was armed with some kind of modern weapon. Nor was there a welcoming smile or hand wave among them.

The air car's bullhorn crackled and the Skipper's rasping voice boomed echoingly across the red-rock slopes. "Haven't you boys forgotten something? This is a truce flight, damn it! Captain Troy! Either you and your men stack those guns or you can buy yourselves a war!"

"Tell him to shove it!" muttered Henshaw.

"Hold it, men!" Danny knew he had to cut them short. He turned to them and forced a grin. "We're all ugly enough to scare a pack of Golaks. This isn't exactly a church social but let's at least stack the hardware." He noted Bjornson standing, two tiers above him with his 2K held stubbornly across his massive chest, looking like an anachronistic Viking ready for pillage. "Axel, let's play it by ear, okay?"

There were grumblings, but when the Axe slowly complied there was a general clatter of arms being stacked.

"That's better!" came the hard voice of World Council Authority.

The hatch opened and out came the stocky khan figure in his parade yellows. He was followed by Alfred Poyntner, Cyrus Stockton, and Jules Elliott. Then came Frederica in a simple light blue flight jumper, looking slim and chic with her prim chignon and horn-rim glasses. Her searching eyes found Danny almost immediately, and the two of them seemed to bridge a gap. The silent look between them carried more signals than a microwave transmission.

There was an audible reaction when the sixth figure emerged from the air car. Evidently the textile industry at the colony had taken a spurt as well. Wearing the undyed white vestments and cowl of a Cistercian abbot, there stood Auguste Saussure, Inquisitor of Terra Nova.

"Aw hell, count me out of this!" somebody grumbled.

"There goes the ball game, kiddies!"

"We need him here like tits on a bull!"

"Who do they think they're kidding!"

Alex Lyshenko stepped briskly forward as if to establish order, but he stopped abruptly to stare up at the ridge. His heavy-lidded eyes widened in obvious outrage, causing all heads to turn. The ridge was dotted with the tall, silent figures of over six-hundred mounted lancers.

"What the hell is this?" shouted Lyshenko.

The answer came to Danny in a flash of inspiration. "Relax, Commander. Ravano's no dummy. He's just giving you an appropriate reception. I think he's trying to say that he's not looking for bargains. It's because of us he's holding court in a cave."

Cyrus Stockton's beady-eyed look of disdain was obvious. His thin lipped mouth twitch seemed overly active at the moment. "I vote for a cancellation!" he announced. "Let's get out of here!"

Surprisingly, old Pointed Head stepped forward and assumed the role of peacemaker. He spoke in low tones to the Skipper.

"Where is Ravano?" Lyshenko demanded finally. "Why isn't he here?"

"Because it's his frigging country!" yelled Kerby Zellon. "It isn't ours!"

"Sir!" Danny cut in again swiftly. "I think Ravano figures we have some things to settle among ourselves first."

The Skipper's narrowed eyes looked up at him with a gleam of defiance. His moustache fairly bristled as the heavy chin thrust forward stubbornly. "This meeting will not be cut up into running side deals on amnesty for deserters and saboteurs. All that will depend on our meeting with Ravano."

"What's the Bishop doing here?" asked Bjornson in a heavy, challenging tone.

The ensuing moment of silence was shattered by the Skipper. "I'll answer to only one spokesman, if you have one!"

"All right," said Danny, "what's the Bishop doing here?"

"He represents the rest of the Council. Take it or leave it!"

Danny smiled faintly. "I'm not fighting you, sir, but there's something you should know. This is a high holy time among the Tallies. The meeting should be kept strictly political."

The Skipper glanced sharply at Saussure, who merely opened his hands in sanctimonious innocence. The cowled figure shrugged.

"All right!" barked Lyshenko, moving powerfully up the slope. "Let's get this started. You take us to Ravano, and we'll see how far we get!"

Evidently the Skipper was truly accepting the word of Ravano. He and his unarmed group were led into the Talavat version of the lion's den. Danny managed a frustratingly brief contact with Freddie, making an excuse to touch her as he helped her up the slope.

"Thank God you're safe!" he whispered to her.

For answer, her free hand pressed his arm. She smiled nervously but the big amber eyes were naked to him. The shield was gone.

* * * *

This time the court was in full panoply except for the lack of religious representation. The Krias were deeply involved in their na-thitasu rites in the temple, and Noley and even Sam had joined them. The mantra chants of the Call were faintly audible as Danny and Bjornson led Lyshenko's delegation into the main cavern. Ravano was flanked by four of his sub-chieftains who all sat between the flaming torch poles, and his elite guard had now increased to fifty armed warriors.

Stockton and Saussure objected to the show of arms, but Lyshenko solved the problem by scorning even the presence of a threat. It was proper psychology. He was not belittling. He was here to comply exactly with Ravano's request, and that was his opener. He had come prepared to speak with few words.

And few they were, at first.

The Skipper laid out the salient points of the situation in stark clarity, yet he spoke on two levels almost simultaneously, indicating to Freddie and Danny what was to be translated for the king. Danny remembered that Frederica was practically as fluent in Talavat as Lalille, since she had been involved technically with the learning process from the start. In the mysterious absence of Lalille, Freddie's presence here had far more than personal connotations for him. It was practical backup at crisis time.

What was not translated was a lateral statement to the insurgents present. Lyshenko knew that Ravano was not concerned with the so-called secessionist plot. In fact he belittled the men's concern about the latter and insisted that if there had been any mastermind to speak of, Alonso was the only candidate. He planned to put him on trial before the Colonial Assembly. As for the insurgent plan to involve the Talavats in a war against Terra Nova, there would be no need for such misplaced heroics if the original colony plan and mission were to be reestablished.

"But for that there's one thing we've got to have," he concluded. "And that's native labor! If we're going to make the long pull and fully refuel the ship and someday produce an S-link, the whole industrial economy of Terra Nova must continue to expand. Now that can be accomplished in either one of two ways, slave labor or volunteers. The Talavats would be glad to get rid of us. Tell Ravano that the sooner his whole nation pitches in, the sooner we'll be gone. This emigration of his people to the mainland is a threat to the entire project."

The insurgents had a question which Danny conveyed. "Before we translate that, the men would like to know what's to happen if you never come up with an S-link."

"Hiber," replied Lyshenko quickly. "If necessary, I'll go myself and take Major Pike along, to make up the six-man crew."

Danny caught a swift glance of hope from Freddie. Was she thinking what he was? If a hiber crew could be made up without him, the two of them would not be separated.

"And the colony?" asked Bjornson.

"It will interface with the native civilization until rescue comes," said Lyshenko. "We're not discounting Mabuse's cosmoscope in the meantime. Help could come in various ways, but this is digressing. Whether we all go home eventually or there's a hiber trip, Ravano's cooperation now is the key to any decisions we will be making. Captain, give the king the message, and make it simple!"

Danny knew that Ravano regarded Freddie with as much trust as he did Lalille, so he nodded to her to make the proposition. Even before she started to translate, however, he knew of certain definite objections.

While Ravano and his sub-chiefs listened closely to Frederica, Bjornson and Henshaw drew him aside and whispered rapidly to him. The Skipper was still flying blind, they insisted. He placed too much trust in Pike who still served the mastermind. Poyntner could still be the head plotter. His presence here as a Council member could be a camouflage, a big chance to do all the spying he pleased.

"Let's see if we get the Colonial Assembly," Danny told them. "That could reshuffle the deck."

However, he noted that other men were nodding their heads to each other while glancing at Lyshenko. Evidently some of them were giving the Skipper credit for making sense out of the mess they were in. So now there were splinter groups, he thought, as there had been back on the ship.

Ravano was busy conferring with his chiefs. There was much waving of hands and a sober shaking of long-haired heads. When the king finally spoke, he immediately voiced the objection Danny had foreseen.

"The orphaned Star Sons," he said, referring to the insurgents, "well know the spirit word of the olden Oracle which guides my people. The gods of the prayava-kutami will not be patient while Maitluccan makes ready to return to his home in the stars. As I have warned Vigranyi Tarnura, the sun and moon hasten for all of us. It is spoken. We must go from Lankara.

When this was conveyed to the delegation, Lyshenko conferred with the Council members. Poyntner glanced sharply at Bjornson.

"Bjornson," he said, "you're the geologist here. You know what our own findings are. The whole tectonic survey reveals that there is no foreseeable danger of a seismic cataclysm."

The Skipper interrupted impatiently. "Axel, you and Danny educate him! Get him off of his damned superstitions!"

Ravano suddenly rose to his feet in royal indignation.

Everybody had forgotten his brief schooling while in captivity. "Word of prophecy not false!" he said in English. Then he spoke rapidly to Freddie and Danny in his own tongue.

Danny translated directly to the Council members. "I warned you this was a high holy time. He's saying there's no getting around the spirit word."

"Then he's determined to refuse us?" asked Lyshenko. His slightly slanted eyes were getting the old khan look of militancy.

Poyntner and Stockton tugged at his arm. He joined them and Elliott and Saussure in a short but heated conference, keenly aware of the fact that Ravano was doing the same with his chiefs. The Skipper had also signaled Freddie to bring the log trans-corder. Evidently a decision was to be made.

Surprisingly, Ravano was the first one to speak again. "Ask the Dragon Chieftain why he does not use Golaks to dig beneath the ground for his magic earths, and to help him grow food in the forest clearings."

Lyshenko's quick answer to that was an oblique compliment to Ravano's people. "We need the Tallies. There's no efficiency with those gorillas, no learning ability! But I'll tell you one thing the Golaks can do. They can handle rifles! Tell His Majesty that he has the choice I mentioned to you in the first place, slave labor or volunteers!"

"Aren't you blowing it?" sneered Zellon.

Lyshenko's eyes flashed adamantly. "I speak for World Council Authority! The survival of the colony and the purpose of the mission takes priority under law!"

"What do you want us to give him?" asked Danny, struggling to control himself. "A declaration of war?"

"Not yet!" snapped Lyshenko. "First, give him the only choice he's got! Damn it, Captain, that's an order!"

"Yes, sir." Danny caught a worried look from Freddie. "Better let me do the honors on this one," he told her. He faced Ravano and his tall chieftains. Taking a slow deep breath, he looked into the eyes of each of them in succession. This was Talavat protocol. It was an unspoken sign of High Talk. He spoke simply and unemotionally while he stated what was to go down in Terra Nova history as "Lyshenko's choice."

There followed a long, tense moment of silence while all eyes were fixed on the king of the Talavat nation. The so-called pagan savage serenely ignored the implications of the threat. "Tell the Dragon Chief that there is a third choice," he said quietly but firmly. "It has been our choice from the beginning. We wait for the Oracle. The final word shall be the word of Ramor."

When this was translated, it sent the Council into a furor of angry whisperings. It also gave many of the insurgents second thoughts. Danny could hear their mutterings around him.

"Jesus! If our ass is going to hang on this voodoo crap, I'm with the Skipper!"

"I told you, Ravano's selling us out!"

The pendulum was swinging circles. Danny wondered desolately if maybe an oracle was all that could save them now.

After a minute or so, Lyshenko turned to face Ravano directly. "For my world I am the Law! Ravano, this also leaves me but one choice!"

"One moment, Commander."

All eyes turned to see the cowled figure of Saussure step forward. "Before we commit ourselves to the futility of war, which can only result In a Pyrrhic victory on both sides–"

Lyshenko tried to cut him off. "You're out of line, Bishop! You have nothing to say here!"

"Then I shall speak in the name of Almighty God," retorted the self-appointed pope of Terra Nova. "For your world, as you say, you may be the law. I submit that there is a Higher Law."

"Oh, hell!" muttered Poyntner. "This is no place to start a goddamn revival meeting!"

The Bishop continued with fanatic stubbornness. "The higher wisdom of Heaven is needed in this critical moment. I offer a fourth choice which is the only course of mercy and charity. Let me convert these heathens to the true God, so that this savage idolatry may be banished. Their very blasphemy is your obstacle here."

"Oh for Christ's sake, Bishop!" shouted Poyntner. "Science will take us off this rock, not mumbo-jumbo, whether yours or theirs! If we can get this God idea out of our systems, we can be our own damned God!"

Freddie's face reddened. "On the contrary," she shouted at him, "if we can dispense with blasphemy here, even you might be able to grasp what's really going on!"

"Silence, all of you!" shouted Lyshenko furiously.

He tensed in alarm, however, as Ravano made a sign to his guards. The armed Talavats took a few steps forward and unslung their crossbows while deftly fitting arrows into them. The men had brought up their weapons from the slope, however, and suddenly Vinet tossed a machine rifle to Danny.

He aimed the gun at the Tallies and cried out in their own language, "Ravano, your word!"

The king signaled again and the poised phalanx of arrows lowered, waiting. But the hasty withdrawal of Ravano's chiefs through a rear exit was more ominous than the action of the bowmen. A vision of the lancer troops on the ridge flashed into Danny's mind. A worse development now was that some defectors had switched their colors. Weapons had gotten into the hands of the Council members although Elliott and Saussure refused them. However, Lyshenko and Poyntner displayed their heavy machine rifles menacingly.

Then the Axe grabbed his 2K and aimed it at the newly armed men. "Keep your frigging heads on!" he bellowed. "Before we blow this whole world to hell, I'll give you a fifth choice, damn it! Either get some horse sense into you or you can try me on for size! We're too damn far from home for this dog and flower show of fancy law and procedures. For Christ's sake, we're all human beings! Let's use the brains we were born with!"

Danny thought personally that the Swede had made the best speech of the so-called conference. It broke the momentum of an emotional disaster but it failed to resolve the impasse.

"All right, Axel," growled the Skipper. "That's off the cuff, under the circumstances, but aim that cannon somewhere else!"

They faced Ravano and fifty bowmen in the flickering torchlight. The tense silence was broken only by the rising mantra chants of the nearby Krias.

"Let's go!" fumed Stockton suddenly. "They can fry in hell!"

"No, wait!" said Elliott. He pointed to a familiar figure that had come out of the shadows behind Ravano.

Holy Sam had emerged from the temple. Ravano's sister also appeared and rushed to her brother in tense excitement. When she spoke to him, he stiffened in alarm, then glared sullenly at the delegation. Sam also spoke briefly to him and he seemed to deliberate gravely.

Akala ran to Freddie and took her hand while speaking to her urgently in Talavat.

"There are signs of the Oracle!" Freddie announced. "We're allowed to enter the temple!"

When Elliott accepted the transcorder from Freddie, Lyshenko lowered his rifle disgustedly. "That's it! Let's get back to the base!"

As the two women hurried toward the temple entrance, Saussure chuckled derisively. "But why, Commander? Now is our chance to prove their abysmal ignorance!"

"Bishop!" challenged the swami. "You shall have that opportunity, but it is not by chance that you are here!"

Saussure pointed to him and shouted peremptorily as if he were commanding a papal army. "Seize the heretic! He is behind this work of Satan!"

The Bishop was met with surprised or disgruntled expressions. Nobody moved except Ravano. He spoke briefly to his guards who were murmuring among themselves because of the sudden revelation. When they stepped back to their original positions he bowed slightly to dismiss himself from the meeting. Then he walked to the dark tunnel entrance that gave access to the temple.

"Maybe that's not a bad idea, Swami," said Lyshenko. "Why shouldn't we take you back with us? You're a dangerous man. Because of you, men have defected, property has been destroyed, equipment and guns have been pilfered. And now I don't know what the devil you're up to here!"

The swami had been totally unaffected by all of this. He assumed the position Ravano had vacated between the flaming torches. His rotund, bearded figure seemed to loom before them bigger than life. When he spoke, his voice was full and vibrant.

"I stand here by virtue of two laws, one that you can not yet comprehend, and one which is your own." He indicated Saussure with a slight wave of his chubby hand. "Auguste Saussure is not here in accordance with either your book or mine. He was not transported across time and space to assume the holy vestment he desecrates. He was assigned, rather, as a presumed expert on comparative theology and primitive religions. He has failed abysmally to contribute anything other than his own invented dogmas, for purely political reasons."

"Do you hear him!" cried Saussure, imperiously indignant.

"Yeah, loud and clear," rumbled Bjornson, "if you'll shut your yap!"

The Skipper narrowed his eyes warily as he studied the swami. "You said you were here by my book. Just how do you figure that?"

Sam indicated Elliott. "You have my assigned superior there to judge what I say. Dr. Elliott heads the parapsychology unit. What were we sensitives commissioned to do on this expedition? However you may define it, sir, I am busy at my task. Furthermore, this is a most crucial moment for decisions affecting the total mission."

"Why, for God's sake?" Lyshenko insisted.

"The Star Quest itself," Sam answered. "What is the meaning of the Barrier Wall? Why do no ships return? What is the key to returning?"

"What does all that have to do with idiotic voodoo rites in a cave?" Poyntner demanded. "We're wasting time here!"

"Yes," said the swami, "we are wasting time, because a tremendous phenomenon is about to occur. I will express the situation succinctly." There was something so vastly authoritative in his voice that even Lyshenko was momentarily silenced. "Commander, you represent the law. As such you attempt to legislate solutions. Dr. Poyntner, you are the soul of a mechanistic, materialistic science. As such you attempt to invent solutions, whereas our misguided Bishop here attempts to dogmatize them. Valid solutions cannot be legislated, invented, or dogmatized. I have said that until you know what you don't know you are not ready to know, but now here is the opportunity for that knowing." He waved an arm toward the temple. "The Council members and Daniel Troy are invited to enter the temple of the Lahas."

"Why the hell should we?" Poyntner demanded.

The swami smiled. "You have one firm faith, my son. It is your faith in knowledge. I claim now that you are at the threshold of its source."

"You're a madman!"

Sam parted his hands and bowed slightly. "If what you are about to experience proves your contention, I shall be at your advantage." He then addressed Lyshenko. "Commander, you are a practical man–"

"You're damn right I am!" snapped the Skipper. "So get to the point!"

"You once made a statement which applies to the present moment. You said, 'Let's get it into the record, so we can use it or forget it!'"

"Commander," said Elliott, "I recommend that we check him out on this."

"Give me one good reason!"

Elliott's voice was as calm and gentle as ever. "I'll give you three, Alex. First, Sam is infallible when he is like this. He's in a heightened level of consciousness. Second, I sense that something of a highly critical nature is involved here, which may produce some answers. Third, I'll take the responsibility under my rights as a department chief. I don't think you need section and paragraph of Project regulations. You can rest assured we're going by the book."

Lyshenko took a deep breath and stared up at the swami, obviously mystified by his new personality. He looked around at his colleagues. "All right, let's get this over with!"

"I decline," said Saussure.

"You'll do as you're told! You just opened your yap to say we ought to go and prove something in that heathen hole. Now don't welsh out!"

"And if I refuse, Commander?" Poyntner met his stare solemnly.

"You'd be a bigoted ass, at least as a scientist! For God's sake, Al, if there's nothing there for us, at least that will settle something around here!"

When they finally went with Holy Sam to the temple of the Lahas, Danny had a feeling that Lyshenko couldn't take the risk of not going. If there were answers, any at all, concerning the key to returning across the Barrier, he would be violating his own book to refuse. The other men were too involved arguing the pros and cons of the Skipper's startling new policies "to be disgruntled about being excluded from the temple. The majority of them still regarded Sam as being spaced out.

His thoughts were haunted now by the swami's words on the jungle trail: "All I can tell you is that we are at a crucial point in the cosmic continuum. At such times, intervention is permitted." As he traversed the dark, descending tunnel toward the ancient inner sanctum he tried to deride his rising of awesome revelations to come. But there was no denying the cold sweat he felt on his hands and forehead.

THE FOURTH CYCLE

"Then came the Lahas through the gates of Maita-Yemus (the Sky Worlds), and there was war and fleeing when the Sun Death Struck. The Star of Prophecy was seen, and Maitluccan returned to his home. This was the Fourth Cycle."

–Stanza 85, Vol. 31 – The Lahayana

CHAPTER XVI

Like a golden Pythia of the Delphic Oracle, she sat in mystic trance on the trihedron stand above the spirit pit. She had been bathed in energized waters from volcanic geysers, anointed with incense oils, and had eaten of the padama-tama or vision root. Her slender torso was wrapped in the holy white-red wreathes of the vadya-khitam or virgin veil, and her long blond tresses were adorned with the symbolic three-petaled blossoms of the sacred atraya vine. Her marble white breasts were flower-tipped symbols of innocence yet somehow unveiling the sphinx-like mystery of the female hierophant within the shadowed portals of revelation.

Khyatri had chosen Lalille to be the voice of the Oracle. Holy Sam had foreseen this. As he told Danny before, she was an emerging type. The Krias had sensed this in her above the trained sensitivities of Akala, and the priestess of Ramor had wisely concurred.

The great temple cavern echoed to the mantra chants of the Krias and attending native disciples. Throughout the caves and across the outer slopes of the jungle, the sky voices of the maita-bhavas put out the call for devout concentration of Ravano's people. This was the high holy hour of na-thitasu when Ramor was to be heard.

"They are building a psychic cone of force," said Dr-Elliott in an awed whisper.

"Bullshit!" retorted Cyrus Stockton, not whispering at all.

"Jules, what kind of orgy are you getting us into?" complained Lyshenko, fidgeting uncomfortably. None of the star voyagers had ever seen the Lily thus undraped.

"It's a drug trip," sneered Poyntner derisively.

"Primitive sorcery of the most demonic kind!" commented the cowled Bishop, crossing himself sanctimoniously. "This should be stopped or we'll have to exorcise the poor girl!"

So it began, in heated controversy.

When Danny saw Freddie sitting apart from the Council members, looking girlish and lost without her glasses, he went over and sat down beside her on the low, polished obsidian bench. He took hold of her hand with obvious deliberation. She gave him that same wary fawn look that he had noted more than three years ago on the observation deck of the star ship.

She glanced quickly over his shoulder at the Council members. "They can see us!" she half-whispered.

"Who gives a damn?" He gazed upward at Lalille on her prophetess throne while giving her hand a firmer squeeze.

She returned the pressure. "Danny, thank God you're here! I'm lost! It all seems crazy, and yet–"

"It's the and yet part were waiting for, sweetie."

The long-hidden temple of the Lahas had been built into the largest cavern available. Above the Oracle center a wide, jagged vent in the basalt roof admitted both air and indirect daylight. The huge irregular chamber slanted steeply downward to an arena-like basin where the spirit pit was located. Ancient cyclopean stonework provided massive circular tiers which were interspersed with narrow stone stairs leading to higher natural batteries and tunnels. A number of low pedestal stones around the temple supported bowls containing burning oil. Their orange flames produced an eerie illumination that seemed to commune with the shadows Instead of dispersing them, as if light and darkness here were but two expressions of a single principle. The effect was subliminal, capable of tugging at the imagination and invoking psychic response, which was the intent. A pervading haze of incense and subtler odors, combining with the mantra ululations and wavering descant of the maita-bhava flutes, was enough to prepare all but the unregenerate for the coming of demigod or demon.

Facing the Oracle tripod was a long stone tier on which stood the shaman Krias and disciples led by the three-horned Khyatri and his priestess Akala, whose nearly nude body seemed to weave with the slowly dancing lights and shadows. Also there beside the long-haired seated figure of Ravano was Nolokov, standing tall and silent, staring in cabalistic concentration at the blond prophetess on her lofty tripod over the smouldering pit. Like a dark-eyed sorcerer, he appeared to be willing the nascent winds of the communal psyche into manifestation.

Sam, however, had remained purposefully with the Council group. Serenely impervious to their impatience and derision, he hovered over them like a good shepherd with a captive flock, anticipating storm and lightnings and prepared to keep them together for their own sake. When Danny caught this impression he also thought of wolves in sheep's clothing. Poyntner was still candidate number one, but the Bishop was running him a close second. Stockton was a jackal following the pack. And the Skipper? He was either brainwashed or a simple soldier, like himself, born out of his time.

To add to the mood of phenomenal emergence, a slight rolling tremor shook the temple and was accompanied by muffled rumblings. The mantras intensified, and King Ravano glared with new expectancy at the hierophant figure above, who gripped the arms of her throne instinctively. By now Lalille was half-entranced.

"I suppose that's another sign of the approaching Oracle," muttered Poyntner disgustedly.

"No," returned Sam quietly. "There are other signs, mostly psychic. Yet others you may soon see."

Stockton snickered. "Swami, you're conning the wrong crowd. We're scientists, not suckers!"

The swami smiled. "Then let us be scientists here and observe. All is science, there are no miracles. Even what men call magic obeys natural laws."

"That part's obvious enough!" retorted Poyntner. He indicated a Krias priest who had run forward to toss additional powders into the pit beneath the tripod. New billowings of bluish vapor rolled up spectacularly from the bubbling mud pot below. "Hallucinogenics. It's probably some alkaloid derivative like those root cuttings they fed their victim. Hyping the synapses is very scientific!"

"No more nor less than a telescope lens," said Sam. "A tool of perception."

"Except that the girl can end up like a frontal lobotomy case?" snapped Poyntner. "These are primitive witch doctors, not trained parapsychologists!"

"There's nothing new in the whole procedure," insisted Saussure pontifically. "These methods were used in classical antiquity – the Delphic oracle, Trophonius, Dodona, Latona. A whole mythology has been built up using these heathen methods, including talking to trees, rivers, and statues, or caves allegedly occupied by magical nymphs, dryads, or devils. Don't talk to me of science, Swami. What we have here is forbidden blasphemy!"

Sam retained his enigmatic smile. "Like the daemon of Socrates, or perhaps Solomon's witch of Endor in your scriptures who invoked the shade of Samuel?"

"Oh hell!" exclaimed Poyntner in pained exasperation. "Where is this getting us?"

"We take things too literally," suggested Elliott gently. "Symbols are powerful aids to conceptualization and imagery." He pointed to the tripod stand above the pit. "The Pythagorean triangles are there, standing for the past, present, and future vision of Apollo, or what eastern philosophy refers to as the Akashic Record. Sam and Noley call it the Memory of Nature. The three sides of the trihedron shape allude to superconscious, self-conscious and subconscious levels of perception. The position of the prophetess represents man's spiritual nature suspended over the abyss of oblivion."

"Otherwise known as the bondage of illusion," added Sam. "And there, gentlemen, is part of your Barrier Wall. Where is science actually? Are you mere mechanics, content only with your tools and labels? You speak learnedly of Earth antiquities and classical precedents but what you lose sight of is that this is not the Earth. If it is some parallel-universe equivalent of our world, we are millions of years earlier here than in the later days of Pythagoras or Apollo. How, then, do you explain the universality of these symbols? Where is the common denominator that binds these things across the stars in a common truth?"

"Human nature!" retorted Poyntner. He raised a warning finger. "Sam, let me cut you off right here, damn it, once and for all! The puerile attempts of primitive minds to rationalize wishful thinking have always led to the same anthropomorphic principles. Men have always molded their gods and heavens to fit their dreams and their little egos. Science can only look at reality!"

"You're right!" growled Lyshenko. "This is getting us nowhere!"

"But it will," said Sam with supreme confidence. "Otherwise I'd not have brought you here."

Danny whispered to Freddie, "You're the headshrink, honey. Do you think Sam has flipped?"

Freddie's wide amber eyes were fixed on Lalille's glassy-eyed face. "There's something here that's probing the primeval," she murmured. "Call it the universal unconscious. Whatever it is, it's heavy."

When another ground tremor rumbled through the cavern, he put his arm around her and she clung to him willingly.

"I don't mind telling you, Danny, I'm scared!"

"Then you've got company, baby."

While the cone of force continued to build within the increasingly sensitized chamber, Sam went on insistently, calmly overriding every vicious or desperate criticism with a growing entrapment of reason couched in their own language. He reminded them of his previous reference to a lost faculty, the Collective Consciousness of the race. In the dawn races of all humanities, this state was "intuitive," but through mental and psychic evolution the advanced humanities returned to it on a cognizant level. In all ages and in all worlds, advanced ones had achieved this through Art, which was happening here. Although the Krias caste lacked mechanistic knowledge and technology, they were advanced types mentally and psychically, through former guidance by the Great Ones or Lahas. Sam drew the Council's attention to the fact that the maita-bhava horns had sent out a call to thousands outside the temple. A primeval phenomenon unknown to empirical science was being demonstrated.

Also, he explained, this action created interlockings of various levels of consciousness. "Each level of perception may see this differently," he said swiftly. "These phenomena of higher cognition are often considered as dualistic. In primitive man, the dualism is seen as between himself and an external or tribal god. This is effectively as real to him as any other view, because pragmatically it works."

The Council members had begun to fall into longer silences, Danny noted. Either they were giving up the argument, resolved to merely wait out the ritual, or they were like himself and Freddie, caught up in a web of interwoven impressions and waking sensitivities. Temporal sequence began to be lost in the mix of sound and incense and dancing shadows. Sam's voice or his unspoken thoughts overlapped occasional protests from the Council, but a time-unreality crept in, having the effect of absorbing the group into a Now of shared impression.

Suddenly Frederica was tugging at him and pointing upward into the low-roofed natural galleries of the cavern. Furtive nymph forms with blind-eyed exotic faces – the Moals!

"It's a definite sign of the kryasakti effect," came Sam's voice into their consciousness. "The prehumans are at their cyclic crisis, responding to the final phases of their long symbiosis with the dawn race."

Danny tensed, looking for Jerry. Had he also responded to the Oracle call? He hadn't yet told Freddie that Jerry was alive, so while the spell of na-thitasu continued to intensify around them he quickly related to her the amazing essentials of Jerry's saga, including his faerie interlude with Buli. The shock of it left her momentarily speechless but her widened eyes threatened a torrent of questions. Before she could find her voice, however, there was an abrupt interruption.

"Nirusi'artha surd-ham na-klisyabhih kiytinatu!"

It was a cry from Khyatri, high priest of the Krias. His arms were raised to Lalille on the tripod.

"My God!" whispered Danny. "He's addressing the Oracle!"

The nonsequenced multiplane impressions swept them into a dimension of communal sight and hearing in which a woman's voice echoed in somber syllables, responding. And there came the questions of Khyatri, Akala and even Ravano. Would the fire gods wait? Must the orphaned Star Sons be helped in their battle? What was the meaning of evil omens that had been seen since the coming of Maitluccan?

"War walks the land," spoke the Oracle voice. The words were Talavat yet symbolic impressions accompanied them – seeming visions which were concepts rather than scenes. All present could grasp the universal meaning.

"But solution comes with the star of prophecy."

"Ramor! Ramor!" cried the priests, falling to their knees.

"At their own level," Sam's voice or thought impinged, "this is the external duality. To us, it is our own collective consciousness, but to them a god."

Suddenly, Danny saw the haunted face in the gallery. There among his nymphs and even a few of the red-haired dakshas was Jerry Fontaine, staring incredulously at Lalille. There wasn't time to wonder what his reactions might be at this moment.

"The sacred blind shall come to know illusion. For them it is a new time when they and men become one. The fire gods break forth in their wrath, and Maitluccan departs when the Sun Death strikes."

This said the Oracle, but in the midst of it was the Bishop's cowled figure, rising up to shout in righteous rage. "I defy you, demon!" he almost screamed. "Tell me who you are!" Like a bolt, a telepathic answer seemed to strike him – evidently for his mind only – and he staggered back, staring in speechless amazement.

"Let's get to hell out of here!" yelled Poyntner.

"Stay!" commanded Sam, this time fiercely. "The Oracle is for them, the innocents of a primeval world. It has brought prophecy, vital even to yourselves, but you fall to recognize it – that the star ship will depart, but that a Sun Death comes. Think of that and its meaning."

"To hell with it!" shouted Poyntner. "I've had enough!"

"What of your own oracle?" persisted Sam. "What of your own questions and the Star Quest itself? What is the key to returning?"

"That poor drugged girl can't tell us that!" shouted Poyntner.

"She has been but a catalyst here – a channel – but there are those who will tell you, in far more scientific terms than you are prepared for."

"I don't believe it!"

"Did you not hear the cosmo-tape of Frans Mabuse?"

"Yes! That I can understand. It's science!"

"Then you must admit that there are advanced intelligences among the stars."

"Of course! Now that I've heard the tape I can accept that on a strictly empirical basis, but not this!"

"Wait! If you now accept the existence of advanced intelligences, the next question is: how far advanced?" As Poyntner hesitated, Sam pushed the point farther. "On an infinite line of progress, where does modern humanity stand in terms of intelligence and other phases of evolution? Mathematically, in the eternal center. There is always progress beyond the illusory present state. Therefore, the intelligences referred to can be immeasurably beyond us, at least by comparison."

"That's theory. What's fact?"

Sam raised his brows slightly. "Fact? That they can communicate directly."

"Who the hell are they?"

"The Lahas themselves, the Great Ones of old. Their names on all worlds and among all infant humanities are legion, but now you shall see them."

"No more tricks, Sam!" rasped the Skipper hoarsely. He had begun to perspire. "I've got to get out of here!"

"Sir!"

All eyes turned to Danny. More of Sam's words had flashed through his mind. Was it theory that swept the star ship unaccountable light years through time and space? There is either knowing or not knowing.

"Sir, about the cosmoscope. Boozie told me that contacting somebody out there was like standing on a star and thumbing a ride. Maybe that's what we're doing right now. Take it from me as a Flight Staff Officer. Sam is onto something. I say we should see it through!"

Danny felt sudden new warmth in the secret pressure of Freddie's hand. Lyshenko's heavy brows lowered as he stared at him intently. For a fleeting moment, the hard Tatar features dropped an unsuspected mask like an open slot in armor plate. A hint of something flashed through. Was it loneliness, weariness, relief to find loyal support, or what? Poyntner snorted in disgust and turned to go, but the Skipper held his arm.

"Al, stay with me on this. We'll sweat it out..."

The time unreality still prevailed as if all events were simultaneous and without duration yet finding their proper extensions in multiplaned dimensions of perception. The volcanic tremors and rumblings were more frequent now, adding a sinister note to the highly charged atmosphere while the mantras rose in volume. During one sharp earth jolt, Cyrus Stockton broke from the group and ran to the tunnel exit. Lyshenko, Poyntner, Elliott and the Bishop remained.

Meanwhile, the Monk and Akala helped their dazed prophetess down the rungs of her mystical perch. Oblivious to her virginal dishabille, Lalille fell sobbing into Akala's arms and the priestess took her away, apparently to help her get back into her caftan. Nolokov came over and joined the swami. Auguste Saussure could only stare after Lalille in bewilderment, still trying to explain to himself the miracle of her cryptic reply.

"How long does this go on?" protested Poyntner.

"It's just getting started," said Nolokov almost viciously.

"You're going to get kicked off your marble slab!"

Sam admonished him severely. "Be silent, Marius, you've much to learn."

"I'm not your chela, Swami!" the Monk retorted darkly. "An end to this ignorance, I say!"

"Now is the end of your own delusion, my son. The sorcerer's path is yours and Alfred Poyntner's, enshrining lonely knowledge in a tower. In both of you the personality ray predominates. But now the egoic ray shall be augmented. Your metamorphosis begins."

There was a sudden outcry from Khyatri. Freddie gripped Danny's arm and pointed to a second tier above the Krias.

"Now!" said Sam triumphantly. "The Gate swings wide! The Watchers come!"

CHAPTER XVII

The Council members were suddenly on their feet and were staring incredulously at the miracle that had materialized on the second tier. Above in the gallery, the bearded face of Jerry Fontaine shone white in the new illumination. His transition, too, had arrived while he stared down at the incomprehensible.

Danny held Freddie tightly as they both regarded the multiple apparition speechlessly. Initially they were aware of three great globes of blinding white light, but finally they recognized humanoid silhouettes. The dazzling lights were emanating from where their heads should have been.

"What the hell!" muttered the Skipper defensively.

"Hypnosis!" shouted Poyntner in almost frantic condemnation.

"Silence!" retorted the Monk disdainfully.

To Danny the three lights appeared to explode, filling the cavern and enveloping everyone as if time and space had imploded into the eternal Now. He experienced a strobed flickering of repeated visual memory, the strange dreams and symboled imagery of those last months of approach to the primitive world. Here was their source, as if all of them had been glimpsing these lightnings of revelation through widening lattices in an ever-present structure of time. Old references ceased to exist as his mind was caught up in a painfully brilliant dimension of multiphased impressions, now small and lost in star-strewn immensities, now macrocosmic, embracing the endless gulfs in giantesque presence, intimately close to his companions yet face to face with vast, alien countenances whose shape and form drifted from many to one and back again. Voices rang titanically and intermingled while he heard Freddie cry out and he felt the racing of her heart next to his own.

The alien words were thought forms as well, and they spoke on different levels of consciousness. Eerily, Danny had a multiple sensation of walking in different worlds, of seeing separate realities from varying perspectives simultaneously. In the primeval world of Ravano, he moved through Eden glades in the presence of immortal beings. In Ravano's perception, he saw it as a holy miracle, a descent of the tribal god and communion with his own primordial race.

"Know thou, priest king, that thy time of going forth with thy people has come, and the land of Lankara shall know the death of fire. But before that hour there shall be a test of heart in which you stand alone at a mighty crossroad. Look well to the signs of prophecy."

To the rest of them the message was either in English or in language known to the universal unconscious. Or was Holy Sam more than he pretended to be, boosting their group perceptions to a level where they could understand? Sometimes it seemed that Sam was interpreting. At other times an alien face was seen – greenish blue with flaming yellow eyes, or golden bronze with the brow of a demigod, or dark-scaled and brooding in ageless giant wisdom born of the stars.

Concept fell upon concept, inundating the mind with a flood of meaning that could only be intuitively dredged from the subconsciousness back in time's illusion. Somewhere in the midst of the mental maelstrom came the final bolt as Poyntner shouted or almost screamed in his rage and desperation, damning Sam and swearing again and again that he would not be hypnotized.

Then came the gold-bronzed demigod with his broad brow and metallically gleaming blond hair and strong compassionate smile. "Ah, the mechanistic empiricist who holds the world keys to evaluation – evolved in mind and technology but blinded by rationalizations! Did you not say that men have always molded their gods and their heavens to fit their dreams and their little egos? Your own age of science does no less."

"Words! Words!" shouted Poyntner, streaming sweat. "This is hallucination!"

The great one's compassionate smile faded. "It is cosmic irony that the most brilliant among you should expend your genius attempting to reach the stars when your greatest and least explored horizons lie closest at hand, within yourselves." Poyntner was still on his feet, challenging the entire phenomenon in red-faced disdain. "Don't give me philosophy give me facts!" he shouted. "Look! If I'm talking to God, then let's have some answers to the greatest questions of science! That's the only logical test of this ridiculous charade!"

"In the great cloud of knowable things," said the great one patiently, "if the question is known, the answer will come."

"What the hell!" Poyntner retorted furiously. "That's just a fancy dodge around the main issue! What I want to know–"

"We know your questions," the great one interrupted.

This caused Poyntner to pause in critical expectation for the moment. Saussure's almost glassy-eyed stare was fixed on him. Lyshenko seemed to be caught in a Limbo of tight-lipped indecision. Frederica gripped Danny's arm in white-knuckled intensity while the apocalyptic-seeming debate continued, as Danny thought, between materialistic atheism – and what?

"But you are not addressing the same entity Who spoke through the Oracle," the great one continued. "We are but an advanced state in the ever-evolving kingdoms of Nature. As to your questions – when it is time to know, it will be known." As Poyntner began to tense up in new indignation, the being added, "However, your science's time of knowing is near – so much so that you and your colleagues are already staring at the answers, lacking only a final interpretation."

"Very impressive!" commented Poyntner stubbornly. "Scientifically speaking, you have told me nothing!"

As in Saussure's case, a sudden message seemed to strike Poyntner's mind like a lightning bolt. But instead of resulting in glaze-eyed stupefaction, it seemed that he was left speechless only because the concept delivered was beyond words.

"Now I will give you the secret of the Barrier Wall," the being continued, "and listen well, for this message you shall bring to your scientific peers on that one Earth you know of. Behold!"

There followed a mind-exploding multi-dimensioned vision of galactic generation, giant radio galaxies condensing to the point of emergence into light out of darkness and void.

"The cyclic creation of universes alternates in cosmic pulsation between involution and evolution, first densifying and then expanding. In your own terms the pattern is an endless sine wave that complies with your own concept of electromagnetic phenomena. Your ancient wise perceived this as 'the breathing in and out of God.' In actuality it is a process of density oscillation, as in a diastole and systole cycle, thus revealing in the Macrocosmic sense the concept of a heartbeat of the Cosmos."

The vision revealed a densified universe that began to expand.

"Thence came your Big Bang concept of an exploding universe. As you regard your red-shift phenomena you are again single-planed in your rationalizations, dogmatizing a constant for the speed of light through varying media and vast gravitic fields. But more than this you conceive of only one state of density for the medium in which it moves. I will tell you this: your so-called Hubble constant is but a measurement of the grand evolutionary arc as the attenuations increase.

"What is more important is the attenuation and densification cycles of life itself. This dawn world of a parallel universe where you now find yourself has also passed the nadir point of density, and for this reason you have found radioactive ores. But that is only in mineral and plant kingdoms. There is a type of inertia involved, however, where the higher animal, prehuman and human kingdoms are concerned. They are still in the involutionary cycle. Here in the relative beginning of time these innocents still move downward into their densities of both body and mind, which is the same as the so-called 'Fall' of man. They move toward an earth-centered, self-conscious state which will bind them in a bondage of illusion. The faculty of the Collective Consciousness is fading, whereas on your own Earth you are emerging from these densities back to a level of attenuation where the great Collective Consciousness returns. Signs of this transition are seen in the mutational awakening of the 'lost faculties', such parapsychic manifestations as telepathy and telekinesis and other psi phenomena.

"Whereas with the dawn children their collective consciousness has been intuitive, yours becomes cognizant and dynamically usable. This is the key to the Barrier Wall."

The vision changed suddenly to the scene of a vast dark plain on which stood a pyramid, unfinished at the top. It was the same prevision Freddie had experienced on board the star ship.

"The universal mathematical symbol of the pyramid appears to be incomplete. Actually that completion is achieved when all sides, all dualities and pluralistic conceptions, converge in a single eye at the top."

A gleaming and seemingly living eye floated now over the flattened top of the pyramid. It gradually grew brighter until it was as brilliant as a nova, all-engulfing.

"Collectively, man is his own star. Now know this: No mechanical vehicle, nothing out of the deeper densities, can ever reach the physical stars in its own time-space continuum. This is nature's barrier to prevent untimely crossings of cultures and states of attenuation. Unrealized man is the constant contaminant. The key to the stellar community is Mind, the Collective Consciousness. When this is fully achieved, the energy nature of matter yields to the control of Universal Intelligence. There is no time or space in the true perception. This is the meaning of the Gate through which we have come."

The pyramid star faded, and all the mingled faces were back. But soon they resolved themselves into individual countenances. The gold-bronze demigod receded swiftly to his humanoid shadow form on the upper tier. "Bridging the illusory gulfs between worlds and universes is but an alteration of frequencies, a changing of energy levels. In the cosmic brotherhood of universal man, these doors are always used, and thus the Barrier is dissolved between us."

He faded in a glowing mist and was gone.

Now the greenish blue one spoke. "You have come here in the illusion of being kindred but you are in various stages of evolution. Many of you will return to your world because of what you have learned. Others will remain as Servers, to be guides to an infant humanity because of what you have become."

Now the dark-scaled and brooding one spoke in somber tones. "Yet others shall not survive. They shall be found in the dwelling places of evil and go no more out." The dark one also receded then and vanished through the "Gate."

The blue-green face receded to its shadow form and the head gleamed like a star as before. "Go then, back to your Earth, those who are chosen to go. A cyclic law will soon bring a fire of destruction here. Your ship will be gated through the Barrier, and thus shall other star ships traverse it in their return, once the travelers know at last what they sought. Men reach for the stars in search of that which they dare not name. And once they know, the name is forever nameless. But instead of legislating, inventing or dogmatizing solutions, the Answer is that they become the solution. The pyramid is then complete. Go, Earthmen, before it is too late!"

There was a heavy earth tremor and a deeply ominous rumbling, but now Sam's voice held them as the third Laha vanished.

"So the answer is to be a solution, thus ending the long illusion of duality. The old dispensation of atonement becomes the Collective Consciousness state of atonement."

"My God!" exclaimed Saussure.

"Precisely, my son."

The earth rose and twisted then as the main earthquake struck. Slabs of rock fell from the ceiling. There were shouts and screams. Danny held firmly to Freddie's slim waist and pulled her with him. A nightmare of survival ensued while the world went mad. Somehow the exit tunnel held together long enough for them to stumble up its twisting and gyrating slope in the midst of cosmic thunder. Still others must have found their way out by other routes before most of the caverns collapsed.

CHAPTER XVIII

Their running and stumbling figures were antlike as they scattered down the swaying red-rock slope, instinctively seeking the imagined haven of the forest. The earth thundered beneath their feet while the sky darkened with spreading smoke clouds, dull red in a flow of volcanic fire. As they staggered across the arena they were but vaguely aware that something was missing there.

"Stockton took off in the air car!"

This was the first insurgent report when the earthquake stopped. Billy Vinet found them trying to collect themselves – Danny, Freddie, Lyshenko and Poyntner along with Elliott who had rescued the Skipper's precious transcorder. Henshaw and Bjornson joined them in the dense fern glade where they were picking themselves up and catching their breaths.

"We shot him down," said the Axe, scratched and sweating from his exertions. In his brawny arms was one of the heavier guns from the armored rover.

The general consensus was that Cyrus Stockton might be a secessionist spy since he had departed before the earthquake and left the rest of the Council delegation stranded. The Skipper conceded that downing him was perhaps justified.

"The car can't be too far away," added Henshaw.

"Then we'd better get to it," suggested Danny. "Jules will need the med-kit."

Elliott had been hit by failing debris in the cavern. One side of his face was a mass of blood.

"Where is everybody else?" asked Lyshenko. There was a strange, quick brittleness in his voice.

Kenny Makart and Kerby Zellon had just arrived.

"Can't you hear those horns?" grunted Zellon, gaunt and pale under his battered hat. "The Tallies are tooting a rally call. I think Ravano's decided to head for the ships."

Makart said he had seen Noley and Lalille with Akala and some of the Krias. They were being escorted by a mounted lancer detail, probably going to join the king's party somewhere in the forest. He presumed that was where Sam had gone.

"The Bishop didn't go with them," snickered Zellon. "We saw him holding up those monk skirts of his and running off into the woods like the devil was on his tail!"

"The others are safe at least," commented Poyntner.

Danny thought fleetingly of Jerry Fontaine but trusted the seventh sense of his furtive nymphs and satyrs to have warned him in time to escape from the temple.

"Where are the other insurgents?" Lyshenko demanded of Bjornson. When he was informed they were combing the ridge for survivors, he insisted that Ravano had to be contacted.

"We still have to conclude this conference, now more than ever! I have a new compromise for him."

Vinet and Zellon agreed to take the message. Makart, Henshaw and Bjornson would go with Lyshenko's group in search of the air car, which might be repairable.

"You'll need some weapons," said Vinet. "We've stashed some away that we salvaged when everybody lit out from the caves."

Four of the insurgents went after the extra guns, leaving Bjornson behind. Elliott was growing weaker from dizziness and loss of blood. Danny made him lie down while Freddie produced a dainty headscarf and sought to stanch the bleeding.

It was only then that some of the reactions from the temple experience began to set in. There was no verbal mention of the Laha emergence at first, but there was a change in mannerisms and attitudes. Freddie's face was flushed with an inner intensity and her hands shook visibly, while Danny felt his eyeballs had changed, limning every detail in an incredible glow of new reality. When he recalled the shining Great Ones and saw their faces again, Boozie's cosmotape spun in his head, bringing him the far voices and music of people and worlds without end. It was a shock state of mental euphoria, too much to grasp in a lifetime.

Poyntner had demonstrated that he could not be the long-suspected mastermind behind the secessionist plot. His mouth was grimly set as his steely array eyes studied everyone present, his scientific mind apparently racing to readjust his models of life and the universe.

"What's your compromise to Ravano, Alex?" he asked suddenly. "I think I can guess."

"An interface agreement," answered Lyshenko in an oddly metallic tone. "The colony's in for the long term here. We'll have to have peace. Because the ship goes!"

Freddie paused, darting a worried, searching glance at Danny,

"You mean hiber?"

"That's right! I don't know what the hell a 'Sun Death' is, but I'm taking that warning we heard in the cave. Our time has run out!"

Poyntner played no roles, neither of skepticism nor of scientific superiority. "That earthquake was fairly normal, considering the local geology. I still tend to stick to our tectonic surveys. There shouldn't be any major seismic cataclysms." He smiled without humor and shrugged. "At least as far as we know. I'll admit a visitation like we've just witnessed can override whatever we think we're sure of. I'll say this: Earth has got to know what we've learned here. Those intelligences said we'd be gated through the Barrier when we go back. At this point I wouldn't deny any possibility."

"We're making the hiber trip," Lyshenko decided. "That means that the colony–"

"That means," interrupted Bjornson, "that you're going to have to fight the secessionists to do it."

"None are left!" retorted the Skipper. "Alonso was the madman among us but he's in custody. Stockton is either dead or at our disposal, if he was involved in the first place."

"You're forgetting Pike," persisted the Axe stubbornly.

"I am in charge!" shouted Lyshenko. An unwonted glitter of almost frantic defiance shone in his narrowed eyes. His stocky frame stiffened with urgent militancy. "We are back to Flight Command now. Forget the Project! Major Pike is still first officer. He'll do what he's told and he'll be part of the six-man crew. There'll be myself, Pike, Troy, Mabuse, Gogarty, and either Bruno or Hapgood."

Poyntner caught Frederica's sudden reaction as she gripped Danny's wrist tightly. "Alex," he said, "I want to be on board. The scientific message is too tremendous to be merely reported. I want to deliver this cosmic discovery to Earth myself. We won't forget the Project, my friend, and that's by the book!" While the Skipper stared at him he added mildly, "Which would relieve Captain Troy to represent you on the Colonial Council. I think you understand what I mean."

Freddie looked up, startled, searching their faces incredulously.

Poyntner smiled knowingly. "Danny and Freddie and Lalille should be able to give our poor Tallullah moral support, now that her marriage to the Duke has been dissolved."

The Skipper studied Danny and Freddie for a long moment. "I see you have a point," he said finally. "I can also use your corroboration of what we've been through here in the temple – although how the hell it's all going to be explained is certainly beyond me! All right then, that's decided. Dan'll stay with the colony."

When Danny looked into Freddie's widened, hopeful eyes, a bolt of realization struck him. He and this woman together, the Earth dreams transplanted to Eden, after all. He knew she saw his answer, and her lips trembled. They were interrupted by the return of the other men with the weapons.

* * * *

Their chance came later.

Vinet and Zellon had gone to find Ravano and bring him Lyshenko's message. Henshaw, Makart and Bjornson led the way toward the fallen air car. They took turns carrying Elliott on their backs.

"The north trail should take us close to it," the Swede advised. "Maybe a mile or so."

Finally, Danny and Freddie were able to drop behind the others on the winding, gently sloping trail. It was late afternoon, and the sun's slanting rays shafted through the upper terraces of the towering forest, briefly dispersing the reddish gloom of the drifting volcanic clouds. They walked in a word-searching silence, their hands clasped painfully together. It was a pain of gladness, as welcome as shining tears. The glow of wonder that touched their world with magic was due to more than love's realization. Both of them knew they'd never be the same after the temple experience. This was metamorphosis, as Holy Sam had described it. To positively know that no one was alone anymore, that womb-to-tomb futility was an illusion and that the cosmos was eternally and vibrantly alive with collective consciousness and purpose – this was a soaring new perspective that made each twig or leaf a priceless wonder and electrified the meaning of even a breath of air. It was too much for human instinct. They held onto each other, blinded by a vision, fearing that they would awake from a far too fragile dream.

They came to a small grassy clearing in a fern dell by a cascading stream and stopped. Above them they heard the chuckling of furry khaitabus and the rustling flutter of tropical birds. In a far place the high, echoing wail of the maita-bhava flutes was faintly audible.

She turned to him in her trim blue jumper and dainty half-boots. Her face was alight. She was suddenly small and girlish and no shield at all was between them. As he studied her wonderingly she touched her chignon and the last of its fastenings gave way. Her dark hair fell abundantly across her shoulders and she shook it loosely around her in a consciously female gesture.

He smiled faintly at her. There still were no words. Then she was in his arms. The hard years of loneliness and hopeless uncertainty, between now and that moment on the star ship when he had kissed her and known what he wanted, all that and the denial of waiting was gone, along with the package they had imported across the stars. Her crying and the trembling of her mouth against his was for the release from past uncertainty, the sudden discovery of hope and new beginning.

Somewhere in timeless ecstasy an ominous sound broke the spell. Danny looked up from her love-swollen lips, then leapt to his feet. She turned in the deep grass to stare at a nightmare. She jumped up with a scream. He snatched up his gun. "Freeze!" he told her, and she froze.

Both of them had the same thought. Was the dream to end where it started?

The fourteen-foot scarlet-faced Rak stood only ten yards away, hugely powerful, naked except for a ragged fur loincloth. The single gleaming red orb in its forehead was focused intently on Freddie. From its throat came a low, rumbling growl. The stained incisors were bared in a snarling grimace. The long troglodyte arms ended in murderously taloned hands.

Through Danny's mind raced the same tales of horror he knew Freddie must be recalling now – how these Titan beastmen went on rogue forays of their own when in the heat of must, stealing women and fatally raping them in their cavern lairs, if they didn't cannibalize their victims instead. His trigger finger tightened. Only a cutting hall of lead could stop the beast if it charged. But could it be stopped before those heavy talons reached the girl?

"Slowly," he whispered to her. "Get behind me."

As she compiled, the monster growled more menacingly and took a step forward.

"Oh God, Danny!" she whispered back. "It's going to attack!"

At that moment, however, other whisperings emerged from the forest around them, a trill of voiced nature sounds and musical twittering. The giant creature tensed but seemed to lose some of its belligerence. Then it took a step back as a strange figure appeared in front of it, accompanied by a grunting red-haired satyr.

Jerry Fontaine, deeply tanned and lithe on his hard-muscled legs, held his obsidian-tipped spear within ten feet of the cyclops beast. His blond hair was down to his powerful shoulders and his curly beard half-covered his chest.

"Jerry!" called Danny. "Watch out!" He started to move toward him to give him support with his weapon, but Jerry waved him back urgently.

"Jerry?" whispered Freddie, astounded at this living proof of Danny's incredible story.

"Stay back," Jerry warned, "and don't shoot. You'd only enrage him. This takes a palaver."

Palaver? Danny exchanged glances with Freddie. Was it possible to communicate with these things?

What followed, especially for Freddie, was a fantasy beyond the veils of dreaming, here on the anywhere world in some mythical eon lost to racial memory. In an Elysian forest glade, a cyclops giant surrounded by enchanted pygmy creatures – the blond hermit figure with his satyrs and nymphs. To the sound of a mixed language of chirruping fairy woodnotes and latrant gnomish chatter, the Moals and dakshas slowly emerged into the twilight clearing to cast their forgotten spell.

A red haze of twilight had touched the glade with a mystique of hushed remoteness like a veil that secluded them from all other worlds. The giant had gone, impelled by what Jerry could only partly explain. She had never seen the Moals before, having only heard incredible descriptions of them. Relieved of the threat of the Rak and overjoyed by Jerry's unexpected resurrection, she had gathered up her new dream with renewed fervor and gone into ecstasies over his little people, as she called his mysterious retinue.

Jerry had been trying to lure the Moals back to human haunts, knowing that they would have to mingle closely at least with the Tallies to make the crossing in Ravano's ships. Those who had recently opened their eyes, though more helpless and lost than their inwardly sighted companions, were the most receptive to humans because they could see them physically. One young Moal girl had taken to Freddie like a child to an adopted mother. In a strange transport of sympathy and compassion, Freddie had cried for the innocent helplessness of the between children of nature. She had held the fay, delicate creature and petted her, kissing her exotic dryad face and stroking her gossamer hair. Other Moals sat around them in the flowered meadow among happily gibbering dakshas. Some of them were outwardly blind yet linked en rapport with their changeling companions.

Danny had gotten to scratch Red's satyr-like ears in the meantime. This was the same dog-faced creature who had ridden the chaitla and rescued Jerry from his cage. Since then he had been a constant Man Friday in Jerry's wilderness seclusion. As to immediate plans, Jerry expressed a mood of secret urgency, impelled by a presentiment of cataclysm. The temple experience had crystallized his isolationism, at least where the colony was concerned.

"Others will remain as Servers," he quoted the Lahas. "That's my only route now. The Sirius III will go someday. You'll all be going back. The Moals and the dakshas are like an adopted family. I'll get them across to the mainland with the Tallies and take it from there. That will be my bag, I guess, like another incarnation."

Before Danny could interrupt, he went into the Rak situation. "Something's stirring with them, too," he explained. "They have a kind of extra sense, although they've always picked up their main signals from the Moals, until we arrived and broke up the collective network. It was a two-way symbiosis in the old days. The Moals were their instinctive eye and they were the outer eye, and also their protectors. In fact the Raks were at one time the guardians of the temple at Terra Nova in the days of the Lahas. Recently they've been at nervous loose ends, tending to go on solo forays unguided by anything but the basic urges of hunger and lust. That's why they're becoming so dangerous and hard to control."

He revealed that he was the one who had kept the Raks from making more frequent attacks on the base camp. The scarlet-faced giant was known to Jerry as Ughur, the chief of the dwindling cyclops pack. Through the Moals and dakshas, a bridge of communication had been maintained, chiefly because the Raks themselves were instinctively confused and had a need to satisfy their curiosity. They saw the Dragon Sons of Maitluccan as defilers of the god place they had always guarded. They sensed that their strange loss of orientation and their restless wanderings and awareness of disaster were all the result of this devil spell that had fallen upon the great temple. The rising fires from the volcanoes were a constant warning to them. The angry rumblings of the earth were the voices of the mountain gods, urging them to drive the Dragon Sons from the medicine house of the Great Ones. Jerry had been able to convey to Ughur that the presence of Maitluccan was a part of the Great Ones' plan, and that soon the Dragon Sons would be gone.

"They're dimly aware of something heavy hanging over their heads. It's almost as if they were waiting for their own oracular sign. They're restless as hell and I don't blame them. The Raks don't know it but this is the end of the line for them. It's like the doom of the dinosaurs. The ship and the colony will go. The Tallies will emigrate, and I'm taking the Moals and the daks along with me. When this big island goes down in flames in a flood of lava, they'll go with it. They may not have the whole picture, but I know they keep looking at Terra Nova as the source of their trouble."

Danny cut him off. "Jerry, there's something you should know."

He and Freddie both explained Lyshenko's latest policy and decision. That the colony was going to interface with Ravano's people was a new concept for him, but he disagreed that war might be averted. He insisted he had this warning from the Moals themselves.

"Maybe you over-imagine the crystal-balling your nymphies do," countered Danny.

"You heard the Oracle!" Jerry countered almost heatedly. "War walks the land. No. I've got to get to Ravano myself. It's getting late. You'd better join the others."

"Speaking of that Oracle," said Freddie, "haven't you forgotten something, Jerry?" She had been poignantly aware of the exquisite innocence and beauty of the Moal girl she'd been petting. Mindful of what Danny had told her, the tragic fate of Buli had moved her visibly, but her concern was chiefly for Jerry, She had been studying him with an increasing pensiveness as they talked. Finally, she brought up the subject that was foremost in her thoughts. "Lalille would be happy to know you're alive, Jerry." She soberly watched his reaction, the while she was aware of Danny's knowing glance. He had evidently been working up to the same idea.

The fawnlike expression in Jerry's soft-brown eyes changed suddenly. A shadow crossed the elfin hermit's mask. For a brief moment, a flash of painful reality stabbed through to the outer world. Then it was gone, forced away into a secret crypt of sorrowful memory.

"She wouldn't be happy at all," he answered abruptly and got to his feet. "Let's just keep it the way it is."

"But she's staying!" argued Danny.

The Moals had reacted. The young nymph girl ran from Freddie, twittering anxiously. The daksha called Red began to mutter nervously and to tug at Jerry's hand. Some of the blind Moals were already darting into the forest.

"They're telling me it's late. I have to go."

"Jerry," Danny persisted, "we're all staying, except for the hiber crew." He grinned ruefully. "If I had my druthers I'd choose the Earth for me and Freddie. There's just as much to do even there. But since we're all going to be Servers here, let's do it right. You owe it to Lalille."

Jerry's face hardened in unaccustomed anger. "I owe it to Lalille to stay to hell out of her life!"

"Bull! Where'd you get that idea?"

The pain-filled eyes sought them both. His mouth trembled from an inner conflict. "You heard the Lahas. Unrealized Man is the eternal contaminant! That's me. I'm a jinx, damn it! I'll keep things the way they are!"

When he turned to go, Freddie grasped his arm. "Jerry now you just wait a minute!" He stared at her, startled by the sudden firmness of her voice. "You damned fool, we love you! And so does Lalille!" He tried to pull away but she grasped both of his hands. "You come here and sit down, young man. There's something you've got to know about yourself!"

"Now look, Freddie, this is no time for a shrink session!"

"It's exactly the time," she insisted, "before you foul up your life for good!"

Danny moved in and helped to coax him back, gently forcing him to sit down. Freddie continued swiftly as she sat down to face him.

"You star jocks are so chauvinistic you forget a girl's professional shingle when she has one," she told him swiftly. "That story of Buli gave me a clue. I can't go into your babyhood – we'd need a couple of years." Again, Jerry moved to escape, but he sat down heavily when she added, "However, we can start with that time in sick bay, remember? The day you were practically bawling in my arms over the death of Fritters."

His eyes widened fearfully and he grimaced in desperation. "I don't want to hear it!"

"Great!" said Freddie. "That means you've got to. Danny, bat him over the head if he moves. This is a vital operation. It's been coming on ever since I made my graphs of the monitor tapes. I think I've got the clue to what makes Jerry run."

Danny could have loved her all over again. She came on like a chesty, aggressive sister to Jerry, deftly forcing her strength and persuasion on him, clinically opening his psyche to his own view – "like an onion", she said, "layer by layer."

Guilt was the basis of her attack. Maybe Jerry had fallen into a guilt pattern like many people, due to some infantile or childhood experience. There wasn't time to go into it but what usually happened was an intra-psychic struggle that put up obstacles to conscious knowing. Perhaps it was some such repression that had made him volunteer for the star trip. Then came Fritters' tragic death, and Jerry had blamed himself for that, as well as the death of Holberg later.

Danny wondered how all this tied to Lalille, but he quickly developed a new appreciation of psychiatry as Freddie went on, lancing into Jerry's secret wounds like a surgeon.

"You believed these things about yourself. You really felt you were a contaminant or a Jinx. But that got tangled up with your real nature. You're a deep type, Jerry, intuitive and sympathetic, but conscientious as hell."

A memory flash brought back Sam's words to Danny. "It could be a form of self-rejection. Ironical, since he doesn't see his own hidden strength." More than this he recalled the Lily's astrological comments on Jerry. "Cancer and moon resourceful, creative, protective, intuitive understanding, human sympathy and conscientiousness, wants peace and harmony above all. As for Scorpio rising: secret tenacity and aloofness. His buried star is Mars, God of war, defender of the innocent, scourge of evil."

As if to corroborate this, Freddie was saying: "That makes you a Galahad, a shining knight in armor, in fact, a thick-headed purist! Now I'm talking about sex, sweetie, and if you start sweating, just let it roll. We're getting down to basics."

Jerry got up in spite of her. "Stop it!" he yelled. "That's none of your business!" His powerful fist gripped his spear threateningly.

"Oh, isn't it? You're our business, passionate brother. You've got to hear it out!"

Jerry tensed but suddenly realized he couldn't harm the two of them. They had him then. He broke into sweat when Danny sat him down again. Soon he was listening, openmouthed, with tears in his eyes.

"You took a few more trips to the Pit after that," Freddie continued. "Your libido went all to hell. I'll tell you exactly why. The sex object becomes the thing you have to defend. Of all sex objects, Lalille is the ineffable sanctum sanctorum! I think you tried just once that night on the temple terrace, but when that blew up in your face, you had had it. The cage was the last straw, a transition point. You were so tortured by the pain or anguish you thought you had caused Lalille that you went into a second stage of suppression. That, my sweet, is technically known as surrogation. You hate violence, you love beauty and innocence and freedom and peace, the orchid bit and all that. So as the great conscientious protector, you punish yourself! This whole unbalanced hermit seclusion of yours is nothing but a negative sexual syndrome. It symbolizes withdrawal from the adored object of love. Hiding away from the world becomes a compulsion neurosis.

"Why were you able to get Buli pregnant? I'll tell you. In your mind she wasn't real. She was a fantasy surrogate for Lalille, someone who couldn't be hurt because you were both in fantasyland. That, my libidinous friend, is known as wish fulfillment!"

Jerry struggled up again, visibly shaken and gleaming with sweat. "I can't! I can't!" he pleaded piteously. "Please, don't say anymore!"

"Just one thing, Jerry. You really are a frigging Galahad. You're stronger than you think, and you're needed. Sure, these darling little people deserve your protection and strength, but so does Lalille!"

He turned but she stopped him almost angrily. "For God's sake, Jerry, quit shielding your soul! Go do something dirty! Face up to the ugly side of the world and know how really clean you are! In the dwelling places of evil you are not!"

He paused to stare at her as if entranced.

The spell was broken by his fairie retinue. Their twittering and chatter increased excitedly as they fled into the forest, alerted by something the humans hadn't yet sensed.

Suddenly, Kenny Makart came running breathlessly into the clearing. "Hey, Danny, where've you been? We've found something! Stockton had the air car rigged with a tracer. Do you know what that means?" He failed to see Jerry for the simple reason that he had vanished along with his little people.

There was no time for conversation because the next thing they heard was the roar of engines overhead. The scoutship was there, drifting and shifting about like an angry hornet. The bullhorn boomed out over the jungle.

"Attention, all members of the mission Attention – all Earthmen and natives who hear this! This is Marshal Pike speaking! In the name of His Majesty, King Alonso the First, the monarchy of Terra Nova hereby declares a state of war! This war is aimed at the enemies of the kingdom – that is, the Talavat Nation and all insurgents and traitors of the realm. Attention. Your only choice is unconditional surrender!"

The bulky convertiplane drifted slowly onward, and the brutal announcement was translated, probably by a Talavat slave. The native version called out to Ravano to recognize Alonso as his king. There was no time to talk because explosions were heard, followed by a widespread rattle of guns.

"Gas bombs!" yelled Danny.

"They're attacking by land, too!" shouted Makart, already on the run.

Danny grabbed Freddie. "Come on! Let's get to the air car!"

Freddie ran with him down the north trail as they followed Makart. The forest stillness was shattered by the sounds of bomb explosions, machine and single-shot rifle fire, and the war cries of Earthmen, Golaks and Tallies alike. Apparently Ravano's Krias had forewarned him of this even before the Oracle. The woods were teeming with hundreds of charging lancers. Bjornson and Henshaw had been right. The Skipper had underestimated the Duke and the Pike. It was too late now. The die was cast.

Danny thought bitterly of himself and Freddie and their idyll together. Their dreams had lasted a fragile moment. Man the contaminant had entered Paradise, and war walked the land.

CHAPTER XIX

"The Skipper's been hit!"

Burt Henshaw's shouted announcement was almost lost in the strident sound of the running battle that had exploded around them. Yet for Danny it was like a sudden wound, seemingly flesh deep but subtly gnawing at vitals. As he clutched Freddie's hand and plunged through dark green foliage after Makart's darting figure, he sensed the fatality of those words. They affected the hand he was holding. Irretrievability, the shattering dream, a parting forever.

She didn't see it at first, being only conscious of his firm grip and the need for shelter. A ragged clatter of machine fire had preceded them, indicating a concentration of combat around the fallen air car. Many of the insurgents had arrived with heavy weapons to counter the land attack, and the lancers had come in countless numbers, driving the enemy back. Silvery wisps of nerve gas were drifting ominously through the branches overhead, and the immediate need was to seek refuge inside the aircraft itself. She was distracted, too, by Stockton's staring eyes. She had to step over his corpse and duck around the Talavat spear shaft that was implanted in his chest.

Inside the air car was another confusion. There was an overcrowding of sweating, bearded and bronzed insurgents, all of them trying to center on Lyshenko who was babbling insanely.

"Crisis call, mode one!" shouted the wounded Skipper. "All officers and crew to stations! P.Q., take an entry! This is war!"

He was blinded by the blood welling from a crash across his brow. His yellow uniform was also turning crimson as other bullet wounds in his chest slowly spilled out his life. Freddie took over the duties of medic and helped strip off his jacket.

"He's going fast!" said Poyntner worriedly.

Lyshenko's mind cleared momentarily after Freddie managed to stanch the bleeding and give him an energizing hypo. He recognized Danny's supporting hand and grasped it.

"Captain Troy – you're first in command!" he rasped out urgently. "Where's the transcorder?" When they argued with him, trying to get him to relax, he struggled up against restraining hands, still powerful in spite of his waning condition.

"No time for this!" he protested stubbornly. "I am the law! Give me my transcorder!"

Weak as Elliott was, he gave him the instrument, and Lyshenko clutched it to him in feverish desperation. "Log entry," he started to say, but he was interrupted. Danny's transceiver was buzzing wildly.

Boozie's voice was far away, but at maximum volume. The words came through a crackle of static. The Skipper grasped Danny's wrist to listen. Boozie was speaking to them from outer space.

"We had to grab the shuttle," he reported swiftly. "It seems Alonso wants to block any experiments with the cosmoscope – and that's not all, baby. His Majesty has flipped his royal wig. I think he's out to pull a historical precedent, the Cortez bit. The life-pod's in danger. If any of you can get through the battle lines, your last chance for a hiber trip is now!"

Lyshenko snapped questions at him and got a few quick answers. Boozie and Bruno had made it out to the star ship's main frame in synchronous orbit. They were installing the last available fuel cores in the laser pile. In the confusion of escape, both men had lost track of Fitz.

When Boozie signed off, Danny and Poyntner had to shout for silence as everybody tried to talk at once. In the middle of this came a pounding on the door. The gas danger had evidently abated. When the hatch opened, there were Vinet and Zellon, and in came the most unexpected visitor of all: King Ravano in person.

He stood in the low-roofed entrance, longhaired and copper-toned, wearing his golden headband and kvakule feathered symbol, with the multiple necklaces of his royal office dangling down his scar-marked chest. Aware of his station and the burden of responsibility at this moment, his penetrating brown eyes took in Danny, Lyshenko, Poyntner, Elliott, and Frederica, recognizing their need for a final answer.

Instead of speaking at once, he moved forward to Lyshenko and squatted down beside him while touching his shoulder. "The Dragon Chief turns to the sunset path at a time of change, when last words are spoken in truth."

Danny translated as the brief conference reached a bleak conclusion. Ravano maintained that he had fulfilled his pledge. His armed forces had driven back the misguided enemy, and war was done. The winged vessels of Kimbu Dyota (the White-haired One) were now assembled and the rest of the fleet was ready. The main emigration was underway. He offered asylum for the Dragon Chief's people and promised his protection.

When Danny and Lyshenko both insisted that the main battle was still to be fought, that the monarchy was to be overthrown, Ravano firmly refused.

"I am to watch the signs of prophecy," he answered. "The gods of prayava-kutami have spoken in their wrath. Maitluccan must go to his home again. I stand at the crossroads and look for the star of the ancient Oracle. Since it has not come, I must go forth with my people."

This was his decision. He refused to argue the point and soon withdrew. His final word was that his warriors were standing by to escort the orphaned Star Sons to the ships, should they decide to join him in the new land to the north. His parting glance was at Frederica.

Then she knew. Danny saw it in her frightened, searching eyes. The inevitable was put into words by Lyshenko.

"That leaves me with one decision," said the commander, blinded by bloodied bandages. "Troy commands! The hiber trip will be made. Alfred, join him! As to your backup, Danny, get every insurgent you can find."

Freddie could only sit there and stare in dry-eyed futility as the desperate plans were swiftly formulated. Danny thought it pointless to trouble a dying man with problems, such as the fact that the hiber crew was incomplete. Few men were technically qualified for such a mode of spaceflight. Pike and Lyshenko were definitely out. There were only himself, Poyntner, Boozie, Bruno, – and Fitz, if he could be found. A sixth man was still needed.

"Find Ogden Hapgood," Lyshenko suddenly insisted. "Tell him I order him to go. Earth must know what we've discovered." His mind apparently began to wander then. He groped for the transcorder and began to gibber into it, proclaiming the imperatives of World Council authority.

Danny was only partially aware of the excited voices around him. The men were planning how to back him up when he and Poyntner would try to take the life-pod. Diversion strategy was discussed, how to fool the roborgs. He was drawn in horrified fascination to Lyshenko as he slowly died while muttering mechanically into his ship's log. Those who had come through the temple experience, even including Poyntner, had somehow been lanced by cosmic lightnings of star wisdom. They had been changed, driven to some new stage of consciousness. For each the package had fallen away and uncaged his own star, whatever it was.

But Alex Lyshenko was the package itself. Whatever he had been intrinsically had become a hollow shell, echoing the manufactured phrases of a world cult that had misinterpreted the human dream.

"...extension of World Authority under law," were his dying words as he still strove to legislate his solutions. Unable to be a solution, he was victim rather than villain, Danny thought bitterly. He swore that he would be a substance for the Skipper's emptied shell, bringing back to Earth the end results of the mission.

There was a movement now to get Elliott and Freddie out of the ship, to turn them over to the Tally escort. They were to join the others with Ravano, Akala, Noley, and Lalille.

Danny tore his gaze from Freddie when another commotion occurred at the open hatch. Bjornson and Henshaw had just gotten word from the last insurgents who had been searching the ridge for survivors of the earthquake.

"Sam didn't make it," said Alex glumly. "He must have been caught in the temple cave-in. No trace at all."

This final sorrow tore away the last veil of pretense.

Death's irretrievability placed its mark also on the reality of parting. Freddie couldn't hold back her tears, but her new fear was for someone else.

"Poor Tallullah!" she said, grasping his arm. "Don't leave her there with that madman Alonso! If you can send her to us, Danny–"

"No promises, baby. We can only try."

When the last moment really came, outside with the mounted lancers, she flew into his arms, heedless of all the men and warriors around her while Poyntner and Elliott watched in silent sympathy. "Tell them to remember the Earth dreams, Danny!" She cried openly, staring at him and pleading. "Without their damned technology they're more primitive than the Tallies! Tell them to get off their slabs! If I have to live without you, tell them that! We're not alone!" She strove to control herself while he studied her tears and brushed them away. "And we're not contaminants, damn it, not when we know! Some of us will be Servers here, and ... and..."

"Maybe it's not all so empty," he told her. "Life is bigger than all of us."

When he left her and moved through the jungle with Poyntner, Bjornson, Henshaw, and twenty other men, he still saw her face and felt her lips. He remembered the temple terrace again, that night three years ago in the moonlight. The mother-father psychosis had been cleared by her experiences. The Earth dream was the child symbol, no longer contaminated by any futility except their own. Yet she had risen above the personal dream. She could find a universal purpose here as well as on Earth. He thought then of Holy Sam and his transition stages and thresholds, a time of intervention. His Great Ones had come, delivering a message that could change the world and worlds without end.

"This is why I'm going," Danny muttered grimly.

It took a higher-consciousness thought like that to brace himself for the suicidal gamble of a hiber run, back through the Barrier – provided there would be six of them who could rescue the star ship from Alonso's final madness.

* * * *

Three things happened which Danny only learned about later.

The main land attack had been aimed at eliminating Lyshenko and possibly himself. It had also been shrewdly masterminded as a diversion for a special commando action elsewhere, and that was to turn the tide.

Also, a second drama unfolded in the forest, possibly while Lyshenko lay dying. Jerry Fontaine had pounced upon a wounded commando from Terra Nova. He had recognized Ricky Campara, the former medi-tech who had also been present in the Moal camp when Buli had disappeared.

"You were with the attackers that day!" he growled at him, holding him to the ground with his spear point. "What do you know about it? Where did she go? Was she captured?"

Campara stared up in terror at a man who had twice been supposedly dead. He saw the dread presentiment of death in Jerry's eyes, now no longer misted by dreams. Here was a muscled warrior who trembled with a rage to destroy.

"I swear I don't know!" he wailed, almost forgetting the dull fire of pain from a broken arrow in his back.

"He lies!" came an unexpected cry from the jungle.

Jerry turned abruptly toward the strange apparition that suddenly rushed from concealment. Campara lunged painfully for his fallen weapon, and Jerry banged his head with the obsidian spear head. It knocked him senseless for the moment.

Now the apparition in the monkish robe was pulling at his arm and pleading with him. A haggard, frightened face stared out from the shadow of his cowl, the dark eyes haunted by an indelible vision. "Were you there?" cried the parched, cracked voice, "there in the temple when the Oracle spoke?"

"Yes, I was there, Bishop. I heard every word," Jerry answered impatiently. He wanted to get back to the subject of Buli.

The trembling hand on his arm gripped him in desperation. "But did you hear her last words?"

"Something about a Sun Death, but..."

"No!" shrieked Saussure. "Her last words, when I demanded to know for whom she spoke! She said–"

"Stop your babbling, Bishop!" Jerry grabbed him then and threw him to the ground. "Why did you say Campara lied?"

"We've all been lying!" walled the fallen figure. "Oh Holy God, forgive us!"

"Shut up, Saussure! What do you know about Buli, the Moal girl?"

Campara had come to again. "I'll tell you," he said sullenly. "What difference does it make? The crime is done."

The spear point was instantly at his throat. "What crime?"

The ghastly story came out then, largely because the Bishop was frantically repentant, crying aloud for his sins, claiming he had sanctioned a secret regime of iniquity. He had known of the crime and closed his eyes in his lust for power.

Ricky Campara had been the surgical assistant in the macabre experiment. Buli had been subjected to a Caesarian operation in order to obtain her unique child, a hybrid of human and prehuman parents. Worse, the infant brain had been transferred to the roborg the Rak had damaged. The end had justified the means. It was an opportunity to train a roborg from infancy.

Later, when Jerry plunged almost blindly through the jungle, all he could think of was the name they had given him – the mastermind who had conceived of the fiendish plan. To place the crime almost beyond conception, he knew that science hadn't been the motivation. It had been satanic revenge against himself, through innocent Buli, because he had once refused a secret offer which it was not in his nature to accept.

Campara had crawled away somewhere to die. The Bishop had been left in the small jungle clearing, madly staring at some terror in his mind, muttering and piteously praying, or repeating aloud the devastating message the Oracle had sent him – which none had received but himself.

All Jerry could think of now was the insane one who had stabbed against him with a pitchfork from Hell, the monster who had plotted the murders of Hahnemann, Fritters and Torky Verga, and who had twisted the star quest itself into a devilish mockery of human altruism.

"You're stronger than you think, and you're needed," Freddie had told him. "For God's sake, Jerry, quit shielding your soul!"

The orchid dream was ended. Tears of wrath blurred his vision as he rushed to bring retaliation into "the dwelling places of evil."

But that same night, when Danny and his desperate group were cautiously approaching the colony base and when Jerry was finalizing his own plans, a third event occurred. Out on the orbiting main frame of the star ship, Boozie made his great experiment, using the lasers to modulate the gravitron field of his cosmoscope, sending his first instant message across the Barrier to any who might be able to receive it. On the primeval world below, there were some who saw that brilliant five-minute laser burst in the sky. The star of prophecy...

CHAPTER XX

The time-lost grandeur of the lofty ziggurat and the ancient square had been replaced by a sprawling, aggressive functionalism. The processing plants, shops, and grange barns of Terra Nova loomed out of the jungle on either side of the huge temple as if to rend the veil of ageless dreaming and to proclaim the right of preemption. The predawn darkness was permeated by a reddish gloom reflected from volcanic clouds while the temple's slanting face was caught in fitful, intermittent flashes from the smelter plant. To complete the atmosphere of culture contamination, black smoke rose up from the blast furnaces and searchlights gleamed balefully from factory roof and temple terrace alike. Adding a touch of twenty-third century dominance was the great metallic hull of the star ship's life-pod and an ominous row of silent roborgs deployed along the western perimeter of the settlement.

This was the general impression as seen from the "monastery," approximately one-half mile to the west of the main temple. Among the peripheral ruins of the Terra Nova area this ancient structure had been preserved to some extent. Three of its high stone walls still towered above the jungle, vine-grown and weathered but otherwise impervious to the ravages of time. During the past several years, Saussure's growing order of White Friars had added a fourth wall and ceiling beams. Originally it had been some kind of pantheon for special burial rites. At the present moment, however, Danny and his commando team were using it as a final staging point. The reconnoitering and final preparations were completed. The men were waiting for a "go" on plan two's strategic action.

Vinet and Zellon had come down off the east wall and joined them in the deeper darkness below in the forest. The men were conversing in low tones, discussing the feasibility of their desperate ventures, an action in which most of them could die. But all of them were determined to thwart Alonso and Pike. The star ship must return to Earth in spite of the so-called monarchy. This objective had become particularly urgent in view of Boozie's warning that the Duke might be insane enough to play Cortez and burn his ship behind him.

At any cost, the ship had to be saved. The message of the age had to be carried across the Barrier.

"It's growing light in the east," said Poyntner softly. "We'd better move."

"The diversion detail is ready," added Bjornson hoarsely.

"All right, men," Danny answered. "Let's circle to our position. One leadman, remember, and hood that light as you go."

As the team filed off onto the narrow trail south of the camp, Danny had time for a last recap of where all the pieces were in the destiny game, and the high-stake ground rules that had ripped his own ties asunder. The glow of wonder that had touched his world but hours before had turned to ashen gray. Yet if such a personal sacrifice was to be made he was determined that it wouldn't be wasted. He remembered Freddie clinging to him when they said good bye.

"Tell them to remember the Earth dreams, Danny!"

He walked through the ashes, seeing but one objective: the ship, and delivering the Skipper's mission. His own plan two was one contribution to this moment – the long-rehearsed strategies, the supply kits buried for months near the camp. As a result they were heavily armed and equipped. They might have a prayer, after all, especially if there was any validity to what Poyntner had come up with.

They had used the air car's radio to make a formal reply to the royal declaration of war. The transcorder had also transmitted the Skipper's final orders to the ship's log. Officially, Danny was in charge of Flight Command, and Poyntner was still a Top-Deck member of the Council, not to mention Project Administration. By law the roles were reversed. The monarchy was the renegade element now, a declared secessionist entity. As a ruse, Danny and Poyntner announced that they would be coming to Terra Nova at noon of the following day, and they had proposed their compromise action in advance. The points presented were few and simple though drastic:

1. There must be an immediate agreement to send the ship on its hiber journey.

2. For all remaining colonists, co-existence with the Talavats was far more preferable than the dubious adventure of war.

3. The island continent was endangered by the threat of a natural cataclysm. Evacuation was mandatory. Those who did not elect to go with Ravano's fleet would be transferred to the mainland in the life-pod prior to the star ship's departure.

They had received no response to the broadcast, nor had they expected any. The whole purpose of the transmission had been to implant a coded message. Lyshenko had long since instructed Poyntner in case anything should happen to him.

Poyntner himself was uninformed as to the meaning of the inserted code words. He merely assumed that the wily Skipper had not been sitting blindly on his rulebook. Apparently he had a plan two of his own. There had been no time to find out what the plan was, if it existed in fact.

The mystery message had been sent. Who it was for or what consequent action would be taken, if any, was something that remained to be seen. As far as King Alonso the First was concerned, he would be expecting them to make fools of themselves sometime during the day. Hopefully, he or Pike would not be expecting a predawn raid on the life-pod itself. However, Boozie had subsequently warned them. They could be walking into a trap even now because things were suspiciously quiet.

Danny had only one answer: Did it make any difference? They were committed. The action was go, for better or worse.

* * * *

Shot from a crossbow, the flaming arrow traced a thin arc of orange across the dark red background of volcanic clouds. It was the signal to the diversion team. Near the distillation tower and the fuel storage yard the first of the demolition charges went off, sending towers of smoke and flame into the fading night. Fire grenades flashed in the grange barns, and a chatter of machine rifles was heard in the native compound over the war whoops of startled Golaks. More lights came on across the square as alert horns started blaring and helmeted figures were seen sprinting among the moving roborgs.

"Now!" shouted Danny.

A dozen of them emerged from the southeastern edge of the jungle, which was behind the life-pod and closest to it. The roborgs and the security troops were heading northeast toward the main disturbance, as expected. The invaders ran around the aft end of the looming hull and gained the main ground lock. They could have forced the latch with explosives or tools but it wasn't secured against intrusion.

"It's a trap!" warned Makart.

"So we spring it!" yelled Danny. "Let's go!"

When the hatch swung open, however, they looked up into the red-glowing lenticular eyes of a waiting roborg. Their combined machine fire sprayed off its armor plating as it rolled down the low boarding ramp. Vinet and Zellon tried to bring their two-man antitank weapon into play, but the roborg's laser flashed out like a whip. Kerby Zellon's ungainly figure toppled weirdly, nearly sliced in half. Vinet was grazed, sinking to his knees as the metal talons reached for him.

Suddenly the Axe was there, bellowing in rage. He had found a loose flagstone which must have weighed 200 pounds. His huge arms hoisted it above his head and he hurled it at close range, backed by the momentum of his Viking frame. He was in time to save Billy Vinet. The heavy stone shattered the roborg's eyes and the living brain behind them.

They had to go on, carrying Vinet with them into the ship and locking the outer and inner hatches behind them.

Zellon was gone. There was nothing they could do for him.

The main objective now was to get to the bridge and lift off on the gravitrons before retaliation struck.

"What worries me," said Poyntner, "is that three-inch missile launcher on top of the temple. They could shoot us down with that, up to a hundred thousand feet."

"So we use the bow rocket batteries to knock it out!" retorted Makart.

"But first we have to get to Top Deck," warned Danny.

Plan two now provided for the non-hiber crew to return from orbit in the space shuttle, but he wondered if they would still have a chance to get the life-pod off the ground. They had not quite reached the magnetic lift when a shriek of escaping pressure was heard. A rolling, silvery mist rolled through the corridor at them from two directions.

"Gas!" yelled Danny, grabbing his mask-pak.

The gas tubes here were an unexpected new installation. Unfortunately, only three gas masks had been available in the supply kits they had buried in the jungle. By mutual agreement, Danny, Poyntner, and Bjornson were so equipped. While their companions went dashing through the paralyzing vapors to fall helplessly into the arms of masked security guards, the three remaining invaders swiftly entered the lift.

When the doors slid open on A-deck, however, it was the end. Pike and Hapgood stood there waiting with a dozen men. Their guns enclosed them in a bristling half-circle of insurmountable resistance. There was no escape. They lowered their guns and took off their masks.

"Now that's the first sensible thing you've done in years, Captain!"

War Marshal Adolphus Pike grinned triumphantly. He looked especially militant in his combat helmet and full battle gear. Attached to his belt was a grenade satchel plus the vital black box that remotely controlled the roborgs. Danny realized bitterly that this alone was a key to military supremacy at the base, but several hundred armed earthmen and an uncounted force of rifle-wielding Golaks just about wrapped it up for the monarchy, now that Ravano had made his crossroad decision to head for his ships.

Yet thoughts flashed through his mind in staccato succession like an intuition apart from his normal reactions. At any cost the ship must be saved. "Your ship will be gated through the Barrier," the blue-faced demigod had said. Walking through ashes in total commitment, he refused to give up.

"Hey Happy!" he said suddenly, addressing Ogden Hapgood. "What was that you said on the South Road the other day? 'I'm sticking to something you chickened out on, following orders, still playing it by the book.' Remember? Or haven't you heard the latest log entry?"

"Shut up!" snapped Adolf menacingly.

"I'm the Skipper now," Danny retorted. "You boys are the renegades."

"There is no law here but the king's," replied Pike adamantly. "That law says you are prisoners, enemies of the realm. You don't have a prayer, so shut your yap!"

Hapgood smiled strangely when he finally answered but he addressed his remark to Pike instead of to Danny. "You know, Marshal, Danny may have a point. There is one technicality."

Pike's dark eyes turned to him in swift suspicion.

"What is that?"

"You're under arrest."

Pike stiffened, searching Happy's confident expression, then sweeping the other men with a startled glance. It was a reverse trap. Hap's men had pretended to still be with the militia. The Skipper's secret message had worked. Danny and his two companions realized that Lyshenko's plan was perfect in its simplicity. A few code words at crisis simply switched commands. They wondered how many men in camp were with Happy. So, apparently, did Pike as he faced everyone's guns.

"I'll take that roborg control," said Danny angrily. "Hap, if you were on our side, why didn't you stop that roborg in the ground lock?"

"That was one of Adolf's sneaky surprises," Hap confessed. "Sorry, but anyway your men downstairs are in friendly hands. They simply had to be disarmed before somebody got hurt. And don't forget, we've got the ship."

Pike quickly recovered and backed off slightly. "I wouldn't say so, Happy," he countered ominously. "To use your own phrase, there is one technicality. If I don't report to His Majesty in the next few minutes, he'll have to assume something like this has happened, in which case we'll all be expendable. He'll blast the ship apart. But that's not all." He sneered vengefully at Danny. "Our attack near Ravano's camp was merely a diversion. True, we were out to get the Skipper, which we did, but that was a cover-up. A special detail procured hostages for us. They're in the temple now – the women: Freddie, Lalille and Akala!"

"That's a bluff!" growled Bjornson. "You're a liar!"

"Oh no!" protested Pike in mock innocence. "In fact, here's the proof!"

He reached into his belt satchel and got away with it. As he threw the grenade he ducked into a side passage to escape their guns. But few had time to fire. Danny and Bjornson jerked Poyntner with them into the lift. Hapgood and his men had instinctively rolled across the deck. The blast killed two men and warped the metal walls of the corridor.

Bjornson was the first to charge through the smoke. "The bridge!" he yelled. "Don't let him get to the radio!"

"Hap!" shouted Danny. "Man the stations, get on the inter-com. Find out what's happening at the temple!" Then he was sprinting after Bjornson. He was thinking desperately about the women, even including Tallullah. God only knew what leverage this diabolical new twist might give to madman Alonso if Pike wasn't bluffing. Certainly where he was concerned personally–

He stopped abruptly when he saw the Axe pounding on the compartment hatch. Pike had locked the steel riot door to the bridge. Danny turned, shouldering past Poyntner and several other men.

"Somebody bring up the demo kits!" bellowed Bjornson. "Let's get through this son of a bitch, on the double!"

Suddenly the deck swayed as the ship shuddered under some kind of shock. There was a muffled thunder. Danny didn't wait. He had remembered the maintenance access from the meter room. The lift took him to B-deck and he raced for the narrow companionway. In a matter of moments he was back on A-deck near the staff room and the bridge.

"Somebody's fired the ship's rockets!" came Hap's wondering voice over the speakers. "That launcher on top of the temple's shot to hell, along with the sanctuary and the water tower!"

Who the hell? Danny had no time to solve riddles. A thought flashed through his mind about unfinished pyramids. Maybe they'd cap their pyramid now, prophecy willing! When he dashed into the large bridge room he saw Pike on the floor, bleeding profusely from his mouth and nose. The figure on top of him was pounding away at him as if he'd lost his mind. Just then the ship shook again, this time from an internal blast. Through smoke and debris came Bjornson, Poyntner and the demolition squad. It took all of them to pull Fitzgerald Gogarty from his victim.

In minutes they had the story from Fitz. When the militia had come after Boozie and Bruno, he had hidden in one of the Pit chambers. Everyone thought he had escaped in the shuttle.

"Somebody had to play sneaky down here!" he grinned. "The closed-circuit monitors came in handy."

At the last moment he had noticed gun-crew action on top of the temple. He had fired a rocket salvo in time. Then he had jumped Pike.

"Man, did Adolf walk into it!" he enthused. "Been waiting for years–"

"Let's not forget what we came for," interrupted Poyntner. He searched Danny's face somberly. "Hapgood finishes out the hiber crew."

Danny returned his stare. He knew the astrophysicist was right. There were now himself, Poyntner, Fitz, Bruno, Boozie and Hapgood. It was a top team.

"If you're going," rumbled Bjornson, "you'd better fire up the gravitrons before something else happens."

Hapgood had come onto the Bridge in time to hear the decision concerning himself. He said nothing, sharing the silence with his men as they all stared at Danny. He stared back at each of them, suddenly marveling at how simple a thing could sound when it was actually like dying. When you died, he thought, many things were always left unresolved, such as the colony, the women, the unanswered question of the monarchy. Could the remaining anti-loyalists handle Alonso and his followers? What about Pike? Maybe Bjornson should be appointed to the erstwhile Council?

Suddenly the speakers crackled. Most of them had forgotten that there was a direct intercom line to the temple. "This is Vice-Regent Odell," came the peremptory voice of the former expert in cultural sciences. It was a demand for unconditional surrender in the name of "His Royal Highness, King Alonso the First of Terra Nova, Prince of New Andragoya."

Danny listened with only half an ear, so great was his surprise. Odell was a vice-regent of the realm, which meant that he was probably the mastermind behind the whole secessionist plot, and now the King's vizier and Minister of War. Through it all, Pike grinned vindictively with his bruised and bloodied lips. The ultimatum came.

"All insurgents will leave the ship and surrender themselves immediately," said the vice-regent, "subject to the following consequence for non-compliance. Within one hour, the scoutship will make a bomb run against Ravano's fleet. Many insurgents and their native wives or families will die as a result, not to mention several thousand Talavats. If you doubt that we can eliminate the entire evacuation fleet, be advised that His Majesty's Government now possesses nuclear striking power."

"Nuclear!" exclaimed Makart aghast.

"We might have known it!" said Fitz disgustedly. "The final contamination!"

Hapgood shrugged at Danny. "We were beginning to suspect as much."

"That explains their delayed schedules in delivering cores for the reactors," added Poyntner. "They were storing them up for WMDs."

Danny tensed, remembering the Oracle: "Maitluccan departs when the Sun Death strikes." Lalille or whatever power that spoke through her had foreseen the atom bomb! "Some of you will return to your world," the Laha had said. "Others will remain as Servers." That didn't sound like a hiber trip!

"Come on, Danny," urged Bourns. "Zellon and others died to get you here. Are you going to let it all go to waste?" The ship and the mission were vital, he thought, but at all costs? What about the women? Under Alonso's regime, if it continued, would they be married off by royal decree or become playthings of the court?

"The bomb makes a difference," he said almost in a monologue. "It would give Alonso world dominance."

"We'll get to him before he can use it!" countered Makart, who had joined them with other commandos from the lower decks. "Foxy's fleet is safe. Don't worry about it!"

Staccato thought-flashes burst like a rocket flare in Danny's mind. He was back in the multiplex time-consciousness state as in the temple of the Lahas. "In the great cloud of knowable things," said the great one, "if the question is known, the answer will come." The men in the room were worried and impatient, pressing him for a decision. His frustration lay in the fact that he wasn't sure of having the right question.

The speakers crackled again. "You now have fifty minutes to decide," warned the vice-regent peremptorily.

Danny's thought-flashes persisted: Was going off on a six-man hiber trip the "At-One-Ment" Sam had spoken of? Was that completing the pyramid and seeing with a single eye? Here was duty blindness, the mistake of the pragmatic imperative, the packaged illusion obscuring the bedrock of Man's collective nature. The end could never justify the means if it excluded the whole. No man was an island. They must return to bring the dream, like the other star ships that would come home when they learned what they didn't know. They must go together or not at all. This alone was total commitment!

Hapgood stepped to the intercom mike. "What should I tell him?" he asked simply.

In that moment, Danny remembered more vividly what the blue-green-visaged Laha had said. Not "Some of you will return," but "Many." His eyes widened as he stared at Hapgood and the others, suddenly stabbed by the realization that a single word might change history.

Or maybe Holy Sam's firm belief in intervention.

But the answer had come. "Tell him," he said simply, "that we will surrender."

CHAPTER XXI

The first rays of the sun slanted through the volcanic clouds in cathedral shafts of light, casting every object in long-shadowed stark relief: the half-burned smoldering barns and the toppled fractionating tower, the soaring buttresses of the ancient ziggurat, the long lines of nearly naked Golak troops with their single-action rifles, the waiting roborgs. All that was lacking, thought Danny, was a trumpet fanfare and a roll of drums. It was the only thing Alonso was missing in his pompous display of power.

The temple had been largely altered during the past three years. Two arched gothic entrances had been built into the facade of the lower level, one on either side of the steep-angled staircase. The lower terrace had been extended outward on the side facing the square. Over the stone balustrade hung huge, colorful banners displaying replicas of the Terra Nova shield plus a new coat of arms which evidently represented the royal dynasty of New Andragoya. Upright banners on either side of the stairs also bore the same heraldic colors. On the terrace itself waited the king, the vice-regent, courtiers, and a row of grim-faced troops. Hapgood had warned Danny that the latter were not Lyshenko's men. They were strictly secessionist fanatics, the elite guard of the royalists.

In the square were at least a hundred men, more than half of whom were estimated to be responsive to the Skipper's code-launched Mayday plan. Therefore, from fifty to sixty of them would now regard Danny as their commander, if he should take command. From outward appearances, however, this seemed unlikely. Between the ranks of armed troops and roborgs moved the captives and their captors. Pike and his security detail of two dozen men were herding Danny, Poyntner, Bjornson, Fitz, and the other insurgents of the commando team ahead of them at gunpoint.

So much for appearances. Pike's gun was unloaded but the guns at his back were not. The entire security platoon was anti-royalist. The objective of the masquerade was simple: to capture Odell and Alonso and to take over control of Terra Nova in a bloodless coup. It was everything the whole insurgent effort had aimed for. If it failed, all would be lost: the ship, the mission, and the priceless boon of the star quest.

Danny alone had decided on the gamble. Without him there could be no hiber trip, so there was only one course left. Some of the men like Fitz and even the Axe were now with him completely. Hapgood and some of the others were dubious. Poyntner had been gravely silent and pensive, his scientist's mind haunted by an experience the others hadn't shared. He had been with Danny in the temple of the Lahas. There were whispered complaints. Had Danny gotten religion or something? All of a sudden he was playing Joan of Arc, staking everything on his faith in a prophecy. However, they were mystified by the fact that Old Pointed Head wasn't fighting back with his usual fiery derision.

Finally, in halting, half-whispered sentences, Poyntner tried to tell them why. He mentioned the flash visions and dreams some of them had experienced while approaching the planet, which had turned out to be actual glimpses of the Laha contact, through lattices in the illusory screen of temporal impressions. Mumbling about time-stasis structure versus the illusion of so-called real time, he maintained that there had to be scientific laws behind the workings of prophecy. The advent of Alonso's nuclear capability had thoroughly convinced him. The Oracle had predicted the Sun Death. Therefore, the solution here involved more than their own idea of a hiber trip. It had to involve them all, as Danny had insisted.

If any lacked faith in Danny's hunches or Poyntner's science, however, there was still one pragmatic technicality to cling to: the vital roborg control was now in Hapgood's hands.

For the otherwise dubious among them this had been the clincher, plus the fact that the bomb had to be stopped. No one knew where the scoutship was hidden at the moment, with the possible exception of Adolf the Pike.

* * * *

The final number was played in what seemed to be a brutally short turn of the wheel. Events, words, reactions, all came on top of each other like Danny's staccato thought flashes: the captives standing on the terrace before Alonso and Odell, the Elite Guard poised threateningly while the imperious tirade ensued, prior to the world collapsing. Alonso wore a red cape trimmed with the ermine-like fur of rare white khaitabus over his dark suit of state. His aristocratic features were drawn thin by the megalomaniac fires that consumed him, his slightly sunken eyes aflame with a self-induced illusion of imperial might. The resistance was at an end, he was telling them, and now the plans of empire would proceed unimpeded. The evacuation fleet was going to be destroyed, regardless of Danny's surrender.

"The main body of the Talavat nation has already been transferred to New Andragoya," he announced, referring to the vast mainland to the north. "They will capitulate, if need be by force of terror, and for their own good. The nuclear destruction of Ravano's fleet will strike their superstitious souls with dread. Like the children that they are, they will obey my will!" He smiled humorlessly. "As for the heathen priestess, Akala, holding her as a hostage should be a further inducement for Ravano's capitulation to the throne of Terra Nova."

Then Pike had not been bluffing! What about Freddie, Tallullah, Lalille? Alonso must have seen the insuppressible question in Danny's eyes.

"As for the other women," he said, "they will be used as a final leverage, if necessary, or perhaps as a bonus to the faithful." His glance intentionally darted to Odell and Pike.

The obvious inference triggered Danny to launch his coup. At a signal, Hapgood's men spread out and got the advantage of the elite guard before they knew what was happening. Odell was the first to see the roborg control in Happy's hands. A cry went up in the square as the roborgs lumbered into a new formation facing the Golak troops, backed by four or five dozen anti-loyalists. A few lasers flashed as some of the Golaks charged forward, but soon the savage ranks withered back, dimly aware that the feared fire devils had suddenly turned against them. The remaining mix of neutral earthmen and royalists milled about below undecided or engaged in sporadic fistfights. Gun play in the crowd was quickly subdued by the Flight-Com regulars who had been prepared by Hapgood's Mayday signals.

Danny's hastily organized speech was marred by unforeseen elements. Even as he told Alonso that his brief regime was at an end, he was aware of Fitz nudging him urgently and of Pike's crack-lipped grin of secret triumph. The miniature microphone button on the king's ermine collar was the first warning. The vice-regent's withering look of scorn was the next hint of disaster. Odell suddenly produced a duplicate of the roborg control, but Bjornson was there, riddling him with rifle fire.

Even as the presumed mastermind of the secessionist plot fell dead before him, Alonso maintained his maddening composure. "Did you think, Captain, that we would be so unprepared for treachery?" He turned to look up at the narrow niches along the upper terraces where the gleam of weaponry was seen. "The traitors who tried to take the gun positions were easily apprehended. We expected as much. However–" He pointed to his lapel mike. "We have long since arranged for an electronic override of the roborg controls." He nodded toward the square where the roborgs were already encircling the antiroyalist group and the Golaks were slowly reforming their ranks.

"Sorry about Odell, Your Highness," said Pike, "but I had to let them walk into the trap."

"You did well, Marshal," replied Alonso.

"I don't think either of you are doing well at all," retorted Danny. "We have you covered. If you want to live, call off those roborgs!"

Alonso regarded him almost with the old Duke expression, even including the patronizing smile. "You have gained nothing, little man. I can destroy all of you where you stand. Ravano's fleet is still doomed also. You and your men will lay down your arms at once, unless, of course, you wish to be responsible for a needless massacre here in the plaza."

"You'd better listen to him, Troy," warned Pike vindictively. "He and Odell's staff have been building a fortress into the foundations here. They have the roborgs at their fingertips. The temple guns can be handled by remote control. They can sweep the square. A thousand armed Golaks surround the camp. You haven't got a chance, tin soldier!"

Impasse.

Danny felt a clamminess come over him as he heard disgruntled mutterings around him.

"What the hell, he's blown it!"

"He should have taken the ship while he had it!"

"Where's his damned prophecy now, for Christ's sakes!"

Poyntner and Fitz and Bjornson and Hapgood had nothing to say. He felt their eyes on him. The dark-scaled and brooding one flashed before his mind's eye. "Yet others shall not survive. They shall be found in the dwelling places of evil and go no more out." He wondered if he were mad when he heard himself saying, "You won't stop us, Alonso. It's all of us or none."

Then the miracle came.

* * * *

He learned later about Boozie's "star of prophecy" in the sky the previous night, of how Ravano had seen it as well as others, and of how Noley had made the biggest yabbut of his career, convincing the Talavat king that he must fulfill his promise. Whether it was this or the abduction of Akala or both, the fact remained that Ravano made his final commitment.

The first intimation Danny and his companions had of this development was when the jungle reverberated to the sound of war cries, followed by the hard clatter of unicorn hooves as wave after wave of Tally lancers charged across the ancient flagstones of the square. There was no time to wonder. In the next instant the elite guard was in hand-to-hand combat with Happy's men. The plaza below was a bedlam of conflict as Flight-Com troops fought with royalists and the roborgs lashed out at the oncoming lancers while the Golaks bellowed a challenge and charged forward, firing their rifles as they ran.

From the temple heights came a deadly hall of more powerful machine fire.

War indeed walked the land.

Alonso had disappeared, having been covered by his men, but Danny and Fitz had Pike in their grip.

"You haven't got a chance, smartass!" Danny yelled into his ear above the din of battle. "Unless you show us where the women are. Get moving, Adolf!"

Pike seemed to be willing. He mentioned a room called the chapel. A surge of anti-royalists moved up the steps onto the terrace, retreating before hundreds of bloodthirsty Golak brutes who had reverted to using their rifles as bludgeons.

In spite of the press of events, Danny and others had to pause for a fleeting moment to stare at the spectacle out in the open plaza.

"The Raks!" somebody yelled. "My God, they've joined the Tallies!"

The giant cyclopes were charging the roborgs, toppling them over by the power of their towering physiques or by means of their fully awakened telekinesis. In fact, several of those baleful red eyes were fixed on the gun positions above in the temple niches. Great stones moved and ground men to death in a juggernaut vice. The same force that had built the ziggurat pile was tearing it apart.

A final touch of the miraculous was the sight of barking dakshas along the jungle perimeter, together with a number of furtive nymph-like figures. The Moals were entering into a final symbiotic rapport with men and half-men, turning the tide of epic transition for the dawn world.

By the time they reached the chapel room in the lower levels of the temple, they were a mere nucleus of minor resistance retreating from an invasion of Golaks. Danny's crew backed by a few dozen of Hapgood's men burst into the former ritual chamber to find Freddie, Lalille, and Akala in the company of several cowled friars. There was no time to talk because suddenly Tallullah appeared from behind the alter hangings.

"Quickly!" she called. "There's a way to the monastery. The girls will be safe there and–"

"Good!" said Danny. "And we can come back from the outside. Let's go!"

Fitz and Bjornson took charge of Pike. Poyntner and Hapgood escorted Lalille and Akala as they followed Tallullah and her friars into the hidden passage. Once they were all safely past the secret entrance, a stone barrier fell in place behind them, blocking all pursuit. Danny held Freddie's hand in his. As they ran through the subterranean tunnel, guided by the friars' flashlights, their mutual grip spoke a language of new if desperate hope. The fragile dream was back. He hadn't made the hiber trip, so whatever fate lay ahead they would share together.

During the half-mile journey, Freddie had time to whisper fragments of information. Lalille had been the surprise package, aided by Akala. Since her Oracle experience, her lost faculties had awakened to a startling degree. She had not only been able to vaguely see what was happening by means of her clairvoyance but had also been in some kind of telepathic communion with the Krias and Nolokov.

As for Tallullah, she had not been one of the hostages. However, she had been doing everything in her power to protect the other three women. Apparently, even without the Bishop, the Cistercian order wielded an influence with the crown. Like a prioress, Tallullah had used the friars skillfully to obtain every advantage possible.

"If the Lily is such a crystal gazer," Danny managed to ask, "what does she see in the immediate future?"

"I hate to think of it," Freddie whispered back. "Visions of fire and destruction!"

"That's one part of the prophecy we've got to beat. Our main objective now is to find the scoutship and disarm the bomb."

"What bomb?"

When he told her of Alonso's nuclear weapon and the threat to the fleet, she tensed noticeably. "But that's what Lalille's been so frightened about – the Sun Death!"

"And she sees that?"

"Like a blinding flame, she says. Oh God, Danny, do you think–"

"I'm wondering if she telepathed that to the Krias, and if Ravano knows about it."

She had no answer. They could only hurry along after the others while Danny still wondered about Holy Sam's allusion to higher "intervention." If prophecy was an actual glimpse of events already extant in the eternal Now, could the static structure of time itself be changed? He'd seen a few miracles already today. Why not keep playing the numbers and spinning the wheel for more? It was still a no-limit game.

When they emerged into the so-called monastery, the morning sun was casting its rays between the great, roofless beams overhead. It was the first time Danny had ever seen the interior in a clear light. It was a vast rectangular basilica that still revealed the remains of colonnaded aisles marking the nave. The east wall had been mostly rebuilt by the friars to provide an arched entrance. The other three original walls were cracked open in places. The western face was half crumbled away, but it was still richly decorated with bas-relief figures and ancient hieroglyphics. At the west end was a raised, semicircular chancel, actually a pantheon where niches were provided for statues of ancient deities. The curved chancel faced a gaping natural fissure in the ground that was surrounded by a low stone railing interspersed with altar-like benches. Evidently this was a sacellum where sacred rites of burial had consisted of dropping the bodies of the deceased into the pit.

There was no time for any further observation other than to note the presence of about forty of the white-robed and cowed figures of waiting friars. Evidently they had taken refuge here. At least, thought Danny fleetingly, Tallullah and the other women would be relatively safe here until the conflict was at an end. The men descended on him for decisions, all trying to talk at once. They were unanimous on one thing: what had happened was the same as a miracle. Some were grudgingly hopeful, while others were overly optimistic.

Hap, Fitz, Bjornson, and Poyntner worked with him on the immediate practical logistics. Two thrusts were necessary. Happy and Fitz would get back to the Flight-Com regulars and organize a takeover of the temple and the ship. It was assumed that the Tallies and the Raks had taken care of the roborgs and routed most of the Golaks. There was a high probability that Alonso and his staff were trapped in their own bomb shelter and would be forced to surrender. The Flight-Coms could round up the remaining royalists, if there were any survivors.

Meanwhile, Danny and Bjornson, plus Poyntner, would take a detail to search for the scoutship.

"As soon as you can," Danny told Hapgood, "you'd better start getting people into the life-pod for evacuation to the mainland. If we don't stop the bomb, things could get rough around here. Let's not take any chances."

"You've already had your last chance!" said Adolphus Pike. He was still under guard but was leering at them.

They had failed to attach any significance to the apparent interest of the friars who had slowly encircled their group. When Freddie called out a warning and the Lily screamed, it was too late. Each cowled figure produced a machine pistol from under his robe. The biggest shock of all was when Danny shot a questioning glance at Tallullah. She stood on the chancel, surveying them all in lofty contempt.

"Gentlemen, you are looking at the real elite guard," she announced coldly. "You will surrender your weapons or die."

Thus, the mastermind of the secessionist plan, Tallullah Marsh, pillar of propriety and plotter par excellence, the executioner of Hahnemann, Fraters, Verga and Bates. As it quickly turned out, she had secretly married Alonso and was queen of Terra Nova. Her mother-hen concern for her girls had been a Catherine de Medici plot to set each of them on a separate throne of the future empire, espoused to men of her choosing.

Most of this information came from Pike as he supervised the disarming. He openly claimed to Tallullah that it was time for his promised payoff: a viceroyalty over New Andragoya. Added to this was his taunting revelation that the Bishop had been a carefully developed tool who never realized that his so-called Cistercian order was a perfect camouflage for the hard-line royalist militia, held in reserve for just such an emergency as the present one.

There was a sudden commotion as a female scream echoed through the basilica. A nearly naked figure charged savagely toward the pantheon. It was Akala, apparently intent upon killing Tallullah with her bare hands.

"Hold your fire!" ordered the queen calmly.

Beside her was a lectern from which she extracted a stun gun. The crackling electronic beam shocked the priestess into unconsciousness. She fell across the steps of the chancel and lay still. Several friars came with ropes to bind her.

"This one is still a needed hostage," said Tallullah. "We've yet to deal with Ravano."

Lalille sat on the base of a fallen pillar, apparently lost in concentration, perhaps using her awakened gift of telepathy. Freddie was only aware of present place and time. She stood before the chancel, stiff and rapier straight in her unclinical blue jumper, hair down, chin up, amber eyes blazing.

"Tallullah Marsh," she exclaimed fiercely, "you should be frightened by what you are! Most people are led to crime and deception by personality problems. That's human! But you have done this on a premeditated intellectual basis. Only a warped psyche would be capable of such a thing!"

Tallullah met her challenging glare with narrowed eyes and a faint smirk of amusement. "My dear, your own mother and father were victims of a world of unintellectual male chauvinists. Here, you are going to help found a matriarchal dynasty."

"You can go to hell! I'll be no queen bee for your stupid drones! You've twisted a great quest for truth into a hideous atavism. Here you've turned ancient hallowed ground into a Babylon! For that you don't belong to the human race. You're a monster, and may you be damned!" She was pulled away by the robed militiamen, still shouting her condemnations.

What was worse was what Pike was telling Danny by way of savoring his triumph. Tallullah had long since been carefully choosing her drones in her own inimitable way. He mentioned the tea party years ago on the ship. "You were too dumb to see it, soldier, but the big M was making a pass. You got the treatment like Jerry, you know, the sunlamp bit in her private quarters and the accidental come-on. He turned her down, too, and she never forgave him for it."

Danny struggled to hold onto his sanity as well as his temper. "What the hell is she doing?" he asked, fully alerted now to Tallullah's dangerous capabilities. He saw her pull a field phone from the lectern.

"That's her direct line to Alonso down in his battle station," Pike explained smugly.

"Then she's in for a surprise," growled Fitz. "That son of a bitch may be buried alive by now!"

Pike shrugged. "That won't phase the Big M. Who needs him?"

"Are you crazy?" asked Hap. "Your side is all washed up. It's over with!"

Pike grinned. "It's just getting started." He indicated the gaping hole in the wall beyond the chancel. Several robed figures were leading in an army of semi-drugged Golaks. The huge brutes filed in and formed several ranks around the front end of the vast room. "There are plenty more where those came from," he added.

Tallullah hung up the phone and calmly called for order. "There's a slight inconvenience. The line has been intercepted by your signalmen, Captain Troy, or should I say Commander? Of course they suspect nothing of the true situation here. They were merely relieved to know where you were. I told them the friars would bring you their message and that you'd be answering them in a few moments. The king, it seems, is trapped. The entrance tunnel to the bunker is blocked and it will take heavy equipment to free him and his staff."

Danny took a few steps forward in spite of the threatening friars. "Tallullah, you've lost your mind! Why don't you give up and save us all a lot of time?"

She ignored his suggestion. "What you will tell your men at the base is that you are all going to make a conditional surrender."

"Up your–" Fitz started to shout.

Danny silenced him with a hasty signal. "That's interesting," he countered warily. "Why don't you tell us the rest?"

"Oh, I intend to, Commander! I am going to prove to you in a moment that you have no choice except to surrender, particularly when you hear the overly generous conditions. You see, we needed a formative period of just a few years' time to get the basic technologies going again, and to acquire a nuclear capability. All hands were required for that, and this has succeeded in spite of your insurgents. Now a smaller number of us can carry on. So the rest of you will go from this planet. Take the ship and leave us in peace. The world we make here will be of our own choosing."

Danny exchanged glances with Poyntner, Hap, Fitz, and Bjornson. "I don't quite follow you. If only six of us make the hiber trip–"

"Not a hiber trip, Commander! I mean all of you who haven't the courage and conviction of true secessionists."

"But–"

She waved her hand to silence him. Behind her was a stone case that looked like a sarcophagus. She signaled to four of the friars who came to remove the lid. "I told you I would prove you have no choice in the matter." When the lid was pushed aside she reached into the coffin with both hands and, with obvious effort, pulled out a long, gleaming object of plastic and metal.

"My God!" said Hapgood.

Danny could only stare, recalling again those words of Noley long ago. He had said something to the effect that when the mastermind was unmasked the S-link would be found!

"You're a bitch!" snarled Bjornson. "You had it all the time!"

Tallullah smiled. "As an ultimate bargaining point, what else would logic dictate? Well, Commander? Here you are, the key to salvation for your quivering flock. Would you care to take the phone now and instruct your men at the base? They are to free Alonso, of course, as well as his scientific staff. We need those brains, you know."

"Just a minute!" Danny argued. His mind was racing again. Here was more of the prophecy. It had inferred that the star ship's return journey would not be merely a hiber trip. Could he depend on it to be totally valid? "There must be a catch, Tallullah, considering your kind of operation. Have you stated all the terms?"

She placed the priceless S-link on top of the lectern. "There is one added stipulation," she answered. "You will make sure that no ships ever return to this planet. We are not interested in preparing ourselves against punitive expeditions."

"How could I keep a promise like that? It isn't up to me!"

"Oh, but you'll find a way," she answered confidently.

"Otherwise your dear Frederica will cease to be a queen of the realm. Instead–"

"You mean to say you're keeping the girls?"

"Of course!"

Danny was deaf to the angry shouts of rejection from his men. His eyes followed Pike as he strode purposefully to Freddie and Lalille and roughly pulled them with him onto the chancel. Freddie struggled at first but then merely submitted to the treatment in silent contempt.

"All right, it's time!" Pike announced, apparently taking over for his queen. "Her majesty is far too generous. Make up your mind, Troy. We can kill you here and still go on with our plans. You've got just one minute to decide."

Lalille called out. "Danny, you mustn't consider us! Go while you can! I see fire and destruction soon!"

For a moment, Danny's gaze was fixed on Freddie. She was pale and tense, but she signaled him with her eyes, urging him to comply, to take the S-link while he had a chance, and to get out, obviously for the sake of the majority and the mission itself.

"No!" he heard himself saying. "It won't be that way!" In one sense he felt asinine in making such an empty declaration, yet a conviction not his own seemed to give him a driving strength to hold to the commitment: all or none.

For an answer, Pike picked up the heavy S-link and stepped toward the pit before the chancel. A cry of alarm went up.

"Fine!" he sneered. "I take that as your answer. So it'll be this way!"

Illusory time and the eternal Now seemed to mix, throwing the scene into surrealistic slow motion as Danny and the other captives gaped, watching the glittering S-link spin through the air toward the yawning fissure.

CHAPTER XXII

The second miracle of the day occurred in that moment, so startling that it forced even Pike and Tallullah to stare in uncomprehending amazement. The S-link paused in midair, then swiftly settled onto one of the altar benches. Finally, all eyes turned to the newcomers who had come through the crack in the south wall. The tall, bearded figure of Noley was there, the Mad Monk, plus Khyatri and some of the Krias who had followed Lalille's telepathic call. They had saved the S-link with their combined psychokinesis.

A number of the friars raised their guns but arched suddenly in pain as rigid shafts pierced their chests or throats or lodged in their skulls. On top of the south wall was a line of Tally warriors, all of them swiftly fitting new arrows to their crossbows. Before the sluggish Golaks could set into effective action, Happy, Bjornson, and Fitz led the men into a tangle with the friars. Freddie had darted forward to retrieve the S-link. She passed it on to Danny who gave it to Poyntner. The girl gave him a questioning look, and he signaled her to follow the astrophysicist who was heading for the opening in the south wall.

"Get!" he yelled, swatting the tight blue curve of her fanny, and he snatched up a fallen gun.

She backed away toward the Krias but pointed beyond the milling Golaks to the chancel where some of the friars were retreating. Pike was gone but they were covering Tallullah while pulling Akala and Lalille along with them. Noley charged heedlessly after Akala, and Danny followed him. Tallies were pouring through the front and side entrances to meet the bellowing Golak attack. Several huge hunting spears were ripped from brutish hands by telekinesis as the Mad Monk pushed among them. However, he went down suddenly under a glancing blow. The massive front presented by the Golaks blocked Danny's passage. Bullets and arrows raked the huge savages, and they fell in droves, but those behind them kept coming through the broken wall of the pantheon in countless numbers. Tallullah and her friar escort were getting away with their two female captives.

"The scoutship must be out there somewhere!" thundered Bjornson. "Head them off!"

Suddenly there was an impact in the basilica as if an express train had arrived. Startled shouts rang out, and the giant Golaks bleated in terror as a ponderous blur shot past the earthmen and Tallies into the pack of savages. It was Jerry riding a chaitla.

The tiger-dragon literally ripped a path through the troglodytic mass and was gone through the gap in the back wall before a shot could be fired. The Golaks were routed. Their torn and bloodied ranks thinned out as earthmen and Tallies pushed through the last resistance and reached the jungle behind the monastery. Another reason for the Golak panic was the presence of a number of Raks. The giant brutes were milling about among the savages, wreaking havoc in general, apparently covering Jerry's maneuvers yet dangerously disorganized, almost running amok.

Two things happened simultaneously, but only one event was of prime importance now. As Danny caught sight of a scarlet-faced cyclops carrying a familiar figure away, the roar of engines overrode the shouting and sounds of conflict.

"The ship!" yelled Hapgood.

Pike had managed to get the cumbersome scoutship into the air. When they saw the egg-shaped bomb attached to its belly, they raised their guns and opened fire, but it was too late. The convertiplane dipped away out of range, flying low over the trees, and was soon racing skyward under power of its main thruster engines.

"Good God!" shouted Bjornson as he shot a lone Golak who had charged at him from the underbrush. "Pike's heading for the fleet!"

Miracle three: Danny's transceiver was buzzing. When he switched it on he heard Boozie yelling through the intervening static.

"Danny! There's something big out here! I think the cosmo-scope got through to somebody!"

"What do you mean there's something out there? We're in trouble, Boozie!"

"That's what I mean! It looks like–"

A flying cudgel knocked the transceiver out of his hand.

A Tally crossbow took care of the Golak attacker but the communication device was shattered.

Suddenly, Danny and his men were surrounded by lancers on their unicorns, and there was Ravano, staring a blazing question. He evidently knew about the ship and the bomb. Makart came stumbling back from the jungle with Akala in his arms. Following him came Jerry, also on foot, leading Lalille by the hand. On her face was an expression of wondering amazement.

"Up on the wall!" shouted Danny.

No one asked questions. Those who could followed him, including Ravano. They clambered up the crumbling remains of the pantheon so that they could watch the course of the scoutship.

It was then that a real miracle happened, as far as the Talavat king was concerned. A violet beam of alien energy shot from the sky, just once. It struck the scoutship but did not destroy it. Whatever was up there in outer space, thought Danny, the intelligence that had answered Boozie's cosmoscope must have been linked to the causal fabric of the eternal Now. It came as a part of prophecy.

Ravano, Danny, Jerry and dozens of earthmen and Tallies alike followed the wavering, drunken course of the scoutship as it veered away uncertainly toward the south.

"Chih-na prayava-kutami!" murmured Ravano.

It was true. The bomb-laden ship was headed straight for the smouldering, restless volcanoes.

"Get down!" yelled Danny. "Down below!" When Ravano looked at him questioningly, he shouted "Tarn-ucaha!" It was Talavat for Sun Death.

* * * *

They huddled together next to the wall in the body-strewn basilica. As Danny held Freddie to him, oblivious to the torrent of comment around him, his consciousness was centered on the scoutship, waiting for the nuclear blast that he could see with a timeless inner eye.

There was a painful flash of light. For an almost blinding instant the torn fingers of volcanic clouds above were transfixed, gaunt and silver-lined. Then a deeper red gloom was reflected from them for a moment. Freddie clutched at his arm, waiting, head down against his chest. The report came, at first like a titanic cannon shot, hard, flat and piercing.

It was followed by peal after peal of thunder. An ominous tremor ran through the ground. Ravano straightened up, but Lalille and Jerry got to him, pulling him down, trying to explain. Akala, tending to Noley's head wound, stared at her brother fearfully.

The shockwave swept across the jungle like a hurricane, carrying trees through the sky. The Tallies were mouthing mantra prayers but couldn't be heard. In the midst of the storm, Danny's memory returned him a vision of Ughur, red-faced king of the Raks, as he carried his victim away to an unknown fate. For all of her diabolical choosing, this was one prince of the land Tallullah hadn't counted on. The whore of Babylon had been borne off by the scarlet beast.

When other thunder followed, rumbling up from the bowels of the world, and when the earth began to sway and beams began to fall off the walls, Danny ordered everyone to head for the camp and life-pod. The gods of pravava-kutami spoke out in their wrath. The prophecy was ending. It was time for Maitluccan to return to his home.

What made this possible was one last turn of the wheels of intervention – an event which became a surprise pivotal point in the recorded history of Terra Nova. In the turmoil of last minute evacuation at the temple site, Bjornson and Hapgood discovered Makart and Vinet on a jungle cutter, towing a string of storage flats out of the rubble of Alonso's damaged bunker. What added confusion to the scene was that a detail of Alonso loyalists was offering assistance.

The sky was a dark angry red and the ground trembled intermittently while dozens of evacuees crowded up the onramp of the towering life-pod of the Siruis III. Alarm klaxons sounded across the body-strewn square, and the ship's P.A. kept repeating a call for immediate boarding. On the under belly of the pod a loading hatch stood open, and the freight lift that had already loaded the few surviving roborgs was being lowered again.

"What the hell's going on!?" shouted Hapgood as the two jumped down off the rig. "No time for salvaging, damn it! We're getting out of here – now!"

"Not without this, you're not," retorted Makart. He indicated a half dozen large storage crates which appeared to be heavy because of the number of men required to carry them toward the lift.

"They're lead-lined," added Vinet. "Do you get it?"

"Fuel cores?" bellowed Bjornson.

While survivors continued arriving from the basilica, including the retinues of both Danny and Ravano, the story rapidly developed that royalist crews had been trying to rescue Alonso and his staff from the damaged bunker under the temple, and Flight Corp troops had been in pursuit, but the situation had changed abruptly when two discoveries were made simultaneously. Alonso and his co-conspirators were found crushed under the rubble, their bodies irretrievable, but the secessionist's secret hoard of nuclear fuel was uncovered.

Meanwhile, Danny and Poyntner and Fitz were too occupied with logistics to note what was going on near the lift. They were sorting out evacuation groups to be transported to the mainland in several trips of the life-pod, since Ravano still had almost a hundred elite lancers with him – not to mention their valuable unicorn mounts. But finally Fitz caught sight of the lift action and noted an urgent signal from Hapgood. In a very few moments he and Danny and Poyntner were at the scene and heard the story. While the klaxons continued and the P.A. kept repeating instructions, everybody simply stood there for a moment, silently watching the lift loading operation. Then Fitz muttered something that the prevailing racket rendered inaudible.

"What did you say?" asked Danny, hoping that somebody could find words to express the situation. His mind was reeling at the glaring implications of Holy Sam's promise of "Intervention."

"I said we were going to try the Big Empty out there on a wing and an I.O.U. – but now we're loaded for the main haul!"

"What I want to know," grumbled Bjornson, "is why the Big M didn't mention this stash when she was being so generous."

"She might have gotten around to it," said Poyntner, "if she would have needed to sweeten the stakes in her game."

Then Danny found words. "But it was a last trump card she didn't get to play..."

* * * *

The new land extended almost from the equator to the northern pole of the dawn world, sprawling massively east and west into unmeasured distances. This particular coast was tropical, characterized by tall rain forests and wide, majestic rivers flowing gently to the sea. What was to have become the viceroyalty of New Andragoya now bore the more appropriate Talavat name of Dyana-Chenravaloc (Land of New Life).

It was new life in two directions.

On the one hand the growing thatched-hut city of Tarnubhava (Star of Prophecy) already extended itself a mile or two along the palm-fringed shoreline, giving every sign of transplanted fresh vitality. Smaller communities had chosen havens farther inland by shaded streams among the nut and fruit groves, or on some lush and friendly river bight where docks reached into somnolent bays and shallow-hulled fishing boats nudged the sun-bright banks among drying fiber nets. The earliest immigrants from doomed Lankara had prepared the way for their following companions.

Here and there even a few teams of ox-like ubyahans could be seen tilling plantation fields. The earthmen who had chosen to share the native destiny had transmitted practical gifts of knowledge so that now the simpler arts and crafts of a young civilization were becoming a way of life. Gone was the myth-mystique of nature's germinating transition, the eons-long entrancement of becoming. Here the still dream of ages had turned to wakeful purpose. It was time to go forth and multiply and to populate the world, where tomorrow was today extended forever.

On the other hand, out on the two-mile sandbar trapped by the reefs sat Maitluccan the silver-gleaming Sky Dragon and his lesser brother, the shuttle. The other Star Sons would be going home. Boozie and Bruno had long since returned in the space shuttle, but not to torn and twisted Lankara under its acting doom clouds where rivers of fire seared the toppling jungles and the anguished land slowly yielded to the sea. A two-week phase of departure for the star ship had stretched into several months. After the pressures of decision and crisis, the peaceful contrast of the new land had provided an unexpected attraction for some who had not been able to adjust to the planet previously. A large number of the colonial survivors had elected to interface with Ravano's people rather than face the terrors of the Barrier Wall again. However, Danny and his new staff of officers and Project leaders had decided to give everyone ample time for second thoughts before making a final commitment. First impressions could wear off for some people, even in Paradise. Their decisions would be irreversible once the star journey began.

Another reason for the prolonged departure was the need for a handover phase, according to Alfred Poyntner who was the new Project Administrator.

"Fontaine and Nolokov are wise," he told the joint staff a few days after the fleet had arrived with the last of the native survivors. "They're more or less the Council here in the new world, or at least they're the top advisers to Ravano. When we offered to bring down a last few items from the cargo pods two remaining air car kits, a last land rover, more guns and ammunition, modern medical supplies and instruments – they refused. They're right, of course. Modern vehicles require an industrial infrastructure to support them, and guns would make people dependent upon a form of hunting and protection that wouldn't last for long. The medical stuff would only be a crutch. Such things belong to another culture that's clear up the other side of the evolutionary arc.

"During the crisis evacuation of Terra Nova, some of our more foolhardy crewmen managed to scavenge some useful items from the storehouses, but machinery items, for the most part, were rejected. So they're choosing the course of natural adaptation and growth, keeping only those items that harmonize with the environment: primitive arts and crafts, simple textile techniques, basic agriculture, and so forth.

"Now, our handover phase will consist of giving them all the encyclopedic data they'll need for future reference. More than this, those members of our expedition who will remain with the Tallies want a record of what we've learned here, especially the experience we had with – well, whoever it was who came through the Gate to educate us in the temple."

"What about the basic art of writing?" Danny had asked. "Are they going to let the Tallies fool with hieroglyphics and clay tablets for the next thousand generations?"

"No. In addition to information on looms for weaving they'll accept whatever we can leave them to help develop parchment, paper, inks, dyes, and so forth."

"That," said Carl Sinding, "is more important than the wheel. There is a quantum jump of at least a million years!"

"A going-away present, you might say."

"It's a cinch they won't have a cosmoscope," smirked Frans Mabuse, "so they'll certainly be on their own here."

"What about that?" Fitz interjected. "Do you think the star ships will ever make it back here?"

"Never!" said Poyntner with a strangely positive conviction. "That's one big lesson we've learned. We were told in the temple that 'no mechanical vehicle, nothing out of the deeper densities, can ever reach the physical stars in its own space-time continuum.' That's nature's chastity belt, the Barrier Wall, and now I understand the scientific principle behind it."

"But wait!" Hapgood exclaimed worriedly. "Then how do we expect to get back to Earth in our own time? We may even be in a parallel universe here."

Danny answered him. "We were told we'd get back. We'll be gated through."

"How?"

Poyntner completed the answer. "The same way we were gated through when we came here. In both cases there was a planned reason. On the outward journey, we had to know what we didn't know. Some of us are returning because we're at least ready to know." He studied the faces around him. "As Sam once said, these things are perceived on different levels, according to our states of development. I think, at our own level of consciousness, we can at least cautiously whisper about the Wisdom of Nature." He smiled sheepishly. "When we can handle our own petty egos better, we'll probably get around to talking about a Universal Intelligence."

Thus, the handover phase was a sober searching of the human purpose on multiple levels, a careful preparation for the parting of two separate cultures. Possibly forever.

* * * *

The giant Hawaiian-style luau was mostly Foxy's idea of a farewell party on the eve of departure. Also, with the help of the natives, Jerry had been able to concoct something milder and tastier than uighyic, which even satisfied Boozie.

"You might have a winner here," commented the Belgian festively as he returned to his improvised bongo drums. He had been adding a beat to the Talavat maita-bhava flutes and duraca sticks.

The timeless tropical twilight was enhanced by a full rising moon, and the cheerful torches along the beaches and through the spacious palm groves were the local equivalent of tiki lights. Ravano's hunters had provided the wild tapir-like vathamanis which were the closest to pigs, and there were also roast sainlakans, very much like pheasants, plus an overabundance of exotic fishfood from the sea, and fruits and nuts and flowers from the bounteous cornucopia of nature.

After happy hours of feasting, dancing, and speechmaking when the tiki lights burned low and the campfires were reduced to glowing embers, some of the Star Sons turned to the sobering thoughts of final commitment. Fully thirty of the would-be jumpers came to Danny and said they had changed their minds. They had decided to go home to Earth.

Danny exchanged glances with Freddie and Poyntner and Mabuse. "But what about the primordial Id and the tiger skins?" he countered with mock solemnity. "You boys seemed to be turning on to all that."

"Yeah, it's been nice," said Burt Henshaw wearily as he removed his wilted flower lei. "This is a great place to visit, but–"

Juhani Kivi, standing next to Billy Vinet and Kenny Makart, scratched his unruly beard plaintively. "You get a little tired of flint and tinder every time you want to turn on a light."

Fitz sighed philosophically. "Ah, back to the age of plug-ins and plastics!"

"Right now," quipped Boozie, "you apes could use an electric shaver, after a power lawnmower job!"

"They're covering up," said Jules Elliott. "They have stars in their eyes. They think we've really got something to bring back home. They might not be able to understand it all, but most of them feel it may be the answer we started out to find."

Danny interrupted as he saw a familiar figure in the nearby village beyond the beach house. "My God, it's the Bishop!" he exclaimed. "I thought–"

"He showed up at the fleet base one day," said Foxy, "leaning on a staff and looking like St. Peter bound for Rome."

As they all watched the cowled, monkish figure amongst a group of Tally children, he added: "We leave him alone."

"I've tried to talk to him," said Nolokov pensively. "Those of us who were there noticed that something strange happened to him when he demanded that the Oracle identify itself. He may come out of it someday, but for now, all he can say to everyone he meets is a single phrase, a question–"

"Speaking of the Oracle," interrupted Juhani Kivi, "that's the damned part that a lot of us are still in the fog about."

Some of the homer delegation were still lingering around the campfire alone with the bewildered-looking Finn Vinet, Henshaw, Makart and a few others. Danny sensed the lonely burden of leader responsibility when he looked at their questioning faces.

Ogden Hapgood spoke for them. "You know, only a few of you witnessed whatever went on in that cave. The rest of us have to take your word for whatever it was."

Frederica looked up at him from her seat between Fitz and Boozie by the fire. "Some of the men have asked me if the whole phenomenon wasn't just a case of everybody psychophasing."

"Yeah," complained Vinet, "where's the Lily right now? She's supposed to be the star of that production."

Danny perceived a possible leverage. "I think Lalille and Jerry have gone to check on their little flock of nymphs and satyrs just now. That in itself should remind you boys of Boozie's immortal axiom – it's an anywhere world. The lid is off!"

"I've talked to Lalille about her experience," said Freddie. "She claims that she remembers nothing about her pronouncements as the Oracle. She insists that she was merely channeling."

"Channeling what?" retorted Henshaw. "Or Who?"

"This whole thing is a kind of cop-out for the rest of us," grumbled Bjornson. "We get what's supposed to be cryptic meanings, from Noley and Poyntner and Jerry, and half of us don't even know what the hell 'cryptic' means!"

In the midst of this livening discussion, they were unaware of a new arrival, until Juhani Kivi cried out, "Hey everybody! Look who's here?"

It was the Bishop. Leaning wearily on an improvised staff, the cowled figure merely stood there staring at the fire's dying embers, as if it had been a natural instinct for him to humbly join their gathering, with or without invitation.

"Well now," said Kenny Makart, "speaking of Oracles, here's the High Priest of the Inquisition!"

"Take it easy," cautioned Elliott. "In his state, he's not a fair target for all you sinners."

"The poor man must be hungry," suggested Freddie.

"He may be out of luck," taunted Vinet. "We're fresh out of crow!"

In low tones, Bishop Saussure spoke. "Were you there?"

"No, by God!" shouted Juhani Kivi. "We were NOT there – and that's the frigging problem!" Freddie tried to interrupt him, but there was no stopping his frustrated outburst. "You were the holier-than-thou scripture pounder, and if a miracle happened in that heathen cave you should have come out of there spouting earth-shaking revelations! I think all that happened was that a super dose of voodoo gave you a case of the flips!"

Danny and other staff members were about to shut him up when everyone was galvanized by an unexpected reaction of the Bishop. The cowled figure suddenly straightened up stiffly, causing the cowl to fall away from his face. The helpless humility was gone, replaced by an entranced expression of blazing-eyed denunciation. Wherewith he threw his staff into the embering fire and proclaimed in his most powerful baritone:

"I am that Alpha and Omega you know not of!"

Then suddenly he slumped and would have fallen if Henshaw and Makart hadn't caught him. After a long speechless moment, in which Freddie and Poyntner led the Bishop gently away, Danny finally broke the silence.

"Well," he said, "I guess that was the message that none of us heard."

"And seldom ever have," muttered Nolokov somberly.

"What!?" asked Bjornson, mystified.

Boozie aimed his most eloquent smirk at him. "Axel, my boy," he said, "now that was cryptic!"

* * * *

Later, a small group of friends came to say their goodbyes to Homer Fox. Foxy had grown more portly and had really gone native, wearing a fiber-cloth skirt which he called his tapa special. His thatch-roofed house on the beach appeared to be the answer to his earthy needs. And there was shy and smiling Nagala, his chesty Talavat wife, pregnant again, plus a fine fat baby girl.

"She's a bit on the white side," he commented, "but with just a shade of copper in her. I call her Penny."

When he looked seaward to the shadowy line of the anchored fleet beyond the outer reefs, however, there was something in his light agate eyes that was not so simple or childlike. It was pride mixed with a dream.

"She'll see other lands someday. My sons will be the new Vasco da Gamas and Columbuses. We'll build us some real ships here. Under the admiralship of Axel Bjornson they'll open up new horizons." As if too heavy a philosophy conflicted with his basic nature, he suddenly grinned brightly. "Lebensraum, man! Your high-rent district's a million years away!"

* * * *

At last, under an old lowering moon, the final goodbyes between Danny and Freddie, and Jerry and Lalille were said.

They stood on a lonelier stretch of beach near the great sandbar. A mile away was the gleaming dome of the life-pod and the smaller shuttle craft. All four of the star travelers were World Servers, two for the new world and two for the old, that distant Earth which was never to feel alone again.

"With the native need for agriculture," Jerry told them, "I've got a career cut out for me, and Lalille will be more or less our guardian angel as far as the Moals and dakshas are concerned. They're still sacred to the Tallies, so there's not much of a problem on the indigenous side of social integration." He frowned a bit ruefully. "Of course it will still require an adaptation phase for us 'contaminants' to find a complete adjustment here..."

"Considering," added Lalille, "that in terms of root-race cycles, we're caught here between what might be the equivalent of Lemurian and Atlantean epochs." She smiled apologetically. "At least that's the way I think Sambhava might have expressed it."

"Ah yes, Sambhava," said Jerry. "There's a final mystery for you."

"That's right!" commented Danny. "Lalille, what about Holy Sam?"

"In other words," added Freddie, "since you were as close to him as Nolokov – or maybe closer – what did your psychic instincts tell you about him?"

"In those last hours in the temple," Danny interjected, "he seemed somehow bigger than life. In a nutshell, Lil, what was he? Was he what Noley sometimes hinted at – 'something we don't talk about'?"

Lalille smiled mysteriously. "Maybe something that one of the Great Ones spoke of – 'an advanced state in the ever-evolving kingdoms of Nature!'"

"You mean like a saint or maybe a Laha?" asked Danny.

She shook her head as though her thought could not be put into words. "At least let's say – he was the one among us who was indisputably a non-contaminant..."

There was more. Lalille remembered something she had told Nolokov and Akala and their Krias. Back in the temple of Terra Nova when she had first sensed the presence of the Lahas, she hadn't been wrong.

"From our space photos," said Jerry, "we know there's a continental chain of high mountains to the north, very much like the Himalayas. Lalille swears the Lahas are there in human form, and the Krias sense it, too. Khyatri calls them World Watchers."

"Noley is going up there someday," said Lalille. "He thinks that is where poor Saussure may find himself again." She added musingly, "Sambhava sometimes used to talk about Ancient Wisdom, which spoke of Mahatmas in the Himalayas of Earth."

"What are Mahatmas?" asked Danny.

"It's a Sanskrit term for 'Great Ones.'"

* * * *

When Freddie and Lalille walked away like sisters to have their cry and really say goodbye, Danny sought to have a few private words with Jerry. As the two of them stood silently beside each other, watching the quiet surf in the starlight, a question haunted Danny that he didn't feel like carrying through life unanswered.

"When the Rak carried Tallullah away," he asked, "couldn't you have palavered with Ughur and saved her? Or is that the way you wanted it?"

Jerry looked away toward the village. "I don't know, Danny. Maybe I wasn't shielding my soul anymore, as Freddie advised. Anyway, my prime concern was for Lalille, and it all seemed to be out of my hands, maybe a part of the prophecy."

"The prophecy? In what way?"

He turned to meet his questioning gaze. The strong, undreaming face broke into an ironic smile. "I mean symbolically. That most cosmic justice that happened to Tallullah was like opening the door on all that's been dark and evil. This world is virginal. It can do without the evil aspects of human nature until it's old and wise enough to cope with it. We do have a darker side to our makeup, in spite of all the signals. Pray God we'll all emerge out of those densities the Lahas spoke of."

Danny put a hand on the other's shoulder. "If we're into last words here, Jerry, you'd better quit while you're ahead. Let's go with that one!"

Jerry shook his head. "You don't get off that easy, Commander. As our fearless leader, you have the last word." While Danny stared at him, seemingly trapped and at a loss for words, he added, "As the Laha said, when the question is known, the answer will come."

"Maybe," said Danny, finally, "we have to cap that pyramid and become our own solution..."

EPILOGUE

The long journey home was far different from the outward quest. The ship's company was greatly reduced in numbers but the levels of consciousness had been increased. They knew that other starmen like themselves would be returning with the nameless answer, at least ready now to "know."

Somewhere out in the unknown immensities a day came when everyone was treated to a concert of electronic organ music. Boozie had gone back to his first love. He was playing his latest concerto over the P.A. system. The composition was alien yet strangely inspiring with its untried medleys of flourishing epic cadenzas, its rippling and haunting riffs and its delicate subliminal descants.

"He calls it the Music of the Spheres," said Danny.

Freddie had joined him in one of the more intimate recreation rooms. They were alone, sharing the concert as if it were therapy for their weathered spirits.

"I know." She smiled pensively, looking soft and petite in her simple blue jumper suit. The chignon was gone, and so were the horn-rim glasses. "He's been studying the music on his cosmo-tapes, compositions from other souls out there in forever. It's like a musical signature to life eternal."

"Well! We're really poetic today!"

"You're hearing his Earth dream, Danny, the gift that should never have been deserted."

"Like our own dreams, honey. Something like the bluebird in your own backyard. I guess that was what the Star Quest was all about. The answer is never 'out there'. Just like the eternal Now, there's an eternal Here. Our work is within ourselves."

Long after the concert had ended, they sat together discussing their dreams, Danny's ideas for blighted areas of the Earth, and Freddie's research foundation. Now, however, she said she wanted to concentrate on a study of the real meaning of parapsychology, "our lost faculties returning to us."

Finally, on the library screen she noted the title of the digital book he'd been reading. She glanced at him dubiously. "UFOs again?"

"Why not? We're packing a hell of a lot of answers into our basket, sweetie. Why not solve that puzzle, too? After all, we still haven't figured out what Boozie saw when he said there was something big out there near his orbit. We had a visitor that day. Somebody answered his cosmic SOS and just in time. You can't walk away from a thing like that."

She sighed as if this wasn't the particular subject she had come to talk about. "I know. I heard Poyntner discussing it the other day. If no mechanical vessel is supposed to get through the Barrier Wall, how do you account for almost instant transportation like that?"

Danny got up from the reading console. "Well, things would be dull if we knew all the answers, come to think of it. But the whole thing still bugs me."

She also got up, relieved to dismiss the subject. She smiled at him coyly. "You haven't said anything about my new look, Danny,"

He paused beside a pneumatic device that protruded from the wall. "What, you mean the sexy hairdo? I never did like it up in that tight little bun on your head. Far too antiseptic for romance. Freddie, here's a little present for you." He held a CD cartridge in his hand and opened the pneumatic receiver.

"What do you mean, for me? That's a disposal tube."

"Right!" He popped the cartridge into the tube and pressed a button. There was a brief hissing sound. The capsule was gone into the outer void. He grinned at her. "That was my Pit tape, baby. Kitty Keene would agree. No more hollow phonies for me."

Freddie blushed, but then he realized what she had been getting at. He looked at her amber eyes more closely.

"Hey, are you wearing contacts?"

"Well, I was down in the optics lab the other day, and I thought– What are you grinning at now? Do they look funny?"

He took her into his arms and held her gently to him. More than Kitty's tape had gone out the tube. His nervous little virgin had just dropped her chastity belt.

* * * *

In the absence of day and night while traversing the abysmal intergalactic void, time seemed immeasurable, marked only by human events or circumstances on board the hurtling star ship. A growing focal point of human concern was Alfred Poyntner's anguish and frustration in his struggle to organize his findings into a scientific report to Earth that would not seem to be "so much spaced-out deep purple or voodoo madness," as he expressed it. There was growing concern for him principally because of his having lost all awareness of time.

"Ye gods!" Fitz exclaimed. "I've timed him twice now. He sometimes will go twenty hours straight, beating his brains out, or trying to wear out that whiteboard in the astrolabe!"

The whiteboard was a chalk board except that the "chalk" used was an electronic pencil. Poyntner always had the board filled with abstruse calculations. No one was quite sure when he slept or ate.

As the ship's medi-psychiatrist, Frederica finally convinced Danny and his closest staff members that their long-maligned "Old Pointed Head" was in critical need of some "Intervention." Whether this would be merely moral support or some kind of actual prophylaxis remained to be seen, as she and Danny invaded the astrolabe accompanied by Boozie, Fitz, and Hapgood. Danny simply walked over to the whiteboard and appropriated the electro-marker, causing Poyntner to glare at him in shocked indignation.

"Doc," said Danny, "take the load off. It's time for a break."

Freddie and Fitz helped to guide and half force the remonstrating astrophysicist to a seat.

"Come on, Al," urged Hapgood. "Don't burn yourself out. That won't deliver a thing!"

"That's right," added Fitz with a worried frown on his broad Irish face. "No man climbs his mountains without taking a breath of air."

"You know," said Freddie, "we can make a Council decision here – or a crisis call if necessary – to give you a sleeping hypo." In contrast to her old white-smock clinicality, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a conciliatory smile. "This is the Med Department talking, old sweetie."

Danny could practically see Poyntner's wheels turning actually the workings of a brilliant mentality and a formidable personality. As he stared up at Freddie it was obvious that her startling departure from her old vitriolic attitude toward him was a stopper. In fact he stared at all of them analytically, suddenly realizing that new ground was being broken here. He had always been the contentious one, and they the contenders, but quite obviously here was a delegation of close travelers who were genuinely concerned about his personal welfare.

He was trapped, floundering for words.

So Boozie broke the impasse. "Speaking of hypos," he said with a cordial smirk, "here's something to uncinch the old deck clamps." He opened a satchel he had surreptitiously brought with him, which revealed a compact little bar, replete with glasses and a mysterious, rather large gourd wrapped in native inhudesi fiber. "A bon voyage present from Jerry, since he didn't get to plant me a vineyard."

"Good Lord!" Danny exclaimed. "Is that more uighyic?"

"Au contraire!" The aesthete Belgian poured a glass full and lifted it as though to make a toast. "It's the improved version, from Dyana-Chenravaloc, remember? Land of New Life. And Alfred old boy, maybe that's where we're headed, too!"

Danny was about to object to this diversion, but Freddie touched his arm to stay the impulse – which proved to be psychologically insightful.

"I'll take that!" said Poyntner suddenly, and he promptly relieved Boozie of his glass.

* * * *

Thus began one of the most unique human dialogues in the annals of World Council Authority, while the Sirius III hurtled on its undefined course through imponderable realms of the Cosmos. A time had come for synthesis – for a verbal conceptualization of their transcendent journey beyond known time and space. Fitz, Boozie and Hapgood had not shared the experience of the Oracle, so they could only struggle to understand or comprehend what had been described to them by Danny, Freddie and Poyntner who were Earth's sole returning witnesses to the seeming miracle.

After absorbing several shots of what Boozie had dubbed "Tally Twang" – embellished by Fitz to "TNT" – Poyntner began to reveal some of the source of his anguish. It was in a sense a kind of "stage fright" when he considered the august audience of his scientific peers, to whom he would have to present his universe-altering "paper."

"You know," he said, "the Tallies had their Krias, but my professional community also has its high priests – some of the most brilliant minds on the face of the Earth." A wistful smile touched his weary features. "But there were no mantras or chants – no ceremony at all when it came to the Cosmos tinkering and theoretical in-fighting. I mean, these were highly degreed recognized scholars – some of them Nobel prize winners – from the top universities and observatories of the world! We'd meet somewhere in a quiet place and just bang heads together while sitting around in our jeans and sweat shirts, or no shirts at all. No podiums or panel tables or batteries of microphones." His features tensed, revealing his anguish again. "The bullshit stayed outside. This was just pure minds – freely attacking the unknowables of existence."

"And what you're worried about," mused Boozie over his glass, "is how you're going to tear up all their pet models of the universe without making it sound like bullshit."

Poyntner glared at him. "Precisely!"

"Maybe it isn't all that bad," suggested Danny, at last also sampling Boozie's "Twang." "Remember what one of the Lahas told you, and I think I can quote: 'Your time of science's knowing is near. Your colleagues are already staring at the answers, lacking only a final interpretation.'"

Deep into his own glass of TNT, Fitz chuckled. "Faith, if it don't remind me of the old one about the blindmen who went to see the elephant. Each of them had his own idea because he couldn't see the whole of the beast!"

"Back off of that, Fitz," argued Hapgood, pouring himself a shot. "I've read up some on all that deep space stuff, and what they say is that the astrophysicists and the quantum physicists are hanging on to opposite ends of the same cantankerous animal."

Poyntner glared at Danny and Boozie while shrugging in resignation. "That's staring at the answers, all right!"

Boozie smirked, apparently settling into the discussion with relish. "Don't knock it, Al," he said. "They have a point. This whole problem is a matter of interpretation."

Poyntner sprang to his feet and began pacing angrily.

"For the love of God – or at least Universal Intelligence – will you all please get out of here and leave me alone? This isn't helping!"

"You spoke fondly of your head-banging sessions," Boozie persisted. "So maybe it would help to bang some of your pet universes around. You know, I once got pretty hip deep into astrophysics 101, but when you boys came up with the Big Bang I walked out. Nature doesn't work that way."

This launched both men into a fast-paced harangue, which threatened to cover the whole gamut of cosmology, from Big Bang and Big Crunch to inflationary, string, and oscillation theory. Danny grinned and drew Freddie and the other two aside.

"Who's the headshrink now, Doctor?" he asked her.

"My Flemish buddy seems to be drawing the old boy out!"

"No," countered Freddie concernedly. "Poyntner's right, this isn't helping! And I can tell you why..."

She quickly went into a huddle with the three men and proposed a psychological approach. She intuited that Poyntner was under high tension because of something he was obviously suppressing.

"To relieve that tension, you have to pull the plug," she insisted. "Danny, I have a strong hunch. Don't block me on this – just do what I say. Walk in there between them and tell them to shut up. I have one basic question to ask our world-class cosmologist!"

Danny met the somewhat wavering stares of Happy and Fitz, then gazed speculatively at Boozie and Poyntner, who appeared to be in a wildly pacing and hand-waving session. When he turned back to Freddie, raising a querulous brow at her, his incipient grin froze when she snapped at him in her old clinical tone.

"That is a medical order, Commander!"

He stared at her in momentary wonderment, but then realized that she was the only sober member among them. He straightened up in a mock heel-clicking gesture and saluted. Then he turned resolutely and wove his way to the cosmological contenders. He gently shoved them apart, and when they stared at him in open-mouthed amazement, he ordered them to sit down.

"Doctor Frederica Sachs tells me she can straighten this out, Alfred, so just pay attention now, and lend an ear."

Frederica was there immediately. "Doctor Poyntner," she said briskly, "you will recall in the temple of the Lahas that, when Bishop Saussure challenged the Oracle to identify itself, he was suddenly struck dumb as if by a thunderbolt."

"And that was cryptic!" muttered Boozie.

"Shut up!" said Danny.

Poyntner seemed to stare at Freddie as though with a wary presentiment of what was to come.

"In your own case," she continued, "when you persisted in challenging the Laha, you yourself were struck by such a thunderbolt – obviously, because it silenced you and, I believe, has changed you forever." When Poyntner appeared to tense up, she knew she had touched on his problem. "Alfred!" she ordered. "I am going to ask you one straight question, a I want you to answer it spontaneously – without rationalization. Can you do that?"

Raising his head in stiffening tension, Poyntner seemed ready to resist her, but the fact that he had begun to perspire was a sure sign to her that she was ready to "pull the plug."

"Alfred Poyntner," she said swiftly, "what was that thunderbolt?"

Everyone held their breaths, with all eyes focused on the astrophysicist's drawn, tense face. Then Freddie's brilliant strategy seemed to collapse like a house of cards when he glared straight at her and said, "No!"

As the other three men met Freddie's startled gaze with a sympathetic smile or a shrug, Danny suggestively offered her a compensating shot of "Twang." But she suddenly waved it off as Poyntner started to speak again.

The astrophysicist appeared to be addressing his thoughts to the Cosmic void itself when he said, "Such an answer cannot be spontaneous or without rationalization... The 'thunderbolt' had three parts to it. The first part came like a pulse-burst transmission – a virtual explosion of knowledge. Then came the real bolt – a one-thought, one-word command..."

"Which was..." coaxed Freddie.

He stared at her as if startled that he had listeners. Then he almost shouted, "Extrapolate!"

"Extrapolate what?" challenged Boozie in unsmirking intensity.

"Yes, what's the third part, Al?" asked Danny.

Poyntner suddenly snatched up the electro-marker that Danny had left on the computer console, and with it he rushed to the white board. Manipulating a side panel, he caused the board to clear automatically. The others could only watch as he made a sweeping sinusoidal diagram and then entered two simple-looking mathematical statements: N 1" above the diagram, and "N 1" below it. Then he turned to face them, his eyes blazing.

"Extrapolate that!" he challenged. When met with only a staring silence, he mellowed slightly. "It was that vision, shot into my brain, which shut me up that day in the temple. You're right, Frederica, I've never been the same since!" He nodded toward the board behind him. "This changes the universe, and I've been struggling ever since to know how to present it."

Danny set his glass down. He could see that Freddie's diagnosis was valid. Obviously, she had "pulled the plug" on a very weighty suppression. Poyntner was ready to spill his cosmological soul. But he knew that he and Freddie might have to throw in some supporting information.

"For you boys who weren't in the temple," he said, "that sine wave series represents what the Laha was trying to tell us."

Poyntner seemed to be staring beyond all of them as he virtually quoted what he had learned. "The cyclic creation of universes alternates in cosmic pulsation between involution and evolution, first densifying, and then attenuating–"

"I love the part best," said Freddie, "where he likened density oscillation to a diastole and systole cycle – like the heartbeat of the Cosmos..."

Fitz drew Happy aside confidentially. "It seems to me now, lad, that these people would like to be left alone."

Whether it was "Twang" or a more elevated spirit working within him, Hapgood appeared to be having new visions of his own. "Get off it, Fitz!" he retorted. "Something's happening here, don't you see it? My God, we've always prayed for the New Millennium, and maybe this is it!"

"There's one step missing here," said Boozie, indicating the white board. "What's the extrapolation? What is this saying?"

Freddie was gratified to see Poyntner's tensions easing up, which she knew was due to something that ran deeper than what was in his glass.

The cosmologist smiled at Boozie and gently challenged him.

"Frans Mabuse, I've always suspected there was a frustrated Einstein in you that wanted to get out. Why don't you relieve your own suppressions now, and do the extrapolation for us?" As Boozie appeared to have been hoping for the invitation, he added, "So I'll repeat your question, young man – what is this saying?"

No longer imbibing, Boozie figuratively "took the stage" with alacrity. "On the condition," he said, "that you tap into that pulse-burst of knowledge they shot you with, and pull out a missing fact or two, I might give this a try–"

"Words! Words!" Poyntner chided, imitating his own tirade in the temple.

Like a professor at a college lectern, Boozie pointed to the diagram on the white board. "I take it that these waves are successive universes – that is, the lower loop of each cycle. As to the upper loops above the zero line–" He shrugged. "Data, please?"

Danny interrupted. "Holy Sam once called those the 'twilight of the gods,' according to the ancients. The Hindus called them pralayas..."

Poyntner squinted a critical eye at Boozie. "You know the prime directive of science, Frans. No theory is viable unless susceptible of scientific verification. Do you know of any approach to a verification here?"

"Yes, it fills in some of the puzzle I've always wondered about. These days when your large telescope arrays and computer spreads can give you a super wide view of the Cosmos, an obvious mosaic shows up. I'd say those 'pralaya' loops are all those voids that make up the pattern."

"Ten points for you!" answered Poyntner, enjoying himself. "Now what about the n and the l?"

"Looks like you're diddling with one of your sacred constants. 'N = 1' represents the refractive index of light in a vacuum, but–"

"But I am now told that there is no vacuum!" said Poyntner.

Somewhat startled, Boozie nevertheless returned a confident smirk. "You mean Michelson and Morley got rid of the 'ether' too soon? I always suspected–"

"You suspected right, but would it surprise you to know that there can be no so-called 'ether' or vacuum, because even those voids you mention are filled with finer matter?"

"Not particularly. After all, your quantum boys have already detected an extension of the gravitational field into other dimensions. In fact, there you have the solution to the great mystery of 'dark matter' – the 90 percent of the Cosmos that's been hidden from us."

Poyntner shook his head in appreciation. "Boy, you're doing it! Your grade curve is going into orbit! Now extrapolate those deviations of the n and l statement."

Boozie pointed to the upper notation showing n 1. "If we're talking about density oscillations," he said, "then in any pralaya or 'night of the gods,' so called, the refractive index of light would be less than 1. As to the lower notation –" He indicated the "N 1" statement below the sine wave loops. "If each evolving universe cycles into its densities and then evolves on a rising arc of attenuation, it follows that in the density areas the refractive index of light would be greater than–"

Poyntner leapt to his feet and confronted Boozie at the board, glaring a challenge at him. "And what in hell do you think THAT would do to our red shift interpretations!" he almost shouted.

The speechless onlookers in the astro lab seemed to hold their breaths, wondering if their new champion could possibly answer such a challenge. Boozie, however, was more startled by Poyntner's explosive reaction than he was by the question.

There was no smirk when he answered. "I'd say THAT would throw Hubble's constant out of the ballgame, and it would give you an attenuating universe – not an expanding one. And another thing – that might be the best way to explain away the misinterpretation of your so-called 'dark energy.'"

Poyntner appeared to slump in happy relief. He stared at the others who had witnessed the incredible "head-bash" session.

"Fitzgerald Gogarty," he said, while taking his seat again, "in your good Irish soul you always seem to find one of those comforting old homilies that serve to simplify our perplexing human state." He waved a hand at the white board. "Can you help us now, please? I'm not only going to be addressing geniuses when I publish my paper, but there are all those 'slab-brains' Noley was always talking about. They count, too, you know. So how would you make simple sense out of this whole explosive revelation?"

Danny wondered if Poyntner was throwing the powerful impact of the moment away on a facetious request. Whereas the others had been noticeably sobered by the stormy dialogue, Fitz had taken possession of the TNT gourd itself.

Slightly red-nosed and bearing a striking resemblance to an inebriated leprechaun, he raised a final glass, while linking his free arm in Hapgood's arm. "Happy here, my good companion," he drawled, "has placed the pot at the end of the rainbow, and the searchin's done, I say!" While Happy could only stare at him in consternation, he took another sip. "In his good heart he's reminded me that we've always prayed for the New Millennium, or at least a New Age." He frowned and swayed back and forth as if in rejection. "There's always been a wicked fly in that old ointment, you see. Each time we crossed the doorstep of a new millennium, it seems we've always dragged a load of old rubbish right across it with us..." Suddenly he smiled and lifted his glass to all. "But I'm toastin' our chances at this one as we bring our new baggage back to old Mother Earth. This time, by God, we're cleanin' out the attic!"

It was later determined that Alfred Poyntner finally slept for two days...

* * * *

Before the star ship's velocity brought it into the trans-C effect of the Barrier Wall, two final revelations occurred. Another UFO was sighted. This time it was a gigantic silvery ship which was clearly discernible on the observatory video.

"I've got it!" Poyntner announced jubilantly over the P.A. system.

He told everyone to watch their nearest monitor screens as he reran the videos he had taken. Everyone was puzzled at first. The gleaming saucer-shaped vessel appeared to rush toward them and disappear.

"Noley was right all along," said Poyntner. "We've been asleep on our slabs, or at least I have! Like the Laha said in the temple, men mold their gods and heavens to fit their egos, and science does no less."

Danny anxiously offered a rebuttal over the voice-video channel. "But those intelligences also said that no mechanical vehicles–"

"Nothing out of the deeper densities, Danny! Don't you get it? Good God, have we been blind! That ship wasn't rushing toward us, it was going away!"

"But it got larger."

"In an optical sense, yes, but it was attenuating into a different energy plane. It went back through the Gate! All these years, we said it was an illusion. We were flatlanders, all right, completely ignorant of the multiplex nature of the universe!"

Boozie was heard from, sounding anything but cynical. "What do you think that thing was trying to do, Al, pass us a signal? The cosmoscope is on constant reception, you know. Nothing came in on the indicators."

"It was an inspection, maybe. I think it's getting ready to take us across the Barrier. It'll be back, but be prepared to blank out again, as we did when we came through the first time.

"Except," said Fitz, "that on this trip there'll be no panic, now that we know what we didn't know."

Before the Barrier transition came, the cosmoscope sounded an alarm. Something was coming in, a message sent instantaneously across the light years. When Boozie played back the reception tape, the incredible happened. The voice spoke English, with a hauntingly familiar accent. The first words were: "Star ship Sirius III, I give you a final message." Before they could recover from this first shock, the surprise that followed left them speechless. It was Holy Sam.

"When the earthquake struck the temple," he explained, "I knew my pudgy old legs were not as fleet as yours. I had no choice but to escape through the Gate."

After that preamble they could only listen in wondering silence for fear of missing a word. Since the cosmoscope was only in reception mode, there was no way of making a response transmission. They had no way of knowing where he was, and as Danny commented to the listeners it was probably just as well. Fitz topped this with, "Our cup runneth over already. Leave well enough alone!"

Sam told them they would soon be coming back across the Barrier and into "new life," that they had become a new species, born through experience to the "next phase of causal activity." This, he said, was the true purpose behind the great compulsion of the race, the world cult of the Star Quest, a crucial time of human transition.

Before they blanked out to be gated beyond the Barrier, they heard his careful conclusion:

"I know that Alfred Poyntner must be preparing a vitally significant scientific report on what you have seen and experienced, yet he is no doubt troubled by it. He wonders how he may be able to get his peers to understand. The answer is that many will not. But there are many who will, more than any time in history. Why? The race is attenuating. On the sinusol curve of contraction and expansion, you are emerging from your densities. There are new and restless awakenings. The response groups will grow. The knowledge gained by the Star Quest will be like a single star, a bursting nova in the void of darkness. The lost faculties are returning, as seen in your increasing psi phenomena. Man will expand as he attenuates. He will continue to build his cyclopean structures in a new Golden Age, for this time his pyramid will be completed."

Long after the tape had become silent, Poyntner finally spoke. "He's certainly right about the report that I'm trying to make palatable to top minds and slab-heads alike, back on Earth. I don't even know what the hell to call it!"

Boozie had a suggestion: "How about God in a Plain Brown Wrapper?"

* * * *

The blackness came, yet there were visions and cosmic dreams as they crossed the Barrier, of condensing galaxies and expanding universes, worlds without end.

CODA

"There were Raks in the world in those days, and also after that when the Star Sons came in unto the Daughters of Lankara, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men, where of old, men of renown..."

–Chapter 6, Stanza 4. – The Later Commentaries

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

B.A., M.A., UCLA, plus college teaching credentials. Ten years trade school and college extension courses covering the gamut from computerology to electronics, astronomy, and management. Ten years in Show Biz including two years' association with Robert Cohen of Columbia. Former member of SFWA, WGAW, and formerly National Executive VP of Science-Fantasy Writers of America (Ray Bradbury, President).

Over 3 million words published plus half a dozen pocketbooks, and some screen and TV credits (ZIV/TV – Men Into Space, starring Bill Lundigan; story line and research package for The Deserter, DeLaurentis release starring Ricardo Montalban, John Huston, Chuck Connors, etc.)

In international management, specialized in systems analysis, multi-country system installation, large-scale procurement and inventory control management (operations exceeding $100 million annual volume). Multilingual (Spanish, German). Lived abroad, So. America and Guam, traveled for Litton Data Systems to NATO bases in Europe (as Principal Engineering Writer and proposal survey rep).

So much for the resume! What about the nitty-gritty? (All those years to account for!) Inasmuch as all of this was laid out in the Appendix of my gothic novel, Hoaxbreaker, available in electronic form from Renaissance E Books and in print from Trafford publishing, it is only expedient (as well as bare-faced honest) to simply repeat it here:

What may help to explain some of this is the fact that at the age of three I was struck on the head by a falling brass flower pot. Maybe you can figure out the rest of it (I'm not sure I can!)

As a Scotch-Irish French Norwegian, I was born before World War I in the neutral German-Swede country of Minnesota (St. Paul), which branded me as a WASP (white Anglo-Saxon Protestant) – although I turned out to be a maverick. Knowing nothing about triskaidekaphobia, I was incautious enough to be born in 1913, thus bringing upon the world the witches' brew of war politics in the Balkans, and the back room machinations of certain gentlemen in midnight session in Washington who thrust the 16th amendment upon an unsuspecting populace.

Whether I deserved it or not, I enjoyed a blissful childhood among Minnesota's 10,000 lakes. I was a tanned waterbug under the enchantment of those boyhood forever days of summer. My only recollection of the first war was the shattering discovery at the horse-drawn popcorn wagon that a big slab of apple pie, a la mode, was no longer a nickel! (War inflation had upped it to 7 cents.) What I'm pointing out here is that I did come in at the beginning of things, because over these 89 years I was privileged to embrace the gamut of changes and discoveries which transformed the world of Yesterday into Tomorrow. I was in there early enough to see magic lantern slides instead of movies, to watch the little man in the black suit climb his ladder to light our gas lamp out front, and in the early twenties I was excited by awed whisperings about a thing called radio! Then came the talkies, radar, television, computers, nuclear power, satellites, moon walks, ice cubes, hula hoops, Saran wrap, and the Internet. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Dreams and imagination. My father read me Grimm's Fairytales, and I graduated solo into Alice in Wonderland, and to L. Frank Baum's marvelous tales of Oz. Which led to the Rover Boys and the Boy Allies and finally to a schism – between Gernsback science fiction and the life-changing impact of the books by Edgar Rice Burroughs. By the time I moved to California at the impressionable age of twelve, my eyes felt as big as the Rockies. I was Tarzan and John Carter (if not also Doc Savage, Hairsbreadth Harry, and the Green Hornet) all rolled into one, ready to take on the world. (The Gray Lensman and Prince Valiant also came to claim a piece of my psyche.) I was victim and product of the impossible (?) idealism of those never-to-be-forgotten halcyon days. (I came to call them the sunlit yesteryears.)

So as a starry-eyed country bumpkin I came to sudden new horizons, vision-blinded by the soaring Sierra Nevadas, miles of gleaming orange trees, and early access into the silent film studios (remembering especially Mary Pickford patting me on the head! 1926). In my earliest teens, thanks to science-fiction, I was so deep into astronomy that a buddy and I had access to the old Clark observatory on West Adams, and many a summer night (after visiting hours) were spent in awe out there in the Pleiades and the great Orion Nebula, or surfing the moons of Jupiter and the rings of Saturn. In fact at fifteen I ground a 4-inch parabolic mirror for my amateur telescope.

The depression years brought me certain blessings, such as a lifetime wife (Joey), two beautiful children, and an M.A. and teaching credentials from UCLA. Then came WWII and I went into aerospace and tech training (computerology and some programming – in the days of radio-tube bistable multivibrators, punched cards, wire-boarding, and octal/hexadecimal inputs), all culminating in 7 years abroad – 5 years in South America, 2 1/2 years on Guam, trips to Belgium and Germany (NATO bases), mostly in international management (airlines, procurement) due to my German, Spanish, and fractured French. I gave 18 years of my life to Litton Data Systems, partly as administrative assistant in Operations, but mostly as Principal Engineering Writer on major weapons systems for the Army, Marines, Navy and Air Force.

All the while, Tarzan was my role model, and I was fairly athletic, finally winning an intercollegiate West Coast Senior AAU gymnastic championship, and there were also those years on Guam, scuba diving and getting some experience in shark psychology (not recommended as a community hobby!) Strangely, I ended up residing 14 years in Tarzana, almost within walking distance of the famous ERB landmark on Ventura Boulevard.

But that's only one side of the story. I was always drawn to the mysterious and mystical elements in fantasy fiction (Abraham Merritt, Rider Haggard, etc.) – and indubitably the unresolved mystery of La of Opar and Issus of Barsoom had to be tied together. (How I came to write Tarzan on Mars – a 40-year "collector's item" in the ERB underground – is related in the intro to my John Bloodstone book, Thundar – Man of Two Worlds.) I lived the fantasies and probably became a part of them, as events developed. I fellowshipped in Lima (Peru) with Thor Hyerdahl when he was building his Kon-tiki raft in Callao. I had explored Inca country in the Andes, covered a lot of Daenikin territory, and had interested Hyerdahl because I was the only one around who had read all the volumes of Inca Garcilasso de la Vega's Comentarios Reales (Royal Commentaries) in the archaic Spanish, before the Catholic Church allowed a modern version. (Too much to tell!)

* * * *

A near death experience got me into scientific astrology and I became a hosted-in member of the AFA. But this led onward into metaphysics, culminating 30 years later in a Doctorate in Metaphysical Science. I had gone through everything that Maharishi Mahesh Yogi had to teach about TM, went through the training of Paramahansa Yogananda's Fellowship, absorbed everything the authentic Rosicrucians of Mt. Ecclesia had to offer, became a 2nd Degree Lama Yoga in the 5000-year-old Astarian Brotherhood, spent 8 years with the Builders of the Adytum (B.O.T.A.) in Western Hebraic kabalism and alchemy, then discovered the whole Esoteric Tradition (Secret Doctrine) of the theosophists – ending in a 3-volume world concordance of the main streams of esoteric knowledge (my A.N.S.W.E.R. Series – Alliance of New Seekers of Wisdom, Ethics, and Reason).

It went on and on. Allegorically, I have disguised the buildup of my Star Man series stellar empire expansions using what I learned to be actual (but unmentionable) structures and hierarchies of the universe so Masters, Adepts and demigods were masked as World Watchers, Star Wardens, Overlords of the Nebula, etc.

Well, somebody opened my chatter box, and I'd better quit before this really gets started, because the whole subject takes off into Infinity (and we might get lost – which is where I probably am today!)

SCIENCE FICTION/FANTASY FROM PAGETURNER EDITIONS

THE CLASSIC SCIENCE FICTION OF STUART J. BYRNE

Music of the Spheres Other Classic SF Stories

Star Quest

Power Metal

Hoaxbreaker

The Alpha Trap (1976)

The Land Beyond the Lens: The Michael Flannigan Trilogy (writing as John Bloodstone)

The Metamorphs The Naked Goddess: Two Classic Pulp Novels

Children of the Chronotron The Ultimate Death: Two Classic Pulp Novels

Beyond the Darkness Potential Zero: Two Classic Pulp Novels

The Agartha Series #1. Prometheus II

The Agartha Series #2. Colossus

The Agartha Series #3: The Golden Gardsmen

Godman (writing as John Bloodstone)

Thundar, Man of Two Worlds The Land Beyond the Lens: The Michael Flannigan Trilogy (writing as John Bloodstone)

Last Days of Thronas (writing as John Bloodstone)

The First Star Man Omnibus: #1 Supermen of Alpha Star Man #2 Time Window

The Second Star Man Omnibus: #3 Interstellar Mutineers #4 The Cosmium Raiders

The Third Star Man Omnibus: #5 The World Changer #6 The Slaves of Venus

The Fourth Star Man Omnibus: #7 Lost in the Milky Way #8. Time Trap

The Fifth Star Man Omnibus: #9 The Centaurians #10 The Emperor

The Sixth Star Man Omnibus: #11 The Return of Star Man #12 Death Screen

STEFAN VUCAK'S EPPIE NOMINEE SPACE SAGA "THE SHADOW GODS"

In the Shadow of Death

Against the Gods of Shadow

A Whisper From Shadow

Immortal in Shadow

With Shadow and Thunder

Through the Valley of Shadow

JANRAE FRANK'S #1 BESTSELLING FANTASY SAGAS

Dark Brothers of the Light Book I. Blood Rites

Dark Brothers of the Light Book II. Blood Heresy

Dark Brothers of the Light Book III. Blood Dawn

Dark Brothers of the Light Book IV: Blood Wraiths

Dark Brothers of the Light Book V: Blood Paladin

In the Darkness, Hunting: Tales of Chimquar the Lionhawk

Journey of the Sacred King I: My Sister's Keeper

Journey of the Sacred King II: Sins of the Mothers

Journey of the Sacred King III: My Father's House

THE COSMIC KALEVALA

The Saga of Lost Earths –Emil Petaja (Nebula nominee author)

The Star Mill – Emil Petaja

The Stolen Sun – Emil Petaja

Tramontane – Emil Petaja

JACK JARDINE'S HUMOROUS SF AND MYSTERY

The Agent of T.E.R.R.A. #1 The Flying Saucer Gambit

The Agent of T.E.R.R.A. #2 The Emerald Elephant Gambit

The Agent of T.E.R.R.A. #3 The Golden Goddess Gambit

The Agent of T.E.R.R.A. #4 The Time Trap Gambit

The Mind Monsters

Unaccustomed As I Am To Public Dying Other Humorous and Ironic Mystery Stories

The Nymph and the Satyr

T. J. LAZIER'S SWORDMAGE CYCLE

I. Dragon Stone

II. Guardian's Path

III. Forbidden City

ARDATH MAYHAR'S AWARD-WINNING SF F

The Crystal Skull Other Tales of the Terrifying and Twisted

The World Ends in Hickory Hollow, or After Armageddon

The Tupla: A Nover of Horror

The Twilight Dancer Other Tales of Magic, Mystery and the Supernatural

The Black Tower: A Novel of Dark Fantasy

Forbidden Geometries: A Novel Alien Worlds

HAL ANNAS' COSMIC RECKONING TRILOGY

I. The Woman from Eternity

II. Daughter of Doom

III. Witch of the Dark Star

THE HILARIOUS ADVENTURES OF TOFFEE

1. The Dream Girl – Charles F. Myers

2. Toffee Haunts a Ghost – Charles F. Myers

3. Toffee Turns the Trick – Charles F. Myers

OTHER AWARD WINNING NOMINEE STORIES AND AUTHORS

Moonworm's Dance Other SF Classics – Stanley Mullen (includes The Day the Earth Stood Still Other SF Classics – Harry Bates (Balrog Award winning story)

Hugo nominee story Space to Swing a Cat)

People of the Darkness–Ross Rocklynne (Nebulas nominee author)

When They Come From Space–Mark Clifton (Hugo winning author)

What Thin Partitions–Mark Clifton (Hugo winning author)

Star Bright Other SF Classics – Mark Clifton

Eight Keys to Eden–Mark Clifton (Hugo winning author)

Rat in the Skull Other Off-Trail Science Fiction–Rog Phillips (Hugo nominee author)

The Involuntary Immortals–Rog Phillips (Hugo nominee author)

Inside Man Other Science Fictions–H. L. Gold (Hugo winner, Nebula nominee)

Women of the Wood and Other Stories–A. Merritt (Science Fiction and Fantasy Hall of Fame award)

A Martian Odyssey Other SF Classics –Stanley G. Weinbaum (SFWA Hall of Fame author)

Dawn of Flame Other Stories –Stanley G. Weinbaum (SFWA Hall of Fame author)

The Black Flame – Stanley G. Weinbaum

Scout–Octavio Ramos, Jr. (Best Original Fiction)

Smoke Signals–Octavio Ramos, Jr. (Best Original Fiction winning author)

The City at World's End–Edmond Hamilton

The Star Kings–Edmond Hamilton (Sense of Wonder Award winning author)

A Yank at Valhalla–Edmond Hamilton (Sense of Wonder Award winning author)

Dawn of the Demigods, or People Minus X – Raymond Z. Gallun (Nebula Nominee Author)

THE BESTSELLING SF/F/H OF J. D. CRAYNE

Tetragravitron (Captain Spycer #1)

Monster Lake

Invisible Encounter Other Stories

The Cosmic Circle

PLANETS OF ADVENTURE

Colorful Space Opera from the Legendary Pulp Planet Stories

#1. "The Sword of Fire" – A Novel of an Enslaved World "The Rocketeers Have Shaggy Ears" – A Novel of Peril on Alien Worlds

#2. "The Seven Jewels of Chamar" – A Novel of Future Centuries "Flame Jewel of the Ancients" – A Novel of Outlaw Worlds

#3. "Captives of the Weir-Wind" – A Novel of the Void by Nebula Nominee Ross Rocklynne. "Black Priestess of Varda" – A Novel of a Magic World.

NEMESIS: THE NEW MAGAZINE OF PULP THRILLS

#1. Featuring Gun Moll, the 1920s Undercover Nemesis of Crime in "Tentacles of Evil," an all-new, complete book-length novel; plus a Nick Bancroft mystery by Bob Liter, "The Greensox Murders" by Jean Marie Stine, and a classic mystery short reprinted from the heyday of the pulps.

#2 Featuring Rachel Rocket, the 1930s Winged Nemesis of Foreign Terror in "Hell Wings Over Manhattan," an all-new, complete book-length novel, plus spine-tingling science fiction stories, including EPPIE nominee Stefan Vucak's "Hunger," author J. D. Crayne's disturbing "Point of View," Hugo Award winner Larry Niven's "No Exit," written with Jean Marie Stine, and a classic novelette of space ship mystery by the king of space opera, Edmond Hamilton. Illustrated. (Illustrations not available in Palm).

#3 Featuring Victory Rose, the 1940s Nemesis of Axis Tyranny, in Hitler's Final Trumpet," an all-new, complete book-length novel, plus classic jungle pulp tales, including a complete Ki-Gor novel.

# 4 Featuring Femme Noir, the 1950s Nemesis of Hell's Restless Spirits, in an all new, book length novel, plus all new and classic pulp shudder tales, including "The Summons from Beyond" the legendary round-robin novelette of cosmic horror by H.P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, C.L. Moore, A. Merritt, and Frank Belknap Long.

OTHER FINE CONTEMPORARY CLASSIC SF/F/H

A Million Years to Conquer–Henry Kuttner

After the Polothas – Stephen Brown

Arcadia – Tabitha Bradley

Backdoor to Heaven – Vicki McElfresh

Buck Rogers #1: Armageddon 2419 A.D.–Philip Francis Nowlan

Buck Rogers #2. The Airlords of Han – Philip Francis Nowlan

Chaka: Zulu King–Book I. The Curse of Baleka–H. R. Haggard

Chaka: Zulu King–Book II. Umpslopogass' Revenge–H. R. Haggard

Claimed!–Francis Stevens

Darby O'Gill: The Classic Irish Fantasy–Hermine Templeton

Diranda: Tales of the Fifth Quadrant – Tabitha Bradley

Dracula's Daughters–Ed. Jean Marie Stine

Dwellers in the Mirage–A. Merritt

From Beyond 16 Other Macabre Masterpieces–H. P. Lovecraft

Future Eves: Classic Science Fiction about Women by Women–(ed) Jean Marie Stine

Ghost Hunters and Psychic Detectives: 8 Classic Tales of Sleuthing and the Supernatural–(ed.) J. M. Stine

Horrors!: Rarely Reprinted Classic Terror Tales–(ed.) J. M. Stine. J.L. Hill

House on the Borderland–William Hope Hodgson

House of Many Worlds [Elspeth Marriner #1]– Sam Merwin Jr.

Invisible Encounter and Other SF Stories – J. D. Crayne

Murcheson Inc., Space Salvage – Cleve Cartmill

Ki-Gor, Lord of the Jungle–John Peter Drummond

Lost Stars: Forgotten SF from the "Best of Anthologies"–(ed.) J. M. Stine

Metropolis–Thea von Harbou

Mission to Misenum [Elspeth Marriner #2] – Sam Merwin Jr.

Mistress of the Djinn–Geoff St. Reynard

Chronicles of the Sorceress Morgaine I-V – Joe Vadalma

Nightmare!–Francis Stevens

Pete Manx, Time Troubler – Arthur K. Barnes

Possessed!–Francis Stevens

Ralph 124C 41+ – Hugo Gernsback

Seven Out of Time – Arthur Leo Zagut

Star Tower – Joe Vadalma

The Cosmic Wheel–J. D. Crayne

The Forbidden Garden–John Taine

The City at World's End–Edmond Hamilton

The Ghost Pirates–W. H. Hodgson

The Girl in the Golden Atom – Ray Cummings

The Heads of Cerberus – Francis Stevens

The House on the Borderland–William Hope Hodgson

The Insidious Fu Manchu–Sax Rohmer

The Interplanetary Huntress–Arthur K. Barnes

The Interplanetary Huntress Returns–Arthur K. Barnes

The Interplanetary Huntress Last Case–Arthur K. Barnes

The Lightning Witch, or The Metal Monster–A. Merritt

The Price He Paid: A Novel of the Stellar Republic – Matt Kirkby

The Thief of Bagdad–Achmed Abdullah

Women of the Wood and Other Stories–A. Merritt

BARGAIN SF/F EBOOKS IN OMNIBUS EDITIONS

(Complete Unabridged)

The First Lord Dunsany Omnibus: 5 Complete Books – Lord Dunsany

The First William Morris Omnibus: 4 Complete Classic Fantasy Books

The Barsoom Omnibus: A Princess of Mars; The Gods of Mars; The Warlord of Mars–Burroughs

The Second Barsoom Omnibus: Thuvia, Maid of Mars; The Chessmen of Mars–Burroughs

The Third Barsoom Omnibus: The Mastermind of Mars; A Fighting Man of Mars–Burroughs

The First Tarzan Omnibus: Tarzan of the Apes; The Return of Tarzan; Jungle Tales of Tarzan–Burroughs

The Second Tarzan Omnibus: The Beasts of Tarzan; The Son of Tarzan; Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar–Burroughs

The Third Tarzan Omnibus: Tarzan the Untamed; Tarzan the Terrible; Tarzan and the Golden Lion–Burroughs

The Pellucidar Omnibus: At the Earth's Core; Pellucidar–Burroughs

The Caspak Omnibus: The Land that Time Forgot; The People that Time Forgot; Out of Time's Abyss–Burroughs

The First H. G. Wells Omnibus: The Invisible Man: War of the Worlds; The Island of Dr. Moreau

The Second H. G. Wells Omnibus: The Time Machine; The First Men in the Moon; When the Sleeper Wakes

The Third H. G. Wells Omnibus: The Food of the Gods; Shape of Things to Come; In the Days of the Comet

The First Jules Verne Omnibus: Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea; The Mysterious Island; From the Earth to the Moon

The Homer Eon Flint: All 4 of the Clasic "Dr. Kenney" Novels: The Lord of Death; The Queen of Life; The Devolutionist; The Emancipatrix

The Second Jules Verne Omnibus: Around the World in 80 Days; A Journey to the Center of the Earth; Off on a Comet

Three Great Horror Novels: Dracula; Frankenstein; Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

The Darkness and Dawn Omnibus: The Classic Science Fiction Trilogy–George Allan England

The Garrett P. Serviss Omnibus: The Second Deluge; The Moon Metal; A Columbus of Space

ADDITIONAL TITLES IN PREPARATION

http://renebooks.com

eBook Info

Identifier:

ISBN 1-58873-865-5

Title:

Star Quest

Creator:

Stuart J. Byrne

Date:

3/28/2006

Publisher:

A Renaissance E Books publication