Scanned by Garth-Aut—Proofed by Highroller for #bookz



The Golden People
by Fred Saberhagen
               PART ONE
                    Chapter One
   Fourteen-year-old Ray Kedro was backed up against one of the
mural-painted walls in the Middle Boys' recreation yard doing
what he could to defend himself, when twelve-year-old Adam
Mann first saw him. Adam glanced up from the electronic pages
of Space Force Adventures, and watched for a few moments
with a playground veteran's indifference. Then he realized that
the six kids facing Ray had more in mind than the routine
taunting and roughing that they were likely to hand out to any
newcomer. This time some of the guys were really hot about
something.

   Most of the angry bunch were a year or two older than Adam,
and all but one of them were taller. But he was widely respected
on this territory. He folded the comic book, the electronic
pictures on the thin plastic pages darkening into lifeless-ness as
he did so, and stuffed it into his pocket. Moving in the slightly
swaggering gait that he had recently developed to what he
considered near-perfection, he walked toward the group.

   "What goes on?" Adam demanded. He had dark eyes that were
often, as now, belligerent, medium brown hair with a slight curl
in it, and a nose that had not been broken—not yet at least—but
looked as if it might have been.

   "He's a snooper." Big tough Pete swung out a long arm and
slapped the new kid again. "He can read your mind. He's gonna
be singin' for the bosses here—"

   "I'm not!" The new kid was tall for the age-group of this yard,
but thin, with incongruously good clothes that were dusty and
rumpled now from his being pushed around. Mussed blond hair
fell over blue eyes that looked scared but still didn't blink at
being slapped. He had a handsome face, almost delicate, and
bleeding now a little along one cheekbone and from the nose. But
he didn't look to Adam like a sissy, only like a guy who couldn't
understand what it was all about.

  "He made them dice move!" another guy standing beside Big
Pete put in. The tone made it a deadly accusation.

   "You wanted me to play with dice!" the new kid shouted back
at them. To Adam he still looked more angry than afraid. "I had
to show you first what I can do. If I play dice with you, you'll have
to trust me—"

  "Play dice, play dice!" Pete mimicked, in a changing, cracking
voice. Whenever Pete's voice betrayed him in that way, making
him sound funny, he got mad, and now it made him madder
than ever. "You goddam fairy!"

  The guys were all yelling now, and waving fists. Adam was
suddenly scared, in a cold, clear way. Not so much afraid of
getting hurt, but that these guys he knew could get so wild over
something like this. Some stupid nonsense that didn't matter. It
didn't sound like the new guy had really done them any harm.

   Adam was beginning to understand, vaguely, or he thought he
was. There were, there had always been, a few people in the
world who could move dice in more subtle ways than with their
fingers, move dice or other small objects using their minds alone.
The same people, or others with unusual mental powers, could
perform other tricks, equally unsettling. Parapsych talents, the
books in the Home library called such abilities. Up until only a
few years ago hardly any scientists had believed that such things
existed. And Adam had never to his knowledge met any of the
rare folk who were so gifted.

  The little mob was surging forward, bent on destruction. On
impulse, Adam shoved his own strong and stocky body in front of
the new kid, and knocked down big Pete's upraised arm. "Let 'im
alone!"

  Big Pete halted, gaping. "Why?"

  "Because I say so!"

   Pete gave an angry grunt, and swung. Adam's reflexes and
timing were already superb; his head moved safely out of harm's
way, and his own right fist was already in a good position to hit
back. He got enough weight behind his counterpunch to flatten
Big Pete's nose.

  Furious and clumsy, the little mob closed in on Adam and the
new kid. Something hit Adam, hard, on the side of his head. In a
daze, he found himself flat on his back on the playground's
genegineered grass, looking up at a ring of faces filled with hate
and excitement. In a way, though he knew better, it seemed to
Adam that they were all playacting, they couldn't be serious
about this great stupidity they were engaged in. A part of his
mind kept wanting to laugh at the foolishness of it all, even while
he kicked and struck up at the lowering faces, and feet kicked
back at him.

   Then the recreation yard monitors came, running and
shouting threats, from wherever they had been goofing off. They
were older teenagers, full of strength and energy once they got
started, and they arrived just in time to break up the fight before
anyone was killed or crippled.

   Half an hour later, sitting on a cot in the infirmary, waiting to
get his lumps patched up, Adam listened with some satisfaction
to the moans and curses coming from the next cubicle. That was
where they were working on Big Pete, and from the snatches of
the medics' talk that Adam could hear, it sounded like maybe
Pete's nose was really broken.

   Beside Adam sat the new kid, holding a coldpack to his head.
His battered and dirty face was still handsome, but an empty,
stunned look occupied it now. He was quivering faintly.
  Adam asked him: "What's your name, guy?"

  "Ray Kedro." The kid pulled in a deep breath, that helped him
regain a measure of steadiness. He looked at Adam. "You may
have saved my life today—I won't forget it." He tested a loose
tooth gingerly with his fingers. "You're name's Adam? I hope this
doesn't mean a lot more trouble for you."

   Adam tried to laugh with a split lip. "Hey, they won't do much
to us for fighting. Long as nobody got killed. Some extra duty
probably is all. I was about due to hang one on Pete anyhow.
Hey, was all that true, about you being a parapsych?" It was the
first time Adam had ever tried to pronounce that fancy word,
but he felt pretty sure that he had it right.

  Ray hesitated, looking at him closely, then nodded. "I
have—some of those—talents."

  "Dice?"

  "I could if I tried, I suppose."

  "What about reading minds?"

   The other shook his head. "You just don't reach into someone
else's thoughts, for no good reason. It'd be like… well, like doing
the dirtiest thing you can imagine. I mean, I wouldn't like it any
more than the person I was reading would."

   "Huh." When Adam heard it put that way, it sounded more
intriguing and at the same time more repulsive than before.

   As if encouraged by Adam's reaction, or lack of one, Ray went
on: "Maybe you can do it, but you don't. Of course if the other
person wants you to get into their mind, and tells you so, that's
different."

  "Huh." Adam considered. "Hey, you know, I read somewhere
once that any parapsych who could move dice with his mind
could kill people too, just as easy. You know, just grab a little
valve or something in their heart—"
   "No." Ray's voice was flat and certain. "The talents don't work
like that, they won't kill."

  "They won't, huh?"

  "They never have. There've been people who have tried it, but
they just make themselves sick. Oh, someone might find a way to
do it someday. Someone who was evil enough and worked at it.
There are a few very rare cases—but those are spontaneous
combustion—" The blond boy broke off, smiling suddenly,
wincing as he did. "If I had any kind of a knockout punch, I'd
have used it out there today."

  "Hey, yeah, I guess."

   Adam's prediction about the degree and type of punishment
for fighting in the recreation yard was proven accurate. All those
who had been involved in the playground brawl were given extra
work, beginning the next day after school.

  Assigned to work together, using ,a sonic machine to clean the
walls and floor of a long corridor tiled in white and green, Adam
and Ray talked again.

  Adam asked his new acquaintance: "You know anyone else
who's a parapsych?"

  "Yes. Ninety-nine of them, to be exact."

  "Ninety-nine!"

  Ray paused thoughtfully. "Ever hear of a doctor, a medical
researcher, named Emiliano Nowell?"

  Adam tried to remember the name. He looked through daily
news printouts sometimes, on days when he didn't use up all his
reading time on library books and adventure comics. And he
read news magazines when he could find them. "Emiliano
Nowell. Isn't he the guy who bought out an old Space Force
installation way out on Ganymede, and set up a place there to do
research? Why'd he go way out there?"
  "He wanted privacy. Not to be bothered."

  Adam could understand that. "And he was raising kids there
out of bottles, until the government found out about it, and…
Hey. Are you—"

   Ray was mechanically guiding the cleaning machine along, not
really looking where it was going, but not looking at Adam
either. "Yes, I'm one of his kids. The law took us all away from
him and

  Regina—that's his wife—and split us up, put us all in different
Homes while they try to figure out what to do with us next. We
can still touch minds with each other, now and then."

  "You were raised way out on Ganymede? Wow."

  "Not for very long. We were all brought to Earth about ten
years ago. Doc owns quite a bit of real estate here too."

   Adam was fascinated. He stared at Ray. "You look—human,
like everyone else."

  In the blue eyes deep pain was visible for just a moment. "We
came from human seed, from human cells."

   "Then what's the difference? I mean…" Adam was confused.
Somehow he would have expected anyone he met with parapsych
talents experts to be around three meters tall, and look like
either the hero or the villain of a hologram thriller. Of course if
he thought about it, that was crazy.

  Adam was still curious, but he didn't know what to say now.
He realized that he had just given offense by implying that Ray
might not be human, and he was trying not to do so again.

  Ray asked him: "Do you know what genes are?"

  "No. Oh, wait, maybe…"

  "They're little parts in the center of a living cell. Of all the
human cells that make up your body. They decide everything you
inherit from your parents: the way you look, your potential
intelligence, and your parapsych potential too. What Doctor
Nowell did was find a way to make forcefield manipulators small
enough and controllable enough to use them to work on genes
directly. Get right in and move the molecules and even the parts
of molecules around. He experimented first on animal cells, and
then on human. When he thought he had the technique
perfected, he rebuilt a hundred fertilized human egg cells. And
then he stopped."

  "Why?"

   "He says he wants to wait a quarter of a century, to see how
his first batch turns out—that's us— before he does any more.
Meanwhile he's keeping his techniques a secret, and some people
are unhappy about that."

  "Then you're what they call Jovians, in the news sometimes."

  "That's right."

  "He rebuilt you to be perfect, huh? You don't sound too happy
about it."

   "I wouldn't say perfect… I don't think Doc tried for that. What
does perfect mean? Anyway, if we were, I don't think the world
would like it. Whatever he tried for, Adam, we're very lucky. A lot
of people are still born crippled."

   Adam was silent for a while, working away with the cleaning
nozzle, attacking stubborn stains on battered tile. This new kid
Ray gave him a lot to think about. Ray talked with fancy words
and a kind of accent that Adam supposed meant he had been
brought up a long way from public Homes. But that way of
talking sounded natural, for him.

  Ray too was silent, as if he were thinking something out. Then
he suddenly spoke up again. "Look, Adam, if things go right, the
way I think they will, and I get out of here pretty soon… how'd
you like to come to Doc's place for a visit?"

  Adam almost dropped the cleaning nozzle. "You mean to
Ganymede?" For Adam at twelve the Space Force and its
activities were a holy cause; but space travel of any kind seemed
to exist only in an alternate universe from the one he really lived
in, something to be glimpsed only in stories and dreams.

   Ray smiled. "No, no, none of us have been out there for years. I
meant come to Doc's place here on Earth. That's where we've
been living most of our lives. It's mostly one huge building, a
little like an expensive boarding school. There are legal reasons
why Doc doesn't want anyone but his own kids to live there
permanently, but you'd be a welcome visitor."

  "Gee, I'd like to see it. You sound like you're sure he's going to
win all this court stuff and get you kids back with him again."

  Ray's smile broadened. "I know him pretty well."

                     Chapter Two
   The windows of the big laboratory room were wide, and open,
and unbarred, and they framed Virginia mountains blue with
distance. The giant chair in the middle of the room looked quite
a bit like one that Adam had seen, and occasionally occupied, in
the Home's infirmary. In that chair at the Home all the kids were
tested once a year, and those with suspected brain damage
sometimes received treatment. It, like everything else at the
Home, looked worn and scrubbed, while this chair, like all the
other equipment here in Doc Emiliano Nowell's laboratory,
looked modern and expensive.

   There were other and still more drastic differences between
the two establishments. Here, the unbarred windows looked out
from every room, onto what seemed to Adam like kilometers of
green trees and grass and gardens. It was hard to believe that
one man owned it all, even though Ray and the other kids had
assured Adam that the boundary of the estate fell short of
including those blue distant mountains.

   At the moment Adam was sitting in the giant chair himself,
trying to get comfortable under a huge metal helmet that had
been let gently down until the probes it carried inside it sank
through his brown hair, just to the point where they began to
tickle his scalp.

   "Doc, can I ask you something?" he wondered aloud, a little
timidly.

   "Sure. As long as I don't have to guarantee an answer."
Doc—everyone around the place, children, servants, lab
technicians, seemed to call him that— was a tall, lean, graying
man, presently wearing a laboratory coat. He was seated halfway
across the large room, in front of the psych-chair's control panel.
He had, with Adam's ready permission, begun to put the young
visitor through a series of physical and mental tests. Doc wanted
to do this, as he had said, just out of curiosity. The two were
alone, for the moment, in the lab.

 Adam hesitated once more, then put his question: "About how
much money have you got?"

   Doc Nowell had a contagious laugh. "I thought you might be
getting worried about the machine. Or wondering what position
emission tomography meant." A little earlier, Adam had been
reading those words aloud, from the equipment used in the last
test. "How much money, huh? Well, Adam, let's just say that I'm
too rich to be pushed around in court. My wealth is sufficient for
my purposes. Which makes me a rarity among scientists… or
among human beings in general, I suppose."

  "That's neat, Doc."

  "Yes, it is." Watching the panel in front of him, Doc paused to
make a note on paper. "Oh, I haven't earned my money from
society by probing for the secrets of life. No. It's mine by
inheritance. Candy and chewing gum, mostly, a couple of
generations back."

   Halfway down one of the room's long walls, a door slid open,
and a girl entered the laboratory. Merit Creston was a year
younger than Adam, which made her by about three years the
baby of Doc's hundred genengineered children. The ages of most
of the others were clustered closely together, and ranged up to
seventeen. Adam was, at least by strict chronology, a visiting
child among adolescents. But he, who had come as an infant to
the public Home, could scarcely remember ever thinking of
himself as a child. His teen-age hosts had obviously enjoyed a
vastly different upbringing than his, and they impressed him as
being mentally more grown-up than any group of adults he had
ever encountered. Still, they were all so good at saying and doing
the right thing that the visiting twelve-year-old rarely felt out of
place.

   Merit stood there in the doorway of the psych lab, wearing
white shorts and a white blouse and a kind of footgear that
Adam had learned were called tennis sandals. Merit's slender
figure was developing already. Her face, in Adam's opinion,
was—well, beautiful. And her hair had a kind of glint in it that
made it really unlike the color of any other girl's hair that Adam
had ever seen…

   He knew that in a year or so he would start wanting girls in a
physical way, like the older guys at the Home. What he felt about
Merit now wasn't really that. It was something more—or maybe
something less, Adam didn't know which. All he knew for sure
was that he felt something powerful, and felt confused and
strange whenever he tried to think about it.

  Eleven-year-old Merit greeted him now with a giggle. "Hi, Ad.
You look like you're getting your hair set."

   Adam grunted. The problem was that he wanted desperately
to say something witty, to show he didn't mind if she teased him
a little, but he could think of no words at all. Suddenly he
remembered there were a hundred telepaths, or at least potential
telepaths, within a few hundred meters of him. Now he could feel
his face getting warm. Why in hell did she have to stand there
giggling at him—

  "I think you'd better leave, young lady," said Doc, raising his
head from his control panel. "You're a disturbing influence just
now."

  "All right, Grouchy Doc," said Merit. She spoke as if humoring
some elderly and harmless relative— but she didn't argue. "Call
me if he's mean to you, Adam." She winked at the boy in the
chair, and gracefully closed the door behind her.
   "So long," Adam called out, lamely, at the last moment, as the
door was already closing. Suddenly he felt angry with Merit,
irritated with Doc, with Doc's wife Regina, with the whole crew
of these people here, who had so damn much more going for
them than any group that Adam had ever met before.

   The lean man in the lab coat sighed, bending over his control
panel again. Then he straightened up. "Let's try something,
Adam." With an air of decision, almost a theatrical gesture, Doc
raised and let fall a hand, extended finger touching one of the
panel switches. Adam could feel no change. Doc said: "I want you
to close your eyes now, and imagine a black screen, waiting for a
picture."

  Adam closed his eyes. "What color is the screen?"

  "Make it white. Okay? Got it?"

   "Good. Now, just let the screen stay there, and listen to the
story."

   He was about to ask Doc what story, but there was no need.
Right on cue, a recorded voice began to reach Adam's ears,
coming to him through the helmet. In soothing tones the voice
started telling him about a man named Caesar, who at some
time, evidently long ago, had loaded an army onto a fleet of
eighty ships, and sailed off with them for Britain.

   "Keep your eyes closed, Adam," said Doc's voice, coming
through the helmet too, now, as the storyteller paused. "Now, as
you listen, try to imagine an ending for the story, and guide the
story to that ending. Understand?"

  "No sir, I don't think so. How can / change the story? Isn't it
recorded?"

   "You don't have to change it, really. Just give it a try. The
effort should make some things happen that I can observe. All
right?"

   Adam shrugged, the helmet rustling on his scalp. He felt a
faint tug. Somehow the probes in the helmet had taken hold of
him, and he hadn't even noticed it until now. "Yessir, all right."

   The whispering voice resumed its narrative. Caesar and his
army poked around Britain, exploring and getting into trouble.
They lost some of their ships in a storm, and fought against
blue-painted warriors who liked to ride in chariots and hurl
javelins. Adam didn't think much of Caesar, whoever he was, or
had been. He seemed to have had no good reason for going to
Britain and bothering the people who lived there.

   Eyes still shut, Adam concentrated on trying to change the
story. But, of course, the narrator's recorded voice just droned
on. Adam didn't have anything to do with deciding what it said.

   By now, the imaginary white screen in Adam's mind had been
forgotten. If he were telling the story, he would have made up a
different course of events, disliking Caesar as he did.

  If only…

   Just suppose… that some of the offended Britons could have
sneaked into the invaders' camp, bent on revenge. Right into
Caesar's tent, why not? Adam could see them clearly now, half a
dozen men, not blue-painted but wearing robe-like garments,
pulling out their knives suddenly and attacking. And Caesar
reeled back and let out a hoarse scream, and his clothing was all
blood. And Caesar's eyes closed, then opened, fastening on one of
his killers. And…

  "Kai su teknon!" The shouting voice broke with its emotion.

   At the sound of the shout, Adam lurched upright in the giant
chair. He was vaguely aware again of Doc Nowell's laboratory
around him. But still at the same time, like watching a reflection
in a window, he was still able to see the inside of Caesar's tent.
Caesar had now disappeared, along with his killers, but
something—Adam knew it demanded his full attention—stirred
the fabric of the tent flap.

   Now the head of a handsome man was thrust inside the tent.
The man's forehead was high, under a fringe of dark hair, and
his features were noble and impressive. But something about
him was very wrong, frighteningly so. Adam knew that before he
had the least idea of what the wrong thing was. The head
intruded a little farther now into the tent, and now with horror
the boy saw that it was borne on a long, scaly, reptilian neck. The
body supporting that neck was still blessedly hidden by the flap
of fabric making the tent door…

   … and now, all around Adam in the vision, people were
gathering. There might have been a hundred of them
surrounding him. All of them, women and men alike, were
giants, godlike in their beauty and power.

  And now a single human figure came pushing its way through
that awe-inspiring assembly. It was that of a stocky and powerful
man, much more ordinary than the rest, except that he was
wearing what might have been some kind of elaborate spacesuit.
The face of the man in the spacesuit was clearly visible through
the faceplate. It was solemn in its expression now, but Adam
thought that there was a habit of humor in the eyes.

   "My name is Alexander Golden," the stocky man in the
spacesuit said to Adam. Then he turned toward the long-necked
creature with the human head, and swung his arm as if to strike
at it—

   And then, abruptly, Doc Nowell's psych lab, its enclosing walls
and equipment-loaded benches, was again the only visible
reality. The psych helmet had already been raised from Adam's
head, and Doc was standing close beside the great chair, looking
at him intently.

  "What happened?" they asked each other, speaking
simultaneously.

  It was Doc who answered first, putting on a faint smile that
might not have been quite genuine. "Well, you went to sleep,
that's what happened. Sometimes my stories, recorded or
otherwise, have been known to have that effect on people. But
what did you experience?"

  Adam related as well as he could what he had seen and heard.
As if it had been a true dream, some of the details were already
starting to go.

  He concluded: "And then the last man said that his name
was—Alec Golding. I think. Something like that."

  "It's fading?" Doc's tone was sharp.

  "Yeah. Like a dream."

  "The face of the man in the suit—you say you saw it plainly. Do
you know him? Ever see him before?"

   "No. I don't think so." It was hard to be sure. Now that last
face was going too.

  Doc hesitated, on the brink of saying something else. Then he
turned away to shut things down at the control panel.

   He turned back. "Kai su teknon is Greek—means something
like 'you too, my child.' It's what Caesar is supposed to have cried
out when he was stabbed, though that didn't happen in
Britain—you know who Caesar was?"

  "Nossir. When I read it's mostly about the Space Force." -

  "Damn. Oh, it's not your fault. The Space Force is a worthy
subject too, I suppose, but—don't they teach you anything at that
Home?"

  "They say next year they're gonna reorganize the school."

   "I should hope so… anyway, Caesar was quite a famous man.
He's in the minds of a lot of other people down through the
centuries, and his death-scene is one of the classical results we
get from this test. Though I must say not one of the more
common ones. You picked it up either from me, or directly from
the past. Shows you have at least a fair amount of parapsych
potential, certainly more than I do myself. If you had begun
training very early, you might have become quite adept."

   Doc walked back to the great chair in which his subject was
still sitting, and rested his hands on one of the padded arms.
"Adam, you interest me. Your biological inheritance is—superb.
Almost equal to that of my children here. Whoever your parents
were—you said you don't know."

   "Nossir. They never could find out at the Home. Someone just
left me there, when I was a baby."

  "An unlucky start, in many ways. I was about to say, whoever
your parents were, they at least blessed you with a superb
genetic inheritance. One quite good enough to enable you to
overcome environmental difficulties. You could, for example,
become an outstanding athlete. But I think you have too good a
mind to be satisfied with only that. We're going to have to make
sure that your schooling is improved. And there is definitely
some parapsych potential—but you may be happier with that
undeveloped."

   Adam didn't know what to say. Almost equal to that of my
children here. He thought of Ray, backed up against the
playground wall.

   Out of the hundred Jovian kids, as the news media had
christened them, only Merit and Ray ever became anything like
close friends to Adam. The others, all of them at least slightly
older than Ray, were always pleasant enough to Adam on his
visits to Doc Nowell's estate. But when they were out of Adam's
sight he sometimes had difficulty in even remembering their
names and faces.

   … and now the physical wanting was over, for the moment. In
a way, for Adam, it hadn't been much different from what
happened when one of the girls in the Home became available
and willing. And in another way it had been very different indeed
from that.

   Adam lay watching Merit, who at the moment was lying on
her back with her eyes closed. It was a summer afternoon, and
the two of them were on one of the small, isolated roof-terraces
of Doc Nowell's huge house. Their clothing was on the tiles at the
foot of the lawn-furniture lounge on which they lay, Adam's
garments scattered in savage haste, Merit's folded almost neatly.
  "For a minute there," said Adam, and had to pause at that
point to find the right words. "It felt like I was in your mind."

  "Mm," said Merit, and turned her face a little more toward
him. Her lips smiled faintly but her eyes did not open.

  "Is that what it's like," Adam asked abstractedly, "when Ray or
one of the others—?"

  Merit's eyes came open now, but they were looking over
Adam's shoulder, not into his face. He turned.

   Ray was there. Adam hadn't heard the only door to the terrace
open or close, but Ray was there. He didn't laugh, or even stare
at the couple on the lounge, the way any of the guys at the Home
would have done. He didn't show embarrassment either. Adam
couldn't read the expression on his face at all.

  Merit was at first alarmed to see Ray. Not because her clothes
were off, because her first move wasn't to hide herself. Instead
she jumped up halfway from the lounge, getting one foot on the
deck, as if to be ready for anything. Adam watched her for a
moment, then scrambled to do the same.

   All Ray said was: "It's all right, you two. Really. It's all right
with me." And there was still that strange look on his face, that
was to stay in Adam's memory almost as indelibly as the image
of Merit's body did. And Ray turned away and left them alone
again, departing in an ordinarily noisy fashion by the ordinary
rooftop door.

  On his first encounter with the Jovians in a group, Adam had
noticed that most of them seemed to look up to Ray in some
subtle way, even though Ray was among the very youngest. Once
Adam thought: Ray's a late model, with all the tested
improvements built in. Then he felt vaguely ashamed of having
such a thought about his friend.

   Adam returned to Doc Nowell's estate for at least a dozen
visits, at irregular but gradually increasing intervals, over the
next five years. Repeated tests showed Adam's parasych
potential to be fading steadily, and eventually Doc gave a shrug
and announced that he would test him no more. Such withering
away of parapsych abilities was more common than not, he
assured Adam, in normal human subjects. It hadn't set in yet in
the hundred subjects of his genegineering work; whether it
would or not remained to be seen. Parapsych talents had never
been established as dependable effects in any segment of the
general population; Doc still hoped that with his hundred kids
the story would be different.

  Somehow the estate, the school, and the people who worked
there seemed a little less familiar every time Adam returned; and
except for Ray and

  Merit, the Jovians, though still friendly, were slightly and
subtly more remote.

  Adam paid his last visit to Nowell's estate at the age of
seventeen, proudly wearing the uniform of a Space Force recruit.
On that occasion he opened an unlocked door, one that he had
opened often enough before, and walked into a room where he
thought he might find Merit. She was there, all right. With Ray.
Adam stopped silently in his tracks and stood watching them,
without comprehension.

   Hand in hand, eyes closed, Ray and Merit were floating
together in the air, more than a meter above the floor. Their eyes
were closed, and they gave no sign of being aware of Adam's
presence. After staring at them for a few more seconds he
retreated, from the room, shaken.

   He would come back later and talk to Merit. Now he decided
to find Doc. The halls of the great building, and the grounds
around it, were nearly empty of people now. Most of the hundred
unique children were out in the world, making their way as
adults. As far as Adam knew, they were having invariable
success. And no small part of their success, he thought, was the
way in which they were managing to fade gradually out of public
attention.

   A worker told Adam that Doc was in the laboratory. When
Adam slid open the psych-lab door, he saw Doc sitting alone at
his desk near the center of the room, just sitting there with his
hands folded. There on the desk was a picture of Regina, Doc's
wife, killed last year in a pedestrian stampede while she had been
visiting New New York.

  When Doc realized the door had opened, he looked up and
jumped up and came over quickly to shake hands. "Well, Adam!"
His eyes lighted when he took note of Adam's uniform. "So, it's
up and out for you! I knew you'd make it."

  "Thanks, I guess I always thought I would."

  "I don't suppose you're sorry now that your PS talents eroded.
From what I've seen of the Space Force psychological tests they
seem to weed out almost everyone who has such talents, even in
rudimentary form; I know that a couple of my own kids tried to
enter and were turned down."

  After greeting Doc, Adam mentioned the levitation he had just
seen.

  Doc nodded, without surprise. "I've seen that one. I once saw
about twenty of my kids bobbing around in the air at once… it
apparently requires a trance-like state that keeps them from
doing anything else at the same time. And what good it will ever
do them I don't know."

  "There must be some other…" Adam gestured vaguely.

  "Applications? Maybe there are. I no longer try to teach them
anything, Adam. I just try to keep up with everything they're
doing. And I can't." Doc paused.

  "I'm sure they'll do great things."

   "Yes, well, I hope so. That was the idea. I love them all, Adam,
I tend to worry about them like a parent. And now, already, a lot
of them are out in the world… what kind of lives they're going to
have in this world I don't know. And what are their lives going to
mean to humanity, after all?"

 The aging man and the young one looked at each other, two
mere humans, wondering.
  "But come in, Adam. Have some coffee? Tell about the Space
Force, how it strikes you now."

  But he hadn't got far in his relation when Doc, who seemed
scarcely to be listening, interrupted:

  "Often, I wonder, Adam. Was there some—some force, some
universal, natural law, acting through me, when I pushed my
microscopic tools into those living cells, and tore down and
rebuilt molecules?"

  "I don't know." The young man felt sorry for the old one, and
puzzled by his evident quiet distress.

  "Are these kids of mine really the next step up from
humanity?"

  "Oh. Is that what's worrying you? I don't know, Doc. You can
be damn proud if they are."

   Unexpectedly Doc scowled. "Proud of what? Of being used?"
He fell silent, making an irritated gesture. "Forces and laws," he
said obscurely, with something like disgust. Frowning made his
face look more lined, considerably more lined, than Adam
remembered it. Adam wondered if possibly the mind developed
lines and wrinkles too.

   "She was incurably sterile, you know," Doc said. Now he was
looking back at the picture on his desk. "We could never have
any children biologically our own." Then he looked at Adam
again, and brightened, with a visible effort. "Well, enough of
that. You're going to the Academy, hey? How soon will you have
a chance to try to get into planeteering? I remember how you
always talked of that."

                   Chapter Three
  The chance to get into planeteering had not come easily, but it
had arrived at last, only after Adam had spent four years at the
Academy, and three more at other assignments.

  Then planeteering school. After that, his second exploration
mission took him to the world that was shortly afterward named
Killcrazy, by the survivors among the Earth-descended men and
women who had been in the first group to land upon it. But
Killcrazy was behind Adam now, along with the
homeward-bound starships, and the Terraluna transport run,
and the shuttle down to New New York. Ahead of him were
thirty glorious days of leave, with Alice. Then the two of them
were going together out to the enormous Space Force base
located in the Antares system. Alice had a job in the science
analysis section, and the baby would be born out there, a spacer
right from the start.

  Adam had met Alice only a year ago, and had married her only
a month before he had to start out on the Killcrazy mission. But
Alice understood. She was Space Force herself, as were her
parents before her.

   This time, coming home, it was fun for once to encounter the
roaring confusion of the great city. At the shuttle port in New
New York Adam came dodging his way nimbly through the
crowd, a thick-limbed, brown-haired, strong young man of
average height, swinging a heavy travel bag. He wore a dress
uniform that hadn't seen much use to date and a new ribbon on
his chest. Alice had written something about his coming home
with the decoration on, and so he was wearing the uniform
instead of civvies.

  As Adam emerged from a pedestrian entrance of the shuttle
port into canyon-like city streets, he saw a headline flashing on a
media kiosk:

  JOVIAN SUPERKIDS—WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

   The headline was quickly, replaced by a giant
three-dimensional picture. The face of Ray Kedro, blond and
ruggedly handsome, looked down in a multiplied image from
each of the kiosk's panels. Adam hadn't seen Doc, or Ray, or
Merit, or any of the other kids, for a long time now. For years. He
recalled having read and seen news stories from time to time, to
the effect that most of the Jovians were intermarrying with each
other, that most of them seemed to be blending quite smoothly
into society, tending to avoid publicity, not making waves. The
suggestion of the stories was that the hundred born, or decanted,
out on Ganymede, were after all not that much different from the
rest of the world. Very bright and capable people, yes. But…

  Pushing his way through the crowds, Adam wondered now
about Merit, what she might be doing at this moment. There
had been a time…

  With a small start, a sensation almost of guilt, he recalled that
Alice was almost within reach now, waiting for him. She was
certainly no Jovian. And for that Adam was thankful—though he
had never made the effort to analyze just why.

  The heavy travel bag felt feather-light in Adam's grip as he
changed slidewalks for the last time, stepping onto the one that
would take him to their little sublevel apartment. Going right
home this way was certainly better than trying to meet her in the
spaceport swarm. People had been queued up there at all the
communication booths, so he hadn't delayed to call her from the
shuttle port. Anyway, Alice knew when his ship was due in.

   Adam surveyed the endless hive of tiny dwelling units through
which the slidewalk carried him, private cells stacked high and
wide, their ranks staggered and their walls insulated in an effort
to grant the occupants some diversity and privacy. On Antares
Six they would have better quarters than this. There wouldn't be
any outdoors there for the baby, not for some time at least,
except for, as Adam had heard, a little domed-over garden. But
that was really about all the outdoors you got in New New York.

   Adam dialed his private combination to let himself into the
tiny apartment. He put the travel bag down and moved
stealthily, hoping against hope to achieve surprise. Ready to
jump at Alice the moment he spotted her, he tiptoed into the
bedroom, and then the kitchen. No one.

  It was in the kitchen that he found the note.

  Darling—suddenly I can't wait to see you, so I'm going to the
spaceport. If you find this,

  I've missed you, and the joke's on me for being impatient. Sit
tight and I'll be home soon. Love XXXX Me

   He sat tight for an hour, savoring his impatient joy. He looked
at Alice's clothes, hanging in the small closet, and touched them
tenderly.

  The phone chimed.

  The screen at first showed only an official shield. Then a man's
voice spoke: "Spaceport Authority. I'd like to speak to Spaceman
Adam Mann, please."

  "Speaking."

   Then a man's face, the expression that it wore bringing the
first cold blow of fear: "Is Alice Dexter-Mann your wife?"

  "My wife. Yes."

  "I'm sorry to tell you that there's been an accident."

   Adam afterward could never remember exactly what else the
man on the videophone might have said. He raced in a
nightmare through the bright anthill of the city, back to the
shuttle port. Traveler's Aid. They told him where to go. In the
Port-master's office, there were sudden grave, guarded looks
when Adam gave his name, looks of sympathy and hidden
triumph: It happened to you, not to us.

   After hearing the words several times, from two different
people, he began to realize that Alice was dead. The surgeon on
duty at the port said that the baby was dead too, though she had
ripped it out of Alice's body, trying to save it.

   "We did all we could for her, spaceman. Sometimes it still just
isn't enough…"

   A policewoman sat with Adam and talked to him calmly and
gently, trying to bring him through the first shock. She tried to
answer his questions. It had been a violent and deliberate attack,
right in the crowded port. One suspect had been seized, but then
the people who might have been witnesses had all melted away
without identifying themselves.

  "These teenpacks—I don't know what the answer is, spacer.
We do all we can. This year the big thing for some of them is to
hunt pregnant women. Last year it was something else."

   "Who's your suspect?" Adam's stomach had turned sick and
his knees weak. But still the truth hadn't really, totally, sunk in.

  "I'll show you. He's a real prize."

   The policewoman let him look through oneway glass at a
young man who sat slouching on a bench. The suspect's body
had grown out of adolescence. But the appearance of him, the
look in his face and eyes, suggested that his mind and soul had
long since ceased to grow, that now they only wriggled, caught
like baby worms on some unknown fishhook. Greasy pigtails
framed the masklike face. The oddly-styled leather jacket was
lipstick-marked with obscene clan symbols.

  Adam opened the door of the detention room and stepped
through, moving too fast for the cop beside him, who was left
reaching after him with one outstretched arm. There were other
police, men and women, in the detention room with the suspect,
and they looked up at Adam's entrance, wondering.

  "This one did it?" Adam's knees were no longer weak.

   The sneering young mask-face held out insult like the groping
hand of a blind man, trying to touch someone with it. "Sure,
fatherman. I must have did whatever it was:"

   Now a large and gentle cop was standing close beside Adam,
soothing him and standing in his way. "Easy now. Maybe it
wasn't him at all." The other cops were standing around a
communicator, going on with whatever they had been doing. But
they each kept an eye out now for the bereaved young spaceman,
watching him with pity and calculation, ready to lead him away
if he should become violent.

  Little they knew. Adam's brain and body had absorbed the
Academy training in personal combat as if he had been designed
for that purpose and no other. He might have gone on to world
class competition in the martial arts, except that his feelings for
them had always been mixed. Arm-twisting stuff, he sometimes
called that sort of activity, with a certain contempt that
proceeded from a blend of distaste and fascination. What he
really wanted was to be a planeteer. But before leaving the
Academy Adam had acquired the ability to be more effectively
violent than almost any of the instructors.

   Now the impersonal trained-in combat computer offered one
of several feasible plans: three quick strides to the target, then
the certain kick with the left foot, a blow with the right fist.
Impacts that would break bone and crush nerves. As like as not
the shock waves that the target's brain received would be enough
to kill. The police were not wearing their stunguns in here; even
so, their numbers and positions in the room could make it an
interesting technical problem. But Adam doubted that the police
would be able to stop him. The target might react to some
purpose by the time he reached it. He doubted that a great deal
too.

  "Come along." The large cop's gentle hand was resting on
Adam's arm. "We'll find out, if it was him. We'll find out."

   The pig-tailed youth, looking at Adam, said: "C'mere,
fatherman. I got a present for ya." He giggled, and made a
gesture that meant nothing whatever to Adam.

  Adam waited for whatever spark it would take to set him off.
Once before, as a teenager defending himself on a street near the
Home, he had killed with his hands. But why had he bothered to
defend himself, that time? He didn't understand it now. It had
done him no good, for now his life was gone.

  He felt no reluctance to kill, but no spark came. His life was
gone. His loss was beyond all paying-back, and made all action
pointless. He let himself be turned around and led away. He was
very tired now. It would be good to get home at last and…

  It sank in a little more. Alice was dead.

  When he did get home, there was her silent note, still waiting
for him on the table.

   The Space Force looked after its own. Adam had scream-it-out
grief therapy, and then for a while tranquilizers, and after that
grief therapy again, this time that of a different school.

  He went on with the motions of living, and then, one day, he
began to go on again with living itself.

  After a tour of duty as instructor in personal combat at the
Academy, his revised orders finally came through for Antares.



              PART TWO
                    Chapter Four
   The footsteps, those of one person hurrying, came to a halt
just outside the messroom door. The door slid open, and the face
of the courier ship's captain appeared, wearing its usual
expression of faint disapproval.

   "Antares Base is on alert, gentlemen," the captain informed
his two passengers; and then without waiting for an answer or
comment he was gone, perpetually hurried footsteps fading.

    Adam Mann looked up and across the chessboard at his new
boss, Chief Planeteer Colonel Boris Brazil, and asked: "Suppose
it's just practice?"

  "I suppose." Brazil slouched in his chair, a tall, lean, blond,
bony-faced man, unmoved by the news. "Or maybe something
scared 'em. Maybe they heard old spit-and-polish was coming."
He nodded after the courier's captain, whose way of running his
ship had not earned the Colonel's respect during the days of
voyaging. "Anyway, we'll soon know. I concede a draw," Brazil
added, nodding cheerfully at his hopeless chess position.

  One good thing about putting the whole base on alert, thought
General Grodsky, was that it at least got him up into a ship
again, even if it didn't get him out from behind a desk. Nothing
could do that, it seemed.

  His logistics only grew more complex when an alert was on.
He then had to hold most of his available fleet off-planet, while
keeping the emergency repair facilities on the surface of Antares
Six still ready to function at full capacity, as well as maintaining
skeleton crews of people at the other Space Force installations
around the system, all under his command. But none of this,
somehow, ever cut down on what was still called paperwork. It
seemed to the General that at least as much of the
dataprocessing as before came shuffling its way inexorably after
him, a many-tentacled monster of information; and Grodsky
wound up still spending most of his time at a desk.

  The door of his inner office aboard his flagship opened now,
and his secretary came in, carrying more things that he was
going to have to deal with.

   The first item in his stack was something Grodsky had been
looking for, and he pushed the rest aside. "Molly," he told his
secretary, "get Colonel Brazil in here to me as soon as he's on
board." The courier with Brazil aboard had begun to transmit its
routine, official messages from Earth as soon as it appeared in
normal space within reasonable radio range of Antares Base. But
Grodsky wanted to hear from the Colonel the unofficial news of
attitudes and rumors at home; and he wanted even more
urgently to get Chief Planeteer Brazil briefed quickly on this new
Fakhuri thing.

   Spaceman Adam Mann was kept waiting for several minutes
in Grodsky's outer office, but the young man remained standing
during that time; the fact was that he felt too keyed up to sit
down. Then the inner office door, through which Colonel Brazil
had already passed, opened again and a young woman in
uniform stepped out. "The Colonel asked me to lure you in," she
said with a tolerant smile. The impression she conveyed was that
she had known the Colonel for some time, and was willing to
make allowances.

  Adam marched into the inner office, where General Grodsky
was sitting appropriately behind a massive desk, while Colonel
Brazil meanwhile perched quite inappropriately on a corner of
the same piece of furniture. Brazil hardly appeared to notice
Adam's entrance; he was staring into space, as if at some new
and fascinating vision that he had just been shown.

  Adam marched straight to the desk. "Spaceman Mann
reporting, sir." He threw the General a sharp salute.

   Grodsky returned the gesture carelessly, but gave Adam an
intent look. "At ease, Mann. Colonel Brazil thinks you can fill a
vacancy in the planeteering crew of this flagship."

  "Yes sir." Adam was well aware of that, and it was exactly why
he was keyed up. He hadn't thought, still didn't think, that his
being given the job was really in doubt. But if the General
himself was taking an interest in the matter… "I hope the
Colonel's right, sir."

   In the middle of the largest relatively clear area on the
General's desktop there was a personnel file; Adam recognized a
permapaper copy of his own service record, which Colonel Brazil
had been carrying around with him and had somehow managed
to dogear slightly. Grodsky picked up the file now and began to
study it. Almost immediately the General looked up with a
frown. "You've had only two missions, Mann?" He turned to
Brazil. "Boris, I don't know…"

   Brazil, paying attention now, was wearing one of the more
subtle forms of what Adam had come to recognize as his
I'm-one-up expression. "Read on a little farther, sir. One of those
was the rescue job on Killcrazy."

   "Oho." The General checked the record again, and looked back
at Adam with new respect. "Were you with the party that went
into the crater?"

  "Yessir."

  Grodsky paged his way deeper into the record and read on.
"Boris found you teaching hand-to-hand combat at the
Academy. Well, that would fit the team's needs. Krishnan—the
man you'd be replacing—had a high combat rating. Hm, I see
you've married a Space Force lady. Congrat—oh." The general
raised his eyes again. "I'm very sorry."

  "Sir, I was intending to stay in planeteering before that
happened. I'm really eager to get back to it now."

  The General nodded, his eyes probing Adam's as before. Then
Grodsky gestured to a chair. "Sit down, Mann. I've already told
Colonel Brazil the reason for this alert we're on. Now I'm going to
show both of you."

  Grodsky picked up a small control unit from his desk, and
swiveled his chair. The lights dimmed in the office, and a
holographic stage slid up in front of the large viewscreen that
occupied most of one of the office walls. "This recording," the
General announced, "was made about two standard months ago,
aboard the Marco Polo 7." Adam recognized the name of a
deep-space exploration ship.

  There were no titles or preliminary information at the start of
the three-dimensional video recording, except the routine
security classification label. Not so routine in this case—top
secret. Adam hadn't yet seen many of those.

  The recording itself began with some solid-looking symbols on
the stage, which he was able to recognize as representing the
astrogational co-ordinates of some star system or other
deep-space celestial object, no doubt those of some system that
the Marco had been sent out to investigate.

   More data about the system and its chief components
followed, presented in a routine symbolic form. It contained one
star, a sun remarkably like Sol, whose light had been blocked
from Earth since before the beginning of recorded Earthly
history, by a narrow, twisted cloud of opaque interstellar dust.
This Sol-like sun and its planets, all of them as yet unnamed, lay
on the advancing frontier of Earth-descended humanity, right on
the edge of the thirty million cubic light year volume of space
which that ambitious race had somehow managed to more or
less explore, marking out a small enclave within the end of one
arm of the Galaxy's spiraled bulk.

  "We're skipping a lot of early details of the survey," said
Grodsky in a quiet voice. "Planet Four looked very good, from a
distance. Fakhuri went in for a closer investigation, according to
standard operating procedure, and—well, you'll see."

  The stage now effectively placed the three men watching
aboard the control bridge of the Margo 7.

   The three-dimensional picture, made in the course of routine
recording of periods of key activity, was centered on a dark,
intense-looking man who sat in the ship commander's
acceleration chair.

  "That's Fakhuri. A good man," Grodsky commented firmly.
The General paused, and then went on: "At this point, Planet
Four still looked almost like a moonless twin of Earth. Which it
continues to do in many ways, but… now they're launching the
scoutship. Remember, Fakhuri is following survey SOP and he
hasn't used any radar yet."

  Explorers going out from Earth and Earth's advanced bases
had yet to encounter any aliens technologically sophisticated
enough to be able to detect a radar probe. But if any such
existed—and it seemed inevitable that there must, somewhere in
the Galaxy—there was thought to be no point in warning them
prematurely that they were under surveillance.

   As if looking over Fakhuri's shoulder aboard the Marco, now
cruising some four hundred thousand kilometers from Planet
Four, Adam Mann and Colonel Boris Brazil watched and listened
as the scoutship, piloted by Fakhuri's Chief Planeteer, made one
swing around the planet at about a hundred thousand
kilometers, and another slower one at about twenty thousand.
Both passes were uneventful.

  During his swing at two thousand kilometers, the Chief
Planeteer who was flying the scout solo reported observing
something strange on the land surface below him.

  "Like a lunar ringwall, or a half-buried foundation for a
building eight or ten kilometers across," said the radio voice.
"Lots of clouds there—I couldn't get a very good look."
   Fakhuri's image rubbed its dark chin. "Make a lower pass over
it."

  Six seconds passed, while the finite speed of radio carried the
ship commander's order on a tight beam down to the speeding
scoutship, and brought the answer back.

  "Roger. Descending to six hundred klicks."

  The magnification of Fakhuri's screen showed a tiny dark
scoutship creeping across the blue and green and brown of a
sunlit alien continent. Then the scout almost disappeared
against the background of a dark blue ocean.

  "I'm jumping forward again in time," said Grodsky. "We'll
pick up the recording again—here."

   They were still observing the image as if looking over Fakhuri's
shoulder. "Coming up toward that ringwall again," said the
planeteer's voice from the little scout below. "I'll go right over it,
this time. Leveling off at six hundred klicks. Should get a little
atmos—"

   And that was all. The radio beam from the scout had for some
reason been broken off. Fakhuri turned his head, this way and
that, looking for a reason. He pressed things on his panel, trying
to extract information from one instrument or another.

  Seconds later, another watcher on Fakhuri's ship cried out:
"He's falling, out of control!" A closeup of another screen showed
how the motion of the scout's flight had changed, from a nearly
horizontal creeping to the steep curve of a dropped stone.

  "Golden! Do you read me?" Fakhuri was shouting.

  And yet another voice: "Radio beam's unlocked, sir, we can't
reach him."

  "Get us right over him," ordered Fakhuri, reaching with one
hand for a red stud prominent at one side of the panel before
him. At the bottom of the image on Grodsky's holographic stage
appeared the words: RED ALERT CALLED ABOARD MARCO
POLO 7. There was justification. Scoutship drives did not fail,
communications between scout and mothership simply did not
break, not by accident, not just like that.

  Now, through a low cloud cover, the huge ring-wall formation
on the planet's surface became partially visible in the Marco's
powerful scopes. The ringwall looked like stone, perhaps once
splashed molten, perhaps deliberately piled. Details were still
obscure, though the starship was accelerating powerfully in
normal space, very quickly getting closer to the planet.

    The screens on the Marco's bridge showed the scoutship as an
almost invisible dot, tumbling toward the ringwall formation as
if toward the center of a target.

  "No sign of his escape capsule."

  "Radio still out, sir."

  "Radar," Fakhuri snapped. "Track him. Planeteering, have
that standby scout ready. But don't launch yet."

   Grodsky said to the onlookers in his office: "Watch now, here
it comes."

  Fakhuri's image switched its viewscreen to pick up the radar
image when the bouncing pulses brought it back. The seconds of
unavoidable distance delay crept by.

  "Can't pick up any flash of impact optically, sir. Maybe he
hasn't era—"

   The echo came. Fakhuri's screen showed only electronic hash
for a moment. Then the radar computer gave up its search for a
small moving target, and dispassionately showed the waiting
humans exactly what it saw, the problem it was having to
contend with.

  Some watcher on Fakhuri's ship cried out: "Captain!"

  The radar picture electronically frozen on Fakhuri's screen
held him—and now Adam—frozen in disbelief. Not the expected
rough semblance of the Earthlike planet shown by the optical
scopes. Nothing like that—here instead was a bright spheroid,
looking smooth and opaque as a steel ball, more than a thousand
kilometers greater in diameter than the planet it shrouded.

   Fakhuri quickly switched his screen back to present the image
brought in by the optical telescopes. Planet Four still reflected
the radiation of her own sun as naturally as Earth reflected that
of hers—again Four appeared innocent and friendly in her bright
aura of oxygen atmosphere, plain and ordinary behind a tattered
white film of clouds where her spherical shape curved closest to
the Marco.

   "Evasive action!" Fakhuri ordered. "Around the planet!" If this
world was shielded from radar, it might well be armed in other
unimaginable ways as well. Anything might be about to come up
from it.

   The brutal acceleration of evasive action was evidently too
much for the Marco's artificial gravity, for Fakhuri's chair now
folded itself protectively around its occupant. The chair also put
forth to the control panel a pair of artificial arms, slaved to the
captain's motor-nerve impulses.

  "Passive detection still blank screen, sir." That meant that the
Marco's instruments could detect no artificially produced
radiation from the planet.

  "We lost him in the surface clouds, before we moved," said an
astronomer's shaken voice. "Never got any indication of an
impact where he went down."

  "Radar gear checks okay, captain, I don't know what—"

  "Pulse again, then! give me the whole planet again."

   The Marco was over nightside now. The planet showed in the
optical scopes as a vague dark bulk, embraced by a thin bright
crescent. Then that image was gone, as Fakhuri switched his
screen to receive the radar image again. The pulses would be
hurtling down again toward the planet… down… down… back…
back…
   The marvelous thing flashed from the screen again, electrically
beautiful. The only difference on this side of the planet was at the
point antipodal to that where the scoutship had disappeared.
Here, the radar-outlined, metallic-looking, optically invisible
surface curved steeply down to meet the planet's land surface, in
an amplexicaul depression, like the dimple around the stem of
an apple. Fakhuri sat staring at it, as if the wonder of it was
stronger than alarm, for him.

   But there were standing orders for exploration captains. Any
technologically advanced strangers encountered were to be
treated with the utmost caution. One starship could carry a
weapon capable of destroying a planet in minutes. There was of
course a chance that the scoutship pilot might still be alive; but
one of the Fakhuri's mechanical slave-hands was already moving,
slamming down on a stud marked EMERGENCY FLIGHT.

   The flight had been toward Antares, not Earth; no possible
trail must be left toward home.

  The holostage in Grodsky's inner office went blank
momentarily. Then the General said: "This is the planeteer who
was lost, Mann. Colonel Brazil knew him."

  On the stage there appeared the figure of a heavily-built,
cheerful-looking man. It was a picture made outdoors
somewhere that showed its subject, walking quickly, wearing a
planeteer's groundsuit, carrying his helmet under one arm.

  "Alexander Golden, Chief Planeteer," said General Grodsky.
His tone was oddly formal, as if he might be wondering what the
name and title ultimately meant.

   The secretary, who had re-entered the office a few moments
earlier carrying some papers, had paused to watch, and now had
a question. "Did he leave a family?" she asked, gazing into the
stage.

  "No." Grodsky rubbed his eyes. "As I recall from his records,
he grew up in some institution—like you, Mann. Never married.
Very able spaceman."
   "And an able planeteer," put in Colonel Brazil. After a moment
he added: "Another happy bachelor bit the dust. Not many of us
left. I guess I met him two or three times."

   Adam was staring at the last frozen frame of Alexander
Golden on the little stage. Something about it was bothering
him. "I… think I might have met him, somewhere." But the
vague sense of recognition eluded Adam and vanished when he
tried to pin it down. He shrugged.

  As the holostage dimmed down completely and the lights in
the room came up to normal, Boris shifted around on his
desk-top perch to face the General. "Well, boss, what do we do?"

   "We go back there," said Grodsky, swiveling his chair back to
face his desk, and the two visitors in his office. The General's face
was lined and tight-looking. Obviously Fakhuri's discovery was in
his lap. The situation could not be managed from the distance of
Earth, not when it took forty days by courier ship for a message
to be sent and answered. No Earth government would be foolish
enough to send more than broad instructions to Antares base,
and in this case there was little doubt of what those instructions
were going to say.

   "Now," said Grodsky, getting down to business. "That
forcefield, or whatever it is, around that planet—let's start calling
it planet Golden—the field around planet Golden seems to me a
flat impossibility. Consider:

  "First, it almost entirely envelops an Earth-sized world.
Second, the passive detection crew on the Marco were able to
pick up no trace of it. Third, it allowed a scoutship to enter, but
only as a falling object. It cut off the scout's engines, its radio,
and possibly everything else aboard.

  "Gentlemen, we've nothing like that, anywhere!"

   After a little silence, Brazil spoke up, casually. "Are we taking a
fleet when we go back?"

   "I think not. I think just three ships. A whole fleet might look
like an attack, to—them. Whoever they are." The General
shrugged. "If they even exist. We have no proof that
this—field—is not a natural phenomenon. Golden couldn't see it
without his radar on, and he just drove right into it."

   "And just accidentally happened to drop right into that
ringwall," said Boris. "That was just coincidence, right?" No one
answered him, and he went on: "If I ever drive a scout near that
thing, I won't be so damn sneaky about it. Next time we go in
radiating the whole damn frequency spectrum in every direction.
If someone spots me, it won't be by accident."

  Adam couldn't tell if the Colonel was serious about his
announced plan or not.

  "I intend to take a very good look around there before anyone
drives near it again," said the General grimly. "Boris, I want you
ready for the best job you ever did, if and when we do go down
on Golden. You can pick any planeteers you want, from any
crews in the fleet."

   "If you mean to launch from just one ship, my own people are
as good as any."

  The General looked at Adam, then back to the Colonel.

  "My crew will be up to full strength now," Brazil added
casually. Adam felt a sudden surge of pride and loyalty, about
which he would never speak.

   Grodsky considered a moment, then nodded decisively. "All
right. Mann, consider yourself aboard. You can go look up your
quarters, or whatever you have to do."

  "Yessir!" This time Adam's salute was even sharper than
before.

   When the doors of the inner and outer offices were both closed
after him, he took a quick look up and down the long main
corridor of the flagship to make sure that he was unobserved.
Then he snapped his body into a flip, a somersault in the air
without touching his hands to the deck. He walked away
grinning widely.
 He was still quite a young man. For a time, in time, even the
murdered love could be forgotten.

  When the young Spaceman Mann had gone out, leaving the
two of them alone, the General said thoughtfully: "Boris, I
wonder if we can really function as a military outfit." They both
knew, everyone knew, that the Space Force was organized and
equipped and trained for exploration, not for conquest. It had
never faced a real war, or anything remotely like one. Who knew
what would happen if one came?

  "I do believe that courier captain thought me unmilitary,"
Brazil answered. "And all I had done was—well, never mind. You
really expect we'll get into a fight this time, boss?"

   On an impulse, Grodsky flicked on his big view-screen. The
hellish red bulk of nearby Antares seemed to fill the room. Then
the slow rotation of the flagship brought into view the tiny green
companion star, and then the other multicolored sparks, cloud
behind cloud of them, reaching ever farther and dimmer out to
infinity.

  "This time, or the next," the General said. "Sooner or later."

                    Chapter Five
   General Grodsky's flagship was a big craft, fast and tough,
designed for battle as much as any ship could be when battles
between ships were virtually unknown. The outer hull of the
flagship formed a sphere almost a kilometer in diameter, and
like most Space Force ships it bore no permanent name. Its code
designation for this mission was Alpha One.

   After a couple of days' passage in flightspace from An tares
Base, the flagship appeared in normal space near the Golden
system, at a couple of astronomical units' distance above the
north pole of Golden's sun. After an hour of general observation
from that vantage point the flagship began to move again,
staying in normal space this time, traversing a curve that in
three unhurried days would bring the explorers aboard into the
close vicinity of Planet Four.
  Alpha Two, also custom designed, was a much smaller ship,
built for high interstellar speed and long range observation. It
winked into existence near the point in space where Alpha One
had previously appeared, just as One began to move sunward.
Two would alternate with Three, its twin, in observing the
activities of One and in carrying news back to An tares Base.

   At a distance of thirty million kilometers General Grodsky
ordered his first radar probe of Planet Golden's surface. He
found the enveloping forcefield to be exactly as Fakhuri's
recordings showed it, covering the world entirely except for an
area of a few hundred square kilometers at most, where the field
came down in its amplexicaul curve to meet the land surface of
one continent. With that verification in hand, Grodsky turned
his flagship away from Golden, and spent a standard month in
methodical preliminary survey of the system's seven other major
planets. On none of them, nor on any of their major satellites,
did his teams find any indication of the presence of intelligent
life. Or anything at all to suggest an explanation of Planet
Golden's unique and mysterious field.

   The preliminary system survey completed, Alpha One returned
to the near vicinity of Golden. And now the crew of explorers
focused their instruments with great interest upon the surface
formation that resembled a lunar ringwall.

   The Ringwall, as the human observers now began to call it,
occupied most of a roughly triangular river island eight
kilometers across, at the confluence of two great streams in a
country of low, rocky hills and subtropical jungle. The big island
seemed always to be at least partially obscured by clouds and low
mist. And infra-red observations of the area were perpetually
fogged as if by volcanic heat.

  For all the observers above the atmosphere were able to tell,
the irregular polygon of mountainous walls might be titanic
architecture, now partially obscured by jungle growth as well as
by mists and clouds. Or it might still have been accepted as an
accidental formation. But, if the ambiguous feature were truly
accidental, was it only by another accident that it lay exactly at
the antipodal point from the place where the Field curved down
to planet surface?

   And careful study of Fakhuri's optical recordings showed that,
of all the planet's area, Golden's scout had apparently fallen
directly into the Ring-wall, scoring a kind of crazy, inexplicable
bullseye. Another accident?

  Wherever the scoutship or its wreckage might be now, optical
observation from the flagship could detect no trace of it. And the
Field continued to prevent all other kinds of observation.

  Colonel Boris Brazil, in the first scoutship launched from
Grodsky's flagship toward Golden, drove twice around the
planet, keeping about fifteen hundred kilometers above the
upper surface of the Field as it was outlined for him by his radar.
True to his promise, Colonel Brazil had his ship continuously
radiating a wide assortment of signals.

  There was no response from below.

   That evening, ship's time, the Colonel knocked at the door of
Adam Mann's tiny cabin, and on hearing a response from inside
slid it open. "Alpha Three should be in the system tomorrow,
Junior," Brazil announced. "Two will be heading back to
Antares; we're sending a robocourier over to her in a couple of
hours with mail, if you want to send some."

    Adam was seated at the small desk that folded out of the
bulkhead. "Thanks, I was just writing one." He paused. "How did
it look today from down there?"

   "Everything looked a lot closer. Here, I'll drop that in the mail
bag for you." Leaning in the doorway, the Colonel shamelessly
inspected the address on the envelope he had just been handed.
Then he held it down at his side, snapping it between long
nervous fingers. "Tell you what, Junior, you get ready for a little
ride tomorrow. I want someone along to make sure that my
scout keeps transmitting on all fifty frequencies. Briefing at
oh-five-hundred."

  "Roger!"
   "Don't look so damned happy. It's disgusting. My good
planeteers will be driving their own scouts tomorrow." Boris
started to close the door, then paused, waving the little envelope.
"Say, this Doctor Emiliano Nowell you're writing to—isn't he the
one who had that secret biological lab on Ganymede years ago?
The geneticist who started all that Jovian superkid business?"

   "Yeah. I used to be invited to visit his estate on Earth a couple
of times a year. Got to know some of them. Tell you about it
sometime."

  Boris's brows rose over his innocent blue eyes. "You move in
exalted circles," he whispered, and made his exit.

   In the morning, Colonel Brazil was all business from the start.
"This reminds me a little bit of a mousetrap," he was muttering,
as he sat strapped and cushioned in the left seat of the
scoutship's little control room, staring at the radar screen in
front of him. Alpha One was now something more than a million
airless kilometers above the scout; the fair true surface of Planet
Golden was only a few hundred klicks below.

    The radar showed the smooth hump of the Field rising high
above the scout on all sides, rising higher and higher as Brazil
drove the small ship down in a slow descending spiral. It was as
if they were dropping into the vortex of a whirpool, a solid
maelstrom carved into some fluid invisible to human eyes. The
walls of the funnel around them constricted gradually as they
descended into it. Below them, a circle of planet surface some
fifty kilometers in diameter was shown by radar as free of the
Field, and to all appearances this comparatively small area was
open to normal landings and exploration. The free area was
mixed-looking countryside, to the eye indistinguishable from the
land immediately surrounding it.

   "I don't see any bait," said Adam. He was buttoned into the
right seat, alertly watching a multitude of screens and
indicators. "But we're here, aren't we? Maybe an obvious trap is
bait enough for the curious."

  "Now's a fine time to propound that theory," Brazil growled.
"How d'ya read me, Alpha One?"
   The distance delay. Then: "We read you loud and clear. Good
picture."

  Adam had an excellent imagination, which in his line of work
was not always an asset. Right now he could readily imagine the
Field-funnel around them closing in on the little scoutship with a
sudden snap, dropping the ship rocklike with them inside it to
share Alexander Golden's fate. But the Field did not snap shut.
The Field did not move at all. No change of any kind had been
observed in it since Fakhuri's first recorded sighting.

   A few hours ago, long probes with loops of current-carrying
wires attached to them had been lowered into the Field from a
hovering scoutship. On the wires' first contact with the Field the
electrical currents in them had instantly ceased. But mice and
other small forms of life, lowered into the Field in sealed boxes,
had survived the mysterious condition for several minutes
without any apparent ill effect. If Golden had survived the crash
of his ship—that seemed a vanishingly faint hope —he might still
be alive.

   The field-free area of the surface, that the explorers from
Earth were now beginning to refer to as the Stem, lay in the low
north temperature zone, on Planet Golden's second largest
continent. Below the scoutship now, Adam's viewscreens showed
rolling, open plains, covered with a probably grass-like plant.
The main themes of biology were repeated, sometimes with
startling fidelity, from one world to the next, all across the
explored Galaxy, wherever closely similar environments obtained
in terms of gravity and chemistry, pressure and radiation. Here,
patches of deciduous-looking forest were scattered over a line of
hills that grew into a range of mountains some kilometers north
of the Stem. One of the wide, winding rivers of this continent ran
in several places briefly congruent with the intersection of Field
and planet surface. But this, again, seemed accidental.

   "Enough for today," said Brazil abruptly, when they had
cruised for ten minutes at about two hundred kilometers'
altitude. "Let's ease up out of this hole."

  On a sunny afternoon a few days later, Adam and Boris were
scouting again, cruising within a kilometer of the surface, now
with the feeling of being part of the world below. The starship
overhead was of course invisible to them beyond the sky.

  Early summer was warming and brightening Golden's
northern hemisphere. The screens showed a view of green plains
and forests that made the scoutship cabin feel stuffy.

  "Makes me feel like I want to get out and go camping," Adam
commented.

   Brazil only grunted. He was easing the scout still lower, losing
altitude at a rate of a few meters per second. The small ship slid
forward through the clear summer sky at a couple of hundred
kilometers per hour.

   "Looks like a herd of large herbivores over there." Brazil was
pointing to a scattering of animate dots on the plain ahead.
Under moderate magnification these became deerlike
creatures—another major interplanetary evolutionary theme
identified on Golden. As the scout drew closer the lenses showed
that the deer-like creatures had developed their own variation on
the theme, in the form of stretch-able necks. In a few minutes
the scout passed directly over the herd, gliding on the invisible
force of its silent engines, still too high for its presence to alarm
the animals.

   Adam continued to sweep the landscape below the scout, and
the air around it, with his instruments. He even scanned nearby
birds suspiciously several times. "I don't see any Field-generating
superbeings."

  "Maybe they've all dried up and blown away. Are you keeping
one eye on the Field, Junior? I have most of my attention on it."

  "Ah, roger. I have one screen on radar."

   But the Field only waited indifferently, whether they watched
it or not. The smooth cliff of it rising up around them on all
sides, as motionless as stone.

  Boris drove the scout steadily lower. Inside another hour they
were circling the Stem area just off the deck, dipping below
hilltops and nearly brushing trees with the bottom of the scout's
nearly-spherical metal hull. Some of the flora below them stood
fifteen meters tall and closely resembled the hardwood trees of
Earth.

   As their altitude decreased, Boris slowed their speed as well.
Now the scoutship was moving not much faster than a man
might run. Birds, singly and in squawking flights, fluttered out of
its path, their cries coming plainly into the cabin through the
outside microphones. On the ground an occasional animal fled,
or crouched snarling in the scoutship's moving shadow.

  Brazil said: "Looks like a big trail over there, going down that
ravine toward the river."

  "Animals only?"

  "Maybe." Boris turned the scout, and drove it down the ravine,
going lower and slower than ever; and there was the little village,
no more than a cluster of teepees whose colors blended with the
muddy earth. The themes of Galactic life extended to humanity,
on many worlds, and that the native humans on a planet as
Earthlike as this one should morphologically resemble their
cousins from Earth came as no real surprise.

   But the native dwellers on Golden, or this sampling of them at
least, were less sophisticated. For a long second, naked
humanoid figures stood about their village in frozen poses,
gaping up at the approaching scoutship, a gigantic mass of
bright metal drifting silently through thin air; then the people
below dropped fishnets and cooking pots and exploded into
frenzied motion.

  "Wow—get all those cameras going!" Boris ordered as he
turned the scout again, taking it out over the river and there
backing it slowly away from the village. "We'll disappear for a
while— starting a major panic isn't going to do us any good."

   And now the delayed voices from Alpha One began to gabble
in the ears of the two planeteers in the scout, urging them to
turn viewscreens on this or that detail in the fast-emptying
village.
   Joined by other scoutships carrying other planeteering teams,
Colonel Brazil and Spaceman Mann made one approach after
another to the Stem area during the next few days. There were
interesting discoveries, but no truly surprising ones, and none
that appeared to have any direct connection with the Field. Nor
were there any observable changes in that mysterious
phenomenon. Whatever unknown powers there might be on
Golden appeared to be still indifferent to the presence of the
explorers from Earth.

   There arrived a morning when Colonel Boris Brazil, with
Spaceman Adam Mann aboard, launched early from Alpha One,
and drove his scoutship down early into the Field—free funnel
leading to the planet's surface. On this flight the Colonel circled
the Stem area only once, to let the red sunrise at surface level
catch up with his measured descent. Then he drove toward a
grassy hill near the river, a spot that had been carefully selected
on an earlier trip.

  The scout sank gently; landing struts extended themselves to
touch down in the grass. The little ship settled quietly to rest on
the hilltop.

  The two men inside it examined the outside environment
carefully, with eyes and radar and infrared. Here and there life
moved, in the grass, in the tall reeds and bushes along the shore,
and under the surface of the river.

  Life moved, apparently going about its own business. Still
nothing challenged their arrival.

  "No reaction. Alpha One," said Brazil finally.

  "Roger, proceed as briefed," said the delayed voice.

  Brazil turned in his seat, and fixed Adam with what a stranger
might have interpreted as an angry stare. "Well, Junior, I need a
body outside, to lure these Field-formulating superbeings into
my snare. Get your ass moving."

  Adam unfastened himself from his chair and stood up, already
wearing his groundsuit. He gave his boss a half-smile through
his faceplate and moved from the control cabin to the final
decontamination chamber, in which he stood with his suited
arms raised and legs spread, while poison gas and ultraviolet
sterilized the outside of his suit, a last step in the effort to
protect native life against possibly dangerous Earthly
microorganisms.

  Adam was going to be First Out. First Out, on this planet,
where Total Investigation was a certainty. He had to remind
himself that such an assignment didn't necessarily mean that he
was the best planeteer around. Without argument, it meant he
was expected to be one of the best.

   A hatch opened in the seamless-looking hull near the base of
the landed scoutship, and a short ramp extended itself to the
ground. A human figure, anonymous in an armored groundsuit,
appeared in the opening. The morning sun glinted on its
faceplate as the figure walked slowly down the ramp and into the
kneehigh grass. A representative of Earth—descended humanity
had set foot upon the soil of yet another planet.

   Adam's boots left a dark trail in the dew-silvered grass as he
walked a slow circle, going completely around the scout. The sun
was well clear of the horizon now, and he could see for kilometers
in every direction. There was not another human being in sight,
or, at the moment, even an animal, with the exception of a few
birds high and far away to the south. The looming amplexicaul
curve of the Field was of course still invisible to his eyes. The
Field appeared to make no difference at all to anything that he
could see. There was hardly a cloud in all the kindly blue vastness
of Golden's sky.

  He had a sense that the whole planet was—not exactly
watching him, maybe, but still aware of him, even if only in the
back of its collective mind. Aware and waiting for what he might
do.

  "How's it going, Mann?" asked General Grodsky's voice. A
majority of the hundreds of people aboard Alpha One, all of them
who had the chance, were probably watching the video relay,
sent to them through the scoutship from the tiny camera in
Adam's helmet.
   "Fine, sir," he answered. "It just looks good." The words were
of course inadequate, but at the moment, with no new facts to
report, such words were the best he could come up with.

  According to plan, Adam now turned his back on the parked
scoutship, and walked about fifty meters to a place from which
he could look down-hill to a bend of the river. A heavy growth of
short trees and tall reed-like plants lined both banks closely. On
worlds where native human beings existed, rivers were
considered good places to spot them, traveling, fishing, or just
getting a drink. In his mind Adam quickly ran through the basic
procedures for first contact with Apparent Primitives. But at the
moment there were no Apparent Primitives in sight.

   As Adam turned and started to walk away, a small creature
sprang away out of the long grass near his feet, giving him a
start. More startled than its human discoverer, the thing went
bounding away from him like a jackrabbit, down the slope
toward the river. By all appearances it was an inoffensive
herbivore. After the first few meters of its darting flight it began
to tumble clownishly, leaping and playing with the exuberance of
an otter. Near the heavy bush by the river the small animal
stopped, looking back uphill at Adam with apparent good cheer.

   Adam returned the look, grinning downhill. Then he gazed
around him again at the peaceful river and hills and sky. He
surprised himself, with a wish to—well, to pray. He was not
ordinarily a consciously religious man. But now he felt a wish to
pray, maybe to Whom it May Concern, that this world, new to its
discoverers, could be treated right by them, that good would
come from their discovery. It was a strange moment for Adam,
one in which he felt himself in communion with—with the
powers of the universe, perhaps. He had rarely had a similar
feeling in his life, and never since Alice—

  Something huge was moving, very quietly, down in the thick
bush by the river. Then it burst into the open, a massive,
bloated-looking quadruped that pounced with startling speed.
The rabbit-thing was taken by surprise. One heavy clawed foot
caught it in the middle of its first frightened leap, and crushed it
down into the grass and dirt, where it wriggled helplessly and let
out shrill faint screams.

   Its prey secured, the big animal paused, speed leaving its
movements as if a switch had been opened. The predator was a
little smaller, Adam thought, than an adult hippopotamus, but
just as graceless.

   Adam thought that he had seen this large species before, or
one very closely related to it. But those sightings had been
distant ones, to which he had paid little attention amid the
superabundance of new things to be observed. He had really seen
nothing of the species but its gross overall shape, until now.

   Now, when this specimen turned its head and looked up the
hill at Adam from only fifty meters away, he felt a chill, even
armed and armored as he was. Because the face of the gross
beast was human. Not just a close resemblance. Almost exactly
Earth-descended human in all its features, enlarged though they
were to fit the massive head.

  Adam could hear Brazil muttering something; his own shock
was shared. Adam dialed magnification into his faceplate. Now,
inspecting the beast's face at an effectively closer range, he could
see that it was covered with very short pale fur, from a distance
resembling light-colored human skin. The red-rimmed yellow
eyes of the animal were human in configuration, down to the
smallest visible details of the lids and lashes. Something about
the lids gave the eyes a look of arrogance, and above those
haughty human eyes there rose a smooth shield of some horny
substance, in a shape that in a man might very well have been
described as a noble forehead. But behind this frontal shield the
skull sloped off sharply into a dark and matted mane—there was
no room for a proportional brain behind that mask-like face.

   There was nothing like an animal's snout on that flat face, but
a human nose instead. Not even the great width of the mouth,
the heavy jaw, or even the size of the omnivorous teeth—bared
now in a sudden yawn—could destroy the impression, the
illusion, of man-larger-than-life. Nor could the ears, half-hidden
by the mane, and curving along the head in a shape that looked
neither human nor animal. Only when the eye reached the
longish scaly neck did the illusion fail.
   Over most of its body the big animal wore the hide of an
elephant, gray and wrinkled, scantily clothed with a thin coat of
greenish-black hair. The feet were obviously weapons,
half-adapted for gripping and clawing as well as for locomotion.
Mud was beginning to cake dry now on the thick legs of this
specimen, and a trickle of green slime drooled from a corner of
the frowning mouth. Omnivore, thought Adam. It must have
been feeding on some river plants, and then it decided to go for a
morsel of meat.

    With his right hand on the butt of his bolstered sidearm, he
stared back at the creature. The mask-like face, taken by itself,
would have to be called handsome—there was no other word for
it. But when Adam saw it on the beast, the total effect was so
hideous that he half wished, perhaps more than half, that the
thing would charge him, that he might have a good reason to kill
it.

  "Ugly thing there," said a fascinated voice in Adam's helmet.
"What's that it's caught?"

  "Rabbit-theme," he answered, without taking his eyes from
the bigger creature's face. "I think probably mammalian."

   The big animal now turned its full attention back to its victim,
bent its long neck slowly and chewed with delicacy. The faint
screams went to a higher frequency. Adam thought: Like an
Earth housecat, playing with a victim. But on a deeper,
stronger level, he was thinking also: Come on, you obscenity,
come up where and try that on me. Come on.

   But he was a damned fool, to be upset by the sight of one
animal eating another one. He watched a little longer, answering
a few more questions from above, then turned his back and went
on with his job.

   An hour later, when Adam had finished the rest of the
scheduled First Out procedures, and was back in the control
room of the scoutship, he found Brazil looking at him with an
oddly fascinated expression. The first thing the Colonel said was:
"I wonder why your big playmate out there didn't have wings."
   Adam let himself sink into the right-hand seat with a tired
sigh. "Wings? Why?"

  "The original did; Geryon was his name. Remember? Or don't
you like to read?"

 "Jur—who?" But something in Adam's memory stirred faintly.
Was it something he had read? Or something else?

  But what?

  "G-e-r-y-o-n." The Colonel spelled it out. "A thing Dante met
when he was visiting the Inferno. It had the face of a just and
kindly man. And wings. Among other attributes."

   Adam gave a half-laugh. "He encountered it in a likely place, I
think. Kind of took me by surprise, out there."

                     Chapter Six
   By the third standard day after First Landing, scoutships were
shuttling in an almost continuous pattern between Alpha One
and the tiny accessible area of Golden's surface that the
explorers had come to call the Stem. As everyone had expected,
General Grodsky had decreed Total Investigation here; that
meant that eventually everything within reach on Planet Golden
was to be sampled and studied. Planeteer teams had already
begun analyzing the air, the water, the soil, and many of the
smaller forms of life. As yet no attempts had been made to
obtain specimens of the larger animals. For one thing, the
human natives might be inconvenienced or outraged by such
activity, and for another, until more had been learned by
observation there was at least a theoretical chance of getting an
intelligent, non-primate-theme human being in the game bag by
mistake. A very few such races were known to exist in the
Galaxy, of intelligent beings therefore classified as human, but
with no more physical resemblance to Earth-descended humans
than to marigolds or mollusks.

   The indications so far on Golden were that life here held at
least fairly closely to the commonest Galactic theme patterns for
Earth-type planets. Beside the natives who were obviously
intelligent beings in the primate theme, there were deer-types
and giraffe-types to be seen grazing on the green plains. Species
of large animals strongly centered in the cat-theme of Galactic
evolution had been observed, preying as might be expected upon
the larger herbivores. And here on Golden, as on every habitable
world that explorers from Earth had yet examined, there were
also apparent exceptions to the standard Galactic themes—here,
most notably so far, the species of large omnivores that were
already being called geryons.

   Day and night the radar equipment of the Earth-descended
explorers never ceased for a millisecond to scan the Field. But
still the Field was never observed to move or change. Every
attempt to measure or analyze it had so far proven fruitless, as
every technologically advanced instrument brought into contact
with it died on contact. The Field simply existed, as it had since
Fakhuri's first sighting, shrouding the planet completely except
for the tiny Stem area of the surface.

  On the third day after First Landing—Golden's rotation was
only very slightly slower than that of Earth—a small group of
women and men in protective groundsuits approached on foot
the invisible but very sharply defined line where the Field came
down in a nearly vertical wall to meet the soil of Golden.

   These planeteers carried with them long wired probes, similar
to the ones that had earlier been lowered into the Field from a
scoutship. It was soon discovered that at ground level the result
was the same. Electrical currents died as soon as any part of the
wire carrying them was introduced into the Field. The surface of
the Field was soon found to be very smooth in every region
tested, and very sharply defined. The anomalous condition—now
a favorite term of description—was soon shown to extend, in the
same plane as aboveground, for at least a few meters below
ground level. Plans were begun for deeper exploratory
excavations.

  Electrical devices of any kind invariably went dead when they
were shoved across the invisible boundary. Yet the boundary
appeared to mean nothing to birds and animals, or to the native
people who like the birds and animals were observed passing in
and out of the Field at will, with the bioelectric activities of their
bodies presumably unaffected by it.

   "Do you know what the word is on Golden?" asked Adam
through his groundsuit's airspeaker. He was sighting carefully
into a radar instrument as he spoke, and a moment later he
began to drive another marking pole into the soft ground, just
inside the newly charted boundary of the Stem.

   Kwame Chun Li, the only planeteer on this mission who was
less of a veteran than Adam, moved his electrical probe a little
further on, positioning it in accordance with Adam's gestures. "
'Presumably'?" Chun Lui offered. "I hear the physicists are
having it programmed into their writers on a single key."

  " 'Apparently' is the one I had in mind," said Adam.

   Small Earth animals, pushed into the Field inside a wheeled
cage, showed no immediate effects from the exposure, and gave
no sign that they were even aware of a change in their
environment. But the second time the experiment was tried, and
on a number of tries thereafter, the small padlock securing the
door of the animals' cage fell open. On examination the locks
showed no sign of damage, nor could they ever be made to repeat
their bizarre behavior outside the Field. A whole new set of
experiments, having to do with the behavior of mechanism
inside the Field, was launched.

   Levers, screws, and other simple machines, when not part of
any complex system, were always observed to perform normally
inside the Field. But anymore complex mechanical combinations
or systems tended to display wildly erratic behavior. A fine
antique chronometer, put at risk by the devoted scientist who
owned it, was almost—but not quite—certain to run at the wrong
speed, or even backwards, when it was pushed across the border.

   No pattern was apparent. Within the Field, the law of complex
machines was Chaos. Hope for the life of Chief Planeteer Golden,
never bright, faded again; it seemed that the complicated
mechanism of his ejection capsule could never have carried him
free of his falling scoutship.
  Any forcefields that the explorers from Earth were capable of
generating simply ceased to exist at the boundary of the Field.
And beyond that border, many non-biological chemical
reactions, especially the more complex ones, could not be
induced to conduct themselves properly.

   Over there, atomic clocks and power supplies failed quite
dependably, as if their impelling isotopes had been turned to
lead. Over there, a fusion power lamp flared out like a cheap
candle—some-one wrote that as a note and then deleted it. Un
the contrary, a cheap candle over there burned perfectly well. Yet
the high-tech devices could always be made to resume proper
operation again as soon as they were pulled out of the Field; and
counters in the Stem picked up faint normal background
radiation, probably from natural sources, coming from across
the border.

   Over there, fire burned as always, when kindled in wood or
grass by lightning or by human hands, employing primitive
means. Over there, animals and plants and people lived, and
lightning darted when a rainstorm came. Nature and primitive
invention alike appeared to be quite unperturbed by the Field's
presence. Only the advanced technology of the explorers from
Earth was affected.

   Some of those explorers concentrated their observations on
the native branch of humanity. Men, women, and children were
seen at a distance, repeatedly moving from Stem to Field and
back again, without the least visible awareness of any change, or
even of the fact that any boundary at all existed. Of course the
native humans wore no groundsuits, complex with valves and
circuits, and depended upon no machines more advanced than
the knife or the bow.

   The local people fled at every tentative approach of an
explorer. The explorers did not try at all to press the issue. Brazil
and his people had plenty to do as it was. Diplomacy, for the
time being, could wait.

  No objection was offered to the presence of the explorers; the
hypothetical Field-builders failed to materialize. After several
days Grodsky brought down his flagship to a mere fifty thousand
kilometers or so above the Stem, and the distance lag in
communication between the flagship and its people on the
surface practically disappeared.

   The odd Ringwall structure around on the other side of the
planet, antipodal to the Stem, remained a mystery. New photos
of the Ringwall taken from just above the Field at that point
showed essentially no more than the first pictures of it had
shown. The Ringwall was an irregular polygon of mountainous
cliffs, several kilometers across, above which the lower
atmosphere seemed always to be hazy enough to blur detail. If it
was indeed to be classified as architecture, there was no other
building on Golden anywhere near its size. Neither were there
sizable cities anywhere on the planet, or large ocean-going ships,
or cities big enough to make space-farers' beacons in the night.

  There came at last a lull in the explorers' efforts to gather still
more data, a pause while human brains and computers tried to
digest the mass of detailed information they had so far
accumulated. Brazil and almost his entire planeteering crew
went up to attend a meeting on Alpha One, leaving just Adam
Mann and Kwame Chun Lui, with a single scoutship, on the
surface of the planet.

   "You're the boss until I get back this afternoon," Colonel Brazil
told Adam on departure. The Colonel glowered. "May the mighty
spirits protect our cause on Golden."

   Adam and Chun Lui were not to remain idle. They began
hopping in the scout around the perimeter of the Stem, following
a circular path more than a hundred and fifty kilometers in
diameter, repeating earlier tests with probes and meters to see if
anything about the Field had changed since the tests began.
There was no sign that it had.

  Shortly after midday, Adam looked up from his drudgery with
marker poles and electric probes, and commented: "More of the
damned things."

  A hundred meters away, on the other side of the boundary,
three geryons had just come over a hilltop. Now another of the
beasts appeared on the hill, and presently two more came into
view at one side of it.

  "They're after something," said Adam. "That's how they hunt
anything bigger than a rabbit—in a pack." He had been watching
them whenever he could, beyond his normal duties of
observation; he felt a kind of private fascination.

   "After us, maybe?" Chun Lui wondered. The geryons'
dead-looking yellow eyes were turned down the hill in the general
direction of the two men.

   "Maybe they are. All right, let's go back to the ship for a while.
I wouldn't care to start messing around with weapons right here
at the edge of the Field."

   "Roger." Chun Lui pulled firmly on the rope that he was
holding. The rope's other end was tied around the ankle of a
humanoid robot, and the robot lay fallen on its face just beyond
the line of marking poles that defined the Stem-Field border.
One of the routine tests now used was to send the robot walking
into the Field and haul it out after the inevitable collapse.
Someone in one of the departments on the flagship had evidently
thought it would be an informative procedure. Now, as soon as
Chun Lui had dragged the heavy metal body back into the Stem,
animation returned to it. The man-shaped thing climbed to its
feet and took an unsteady step back toward the boundary.

   "Halt, Otto," Chun Lui ordered in a crisp voice. The machine
stopped in its tracks obediently. Its lenses, halfway eyelike
projections on the front of its head, moved slightly, watching the
animals on the hill.

   "Carry this back to the scout, Otto." Adam told it. "And these
things." The robot turned, picked up the indicated equipment,
and strode purposefully toward the scoutship, which waited
about forty meters inside the Stem.

   Adam and Chun Lui followed, carrying the rest of the gear and
looking back over their shoulders. The geryons were now moving
slowly toward them in a spread-out line.

  "Hey, it's not us they're after," said Chun Lui when the walking
men had almost reached the scoutship. "Looks like they've
caught—" His eyes went wide behind his faceplate, and he
stopped so suddenly that Adam almost walked into him.

   Adam spun around, just as the machine called Otto hurtled
past him, running faster than any man could run, accelerating
like a racing motorcycle back toward the boundary of the Field.
Fifty meters beyond that boundary the geryons were now ringed
around a native child who danced in panic, looking too terrified
to scream. The robot's programmed compulsion to protect
human life drove it toward the animals, into the Field. At the
boundary it instantly collapsed again, tumbling forward in the
grass with its momentum.

   Adam was only vaguely aware of hearing the first excited
comments from Alpha One. Already he had turned and barked to
Chun Lui: "Get in the scout and man the turret!" Then he took
off running back toward the animals on the hill, the
servo-powered legs of the groundsuit churning him forward as
fast as any unburdened human sprinter.

   He stopped only a couple of paces before he reached the Field.
The heavy machine pistol, as if by itself, had already come out of
the holster and into his armored hand. Fifty meters up the slope
the child—looked like a little girl—was trying to dodge out of the
geryons' circle, but the gray bodies moved with graceless,
efficient speed to block her in. Adam could see the irregular
white teeth in the girl's open mouth, and hear her thin wailing
cry.

   He thumbed the pistol's safety off and locked the optical sight
onto the largest geryon as it moved. He fired a burst that should
have torn its backbone out. The tracers snuffed out when they hit
the Field, and thin trails of smoke curved down into the grass not
far beyond the boundary. There was a faint pattering
disturbance on the far side of the line, as if he had tossed a
handful of gravel over.

  The geryons ignored the demonstration. The largest of them
had caught the child's arm in its teeth now, and Adam could see
the blood. The others hovered ponderously, as if impatiently
waiting their turns to bite.
   "Fire the turret!" Adam shouted. "For effect!" It occurred to
him that main turret fire might kill the child, too, if indeed the
beams managed to break through the Field at all. But to try it
looked like the only chance.

   "What's going on?" General Grodsky's voice asked loudly in
Adam's helmet. Then that voice was drowned in a burst of noise,
as the sharp, nearly invisible beams stabbed out from the
scoutship's main turret. The air thundered around Adam, and
his armor glowed in the mighty splash of heat that billowed up
and down the Field's surface from the point where the beams
struck it. On the Stem side, the grass at Adam's feet went up in
smoke, while centimeters away, across the invisible barrier, the
blades stood green and fresh.

  Several of the animals on the hillside turned their heads and
looked toward the scoutship, as if the sound of the blast had
annoyed them.

  "The siren!" Adam shouted. "Turn the siren on!"

   Another geryon had caught the child in its teeth now, and was
nibbling at her delicately. Her rising scream was drowned with
all other sounds when the scoutship's siren climbed to a
full-volume howl. Adam turned off his air mikes, and realized
that Grodsky was shouting questions at him.

  "Native attacked by animals, inside the Field," he called back.
"We're trying to help."

   Adam did not really hear what the General said next. The
effort to help was not succeeding. The siren did not greatly
distract the beasts. Now Chun Lui was trying an optical laser in
their eyes, but the beam began to diffuse as soon as it hit the
Field. The geryons snarled and squinted and turned their heads
away from the glaring light. They kept on with what they were
doing, like starving animals at food.

  But it was not food they wanted, only bloody sport. Adam
caught another glimpse, between massive gray bodies, of the
child, and could see only too well that she still lived.
   If he entered the Field in his groundsuit, valves would
malfunction and he would collapse at once, unable to breathe.
He brought an arm in from its groundsuit sleeve and had two
fasteners loose inside his helmet when the General's voice blasted
at him: "Mann, what are you doing?"

  "Going up there."

  "No! That's an order! Fasten your helmet!"

  A third fastener fell loose. "There's nothing else left to try."

  "Chun Lui, stop him! Stun him!"

  Adam dashed toward the Field, which he expected would
protect him from stunbeams. Once across the border, he would
have to get his helmet off very quickly, to let himself breathe,
then run up the hill and distract the animals. And get the girl to
the scout. There might be some chance yet—

   The paralyzing beam from the scoutship struck him before he
could reach the line of marker poles, and the grassy ground
swung heavily up to hit his faceplate. His groundsuit was poor
protection against the scout's heavy projector at this close range.
But somehow he rolled on one side, reached out an arm. If he
could drag himself across… it was surprising that he could move
at all…

   The beam struck him again, and his body went dead as ice.
The last thing Adam saw before darkness came was a geryon
looking down the hill at him, frowning haughtily, displaying
red-stained teeth.

                   Chapter Seven
  Alice was holding out her arms toward him, crying for his
help. But Adam could not reach her, because the terrible fight in
the playground was still going on and he was still trapped in it,
pinned up against the wall that was covered with painted
murals, unable to break free. Then he was flat on his back.
Strangers with hate-filled faces had surrounded him; they were
looking down at Adam and shouting hate, for he was somehow
odd or different. They kicked at Adam and he tried to hit back at
them, but his arms had gone heavy and numb and useless. Then
the faces were gone, all of them except one—

  —the face of Kwame Chun Lui, who was bending over him.
Adam was lying on his back in his bunk in the scoutship. His
helmet and groundsuit had been removed. He could tell from the
way the ship felt around him, and from the quality of
background sounds, that the ship was still parked on the surface.

   "Wha—" He sat up with a grunt, and then almost toppled over
sideways before he discovered that he was still half-paralyzed.
"Uh. How long—?"

   "You've been out about an hour," said Chun Lui. Standing
back a pace from the bunk now, components from the
scoutship's medical kit in hand, he looked relieved and at the
same time a bit wary. "I had to do it, Ad. Good thing Otto still
had that line tied to his ankle; I reeled him in, and he carried you
in through decontamination."

  Adam said something vulgar, and let himself flop back on the
bunk. He added an obscenity, and repeated it several times.
"Why didn't you use that damned thing on them instead of on
me?"

  Chun Lui's voice was quiet. "Well, I tried it on them, Ad. It did
no more good than the main burner."

   Adam swore aimlessly once more, and then made another
effort to sit up, this time with somewhat better success. He sat
there on the edge of his bunk, stamping his feet, trying to rub
and flex the woodenness out of his thick arms. There had been a
chance, some kind of a chance, to help the kid, and they had
stopped him. It was all he could think of.

   The large communication screen on the bulkhead lit up, with
General Grodsky's image glaring sourly out of it at him. "Well,
Mann. Since you disobey orders, I presume you possess some
information about the conditions there that you didn't have time
to explain to me. Let's have it."
   Adam stared back doggedly. "Sir. I just wanted to help that
kid."

   "You think I didn't want to help her?" The screen seemed to
vibrate slightly with the volume of the General's voice. Then the
volume dropped, but the hardness grew. "What was your next
step going to be, exactly?"

  "I was… going to go on up the hill, sir. To do what I could."

  "What you could." Grodsky almost smiled, projecting mock
satisfaction now. "Would you outline for me, please, just what
that was going to be?"

   All right, he was in trouble. Adam told himself that he didn't
give a damn. Yet he did, but what else could he have done?

  He replied to the General: "Distract the animals. Try and get
the little girl away from them. Try to get her downhill to the
scout again. Where we could give her medical attention."

  "How many of those animals were there?"

  "Half a dozen, maybe. Sir."

  "And you were going up there unarmed, to take their prey
away from them." The General made it sound totally insane.
Well, maybe it had been insane. No doubt it had. All Adam knew
was that he had been unable to keep from trying. If the situation
came up again, he'd have to try again.

   The volume of Grodsky's transmitted voice had decreased now
by another level, but the tone had become if anything more
vicious. "That Field you were so eager to enter, that air you were
so anxious to breathe, are still completely unknown in terms of
what their effects on an Earth-descended human being will be.
Did you learn nothing at all on Killcrazy? Wasn't everything
there innocent and peaceful in the first days of exploration? Are
you utterly stupid, Mann? We've already lost one planeteer here,
and I don't—"

  "How about that little girl?" Adam heard himself shouting
back. "Does she fit on your scorecard anywhere?"

   Violence appeared behind Grodsky's angry eyes. The
possibility loomed suddenly, real as a brandished club, that a
commanding General's awesome authority in the field was about
to be invoked with crushing impact. Adam was suddenly afraid.
He knew that the General would have been legally justified in
ordering him shot, for disobedience in the field. He wouldn't be
shot now, of course; the emergency was over, the situation
stabilized. But he might be tried and imprisoned. He might be
kicked out of the Space Force. He might be sent back to Earth to
some meaningless desk job. Damn it, he had done what was
right, and would do it again. But the girl was dead by now, and
he wasn't, and he was getting a little scared.

   But the General's club of authority—though it had been
figuratively lifted from his shoulder—did not strike. Grodsky, as
though with the purpose of impressing everyone with the need
for caution and control, made his own anger disappear. Adam
had observed before, with a touch of envy, how the high brass all
seemed to be able to do that.

  General Grodsky, his own intentions now as well hidden as a
poker hand, asked Adam in a controlled voice: "Have you got
anything more to say?"

  Adam drew a deep breath. "Sir, apart from humanitarian
considerations, it could help us to get on with the natives, to
have pulled one of them out of trouble."

   "Sure it could," said Grodsky, not impressed for a moment.
"Or, that girl might have been a ritual sacrifice, and saving her
might have ruined our chances to get on, as you put it—apart
from humanitarian considerations. But that's not the main
point. The main point right now is that when I give an order it
must be followed."

  "Yessir," said Adam, meekly. He was beginning to dare to
hope that he might survive. "If I was wrong, I… was wrong."

  "You were wrong, dammit."
  "Yessir…"

  "But what?"

   "But… I was left in command down here, General, and there
occurred what I judged to be an emergency, and I took what
steps I thought were best."

  There was a silence, long enough for Chun Lui to put in a few
words. "Sir, with the turret firing and all, it's possible we didn't
hear all of the General's spoken orders very clearly at the time."

   Adam nodded. At the same time, Colonel Brazil, for once no
trace of humor in his long, bony face, appeared behind Grodsky
on the screen.

   The General was considering the situation silently. Then he
said: "I'm reserving judgment, for the time being, on the
incident that's just happened. We'll carry on from where we are."

   There was a little silence. Then after a moment Chun Lui said:
"Sir, I think sooner or later we're going to have to fight off those
beasts in self-defense. More and more of them keep hanging
around, watching us. And they seem to build up their courage in
large groups."

   Grodsky nodded, confirming that the chewing-out was going
to be allowed to turn into a planning session. The tension in the
atmosphere drained rapidly as the General turned around.
"Boris, those animals do seem devilish hard to frighten, don't
they? Of course we can defend ourselves against them within the
Stem, but I want to hold the killing of any native fauna to a
minimum, at least until we know—"

   "Seven humans are approaching the scoutship on foot,"
interrupted Otto's robotic voice.

  Chun Lui quickly switched the viewscreen to show the scene
outside. Six naked warriors, armed with bows and bone knives,
were approaching the landed ship with an air of timid
determination. The one woman stumbling along in their midst
wore a wrap of cloth about her hips, and was nearly hysterical
with grief. The woman bore in her arms what the geryons had
left of the little girl, and the woman's body and her legs were
stained with the child's blood.

  Brazil's voice from the screen said: "I would suggest one of you
two down there go out and say hello to the people, since it
appears they finally want contact." The Colonel turned away
briefly and could be heard exchanging a few muttered words
with Grodsky. Then Brazil went on: "Mann, you're still the
ranking planeteer down there. Take charge."

  And may the mighty spirits aid our cause on Golden, Adam
thought. All right; here we go again. He stood up. His legs
almost betrayed him.

  "Damn. Chun, help me up to the left seat, will you? Then you
go out and talk to them."

  Chun Lui assisted him. "Sorry I had to use that stun beam on
you, Ad."

  "Dammit, quit saying you're sorry. It's all right. Just shut up
and get outside quick."

  The seven natives knelt before the groundsuited figure of Chun
Lui when he descended to greet them formally.

   Dr. Osa Yamaguchi, head of Linguistics, was getting up in
years. Whether as a result of her advancing age or not, she
sometimes adopted a didactic manner, irrespective of her
listeners' rank.

   "They're undoubtedly appealing for our help against the
geryons," she informed General Grodsky, meanwhile tapping the
papers and other records arrayed on the conference table before
her. The language of the local people—the Tenoka, they called
themselves—was now well on the way to being understood, at
least well enough for some practical conversation. The job had
taken several weeks of recording and computing and study, since
Tenoka was not a simple tongue and the native speakers of it had
been dwelling mostly on one subject.
  "That's definite?"

  "Yes."

   Grodsky turned to the head of Anthropology. "How does it
look to you?"

   "They're not really too surprised at our presence, though
they've never seen anything like us before. They accept us as
some kind of demigods." The Chief Anthropologist was a small
man named Pamon, usually vague of manner and sometimes
indeterminate in his appearance. He tended to absorb the
behavior of whatever people he was working with; already he was
sitting with his hands clasped in the fashion of a Tenoka warrior,
though he had not yet seen one of the Golden natives except on a
screen.

   "So, they ask our help," Pamon went on. "I gather they've had
more than the usual trouble with geryons lately. The beasts don't
often attack healthy adults, and it seems probable that they can
tell when a human is armed. For a child, or even two of them
together, to leave the village unescorted is quite dangerous; and
yet the children do. I suppose they must, to learn the adult
skills."

  "Girls too?"

  "Perhaps. Or, she might have sneaked out just to watch our
planeteering work, just out of curiosity." Pamon sighed.

   Grodsky frowned. "Have they any taboo against killing these
particular animals? I don't mean to slaughter 'em wholesale, of
course; no telling what that might do to the ecology. But if the
beasts are cunning enough to avoid armed adults, it occurs to
me that we might find a way to teach 'em that from now on
attacking children is dangerous also."

  "No taboo against killing them, General. But they're doubtless
hard to put away with primitive weapons."

  "I think we can educate 'em," said Colonel Brazil, breaking a
thoughtful silence.
   "We have made this magic-doll, in the semblance of a child of
your people," Brazil announced a few days later. He spoke in the
Tenoka tongue, in which some days of intensive training had
made him almost fluent, and he was standing outside his own
scoutship on the surface of the planet. "The doll has no spirit of
its own. When we wish it, the spirit of one of our warriors will
enter into it. Thus we hope that the geryons will come to fear the
children of your people."

   The Tenoka delegation, twelve or fifteen strong and including
both men and women, shifted their feet uncertainly. Strong
Breather, who seemed to be the most influential available leader,
grunted thoughtfully. Pierced Arms, the local shaman, gave no
sign of what he might be thinking, at least no sign that Boris
could interpret. Pierced Arms was daubed over most of his
gaunt, aged body with colored goo, and the scarred loops of
tissue on his arms and shoulders were strung with feathered
cords.

   The entire Tenoka delegation kept looking at the semblance of
a child. A modified small robot, it stood with its back almost
against one of the scoutship's extended landing struts. About a
meter tall, the robot had been transformed into a tolerably good
likeness of a naked native youngster, though if you looked at it
closely it was obviously not alive. A breeze now stirred the
realistic hair; otherwise the small figure was motionless. When
turned on, it answered to the name of Shorty.

  "I will tell you now," Brazil resumed, "how we of the far land of
Earth plan to help our friends, the Tenoka. As is well known, the
Tenoka are fearless warriors; if they see any one of their tribe in
danger, they will rush fiercely to help."

   Two of the fearless warriors listening to him giggled suddenly,
holding sun-darkened-hands over their mouths. Strong Breather
looked at them sternly, but his own mouth twitched. Wait a
moment, thought Boris—did I use the word for 'fiercely' or
'drunkenly'? But in any case it seemed no great harm had been
done.

  "This magic-doll," he went on, "will not need the help of the
great Tenoka warriors. Our magic within the circle of our power
is stronger than any number of the geryons. Therefore if you
should see this seeming child pursued or attacked by geryons
tomorrow, you must make no move to interfere. Will you inform
all of your people of this?"

  Strong Breather and Pierced Arms exchanged a look. Then
Boris got the chin-thrusts and grunts that meant agreement.

  Brazil added: "And tomorrow all of the real children must be
kept in the villages, so there will be no mistake."

  Again the leaders of the delegation signified that they were
willing.

   Now came what might well be the most ticklish part of the
negotiation. "You have brought the used blankets, and the
clothing worn but not washed." Brazil made it a statement and
not a question; he could see that they had brought the stuff along
as requested, tied into a bundle. But such things were often
considered potentially powerful tools of magic against their
owners. Pamon had been worried that the Tenoka might refuse
at the last moment to turn them over.

   The technicians aboard Alpha One had given Shorty no odor
of his own, but had provided the robot with a plastic skin that
would absorb any smells it came in contact with after activation.
The plan was to immerse Shorty in the bundle of
Tenoka-redolent cloth for a day. To a geryon, smell might well be
a more important sense than sight.

  "Take up the cloth things now," Boris instructed the Tenoka,
"and wrap the child-doll in them, so it may convey to the geryons
the danger of attacking your children. Tomorrow you may take
back the things."

   After a brief pause, and another exchange of looks with Strong
Breather, Pierced Arms stepped forward and delivered a
sing-song harangue to Shorty, who received it stoically; then
another to Boris, who understood not a word of either speech.

  But apparently this did not matter. The old man untied the
bundle of laundry and began draping it around Shorty, piece by
piece.

  "Well, you're the combat expert," Brazil said to Adam in the
grounded scoutship that evening. "Ready to go tomorrow?"

  "All set." Adam glanced at the puppet chamber that had come
down with Shorty from Alpha One, and now filled most of the
scoutship's living space.

   Right now the puppet chamber resembled an empty shower
room, its glass walls enclosing enough space for a man to stand
or jump or turn a somersault, but very little more. When the
power was turned on, the interior of the chamber was filled by a
fine, three-dimensional grid of forcefield lines. The grid recorded
every instantaneous position of a human operator inside the
chamber, data that could then be passed on by radio to Shorty or
any other yesman, allowing a robot to be controlled exactly by
the human. There was a return transmission also. Whatever
experience presented itself to Shorty's electronic senses would be
radioed back to the puppet chamber, and translated there into
forcefield effects, with their intensity modified as necessary for
the human operator's safety and comfort. A forcefield floor in the
chamber acted as a treadmill, and continually modified its shape
to imitate whatever terrain was under the yesman.

  Shorty was now standing in the scoutship's airlock, still
wrapped in the Tenoka bedding and garments. Adam had spent
some time in practice with the puppet chamber, marching the
small yesman around in the vicinity of the scout. It had not taken
long for him, with his reflexes, to regain the walking gait and
habits of childhood, with his legs effectively reduced to about
half their adult length. Shorty also possessed a kind of autopilot
mode, useful for steady travel, in which the robotic brain took
over control of legs and balance.

  "I'd just like to get started on the job," Adam added. Then
abruptly he got up and paced, moving restlessly in the little
space that was left outside the puppet chamber.

  Since there was scarcely room for two men to walk about,
Brazil sat down at the table. The Colonel produced a deck of
cards from somewhere, and began in an abstracted way to deal
out two hands.

  Adam stopped his pacing and watched the fall of cards.
"Two-handed poker?"

  "Not necessarily. Look, Junior, don't find some new way to go
wild tomorrow. Grodsky and I are both sticking our necks out
quite a bit by keeping you on the job after what happened."

  Mann stared at him for a moment, then said "Thanks" as if he
possibly meant it, and spun away with nervous speed to pace
again. He came back and stopped. "It's just that I keep thinking
about that kid."

  "I know." Brazil's own life was not yet very long, as years were
counted, but it was crowded with experience. "You'll see a lot of
bad things in this job. You can't get too involved."

  "But I was involved. I was right there."

  "You did what you could."

  "Yeah."

  "Possibly we were wrong to stop you. Maybe Grodsky made a
mistake there. He's only human. But maybe you made one, you're
only human too."

  "Yeah." Mann was looking at him in a new way, as if the
Colonel had somehow managed to make a previously unnoticed
point. "Yeah, we're stuck with being only human, aren't we?"

   Brazil blinked at him. "Right." It was good that he had made
some point, but… the Colonel decided to let it lie. "Now bring
back some geryon ears tomorrow, and as a special reward I'll
stop calling you Junior."

   Adam dozed, on the borderland of sleep. When he got
tomorrow's job out of the way, when he had smashed some of
those damnable animals and taught the rest a lesson, maybe
things in his life would somehow straighten out. Planeteering
would once again mean everything to him that it had once
meant—or that he had once thought that it was going to mean.
Back in the days when there had been more meaning to a lot of
things. Before Alice had been…

  In sleep, Alice's face came again to drift before him. She cried
out again for help, only to be replaced by the image of the
mangled Tenoka girl.

   "Turns out she was an orphan," Pamon had told him. "The
woman who carried her to your ship was a widow, acting as a
foster parent, supported by the tribe. Interesting institution."

   Later there was another dream, this one involving yellow
teeth.

                   Chapter Eight
  "Overseer reports another group of five animals, coming this
way, bearing about one-two-oh," said Colonel Brazil. He was
speaking over the scoutship's intercom system, and referring to
an aerial survey of geryons within the chosen area of the Stem.
"Range about a klick and a half. That makes twenty-two of the
beasties within reasonable walking range. Be nice if you could
get 'em all chasing after you."

  "I'll walk by and give them the chance," Adam answered, He
was standing inside the puppet chamber now, trying to persuade
the skin-tight operator's suit to stretch into something like a
comfortable fit. "Let's hope they feel like playing."

  "Ready for chamber power?"

  "Roger."

  "Power coming on."

   Adam reached up to the top of the chamber, unhooked the
operator's helmet from its suspension there and fitted it carefully
over his head. The helmet covered his eyes and ears completely,
effectively shutting out surrounding sight and sound. Blindly he
worked to get the mouth control, that managed certain of the
robot's functions, comfortably positioned where his teeth could
operate it.

   Now Adam let his arms drop to his sides. Color swam and
steadied before his eyes, forming shapes and illusory distances,
becoming the inside of the closed outer door of the scoutship's
airlock. The background noise changed subtly in his ears.

  The illusion was well-nigh perfect. Both sight and hearing
assured Adam that he was now standing inside the airlock,
inside Shorty's metal body, only a meter tall and still wrapped in
the Tenoka cloth. He shrugged the stuff away from him, thinking
himself probably lucky that the yesman had been provided with
no functioning nose.

   Adam stepped forward one child-sized stride, and raised one
of his/Shorty's little arms. The stiff latch of the airlock door
eased open at a touch of Shorty's baby-sized finger, steel-boned,
electrically muscled, powered by a tiny hydrogen fusion lamp in
Shorty's chest.

  Adam-Shorty toddled down the short landing ramp. He was
barely able to see over the tallest grass.

   "Robot," Adam said, and let his legs relax, as the chamber
controls read the code word, and the chamber forcefields
tightened to support his human weight. The robot brain had
now taken over the routine business of making step after step
with the yesman's legs. This might be an all-day job, and there
was no point in wearing himself out hiking. Adam steered with
the sterile-tasting mouth control, and with a light biting
pressure held Shorty's speed to that of a walking child.

   Tall grass flowed easily by him, the long blades still bearing
traces of morning dew.

  "Bear about ten degrees left," said the voice of the aerial
observer in his ears. "You're going to find the first group, four
beasts, about two hundred meters ahead, moving down a little
ravine, very slowly."

  Adam bore left as directed. He looked up into kindly blue.
After a bit he was able to spot Overseer. If geryons were aware at
all of distant scoutships, they ought to be accustomed to the
sight of them by now. This one presumably would mean nothing
in particular to the animals.

  Adam didn't want to run right into the four animals ahead. He
preferred to go past them and let them stalk him, if they would.
They were cunning creatures, and the lesson was to be spelled
out for them precisely and plainly. Death-beams or bullets might
not be connected in the geryons' minds with the seeming child
they were, Adam hoped, about to attack. Therefore beams and
bullets would not be used.

   He came to the ravine where he had been directed to go, and
toddled along the top of the high bank. Soon he saw the four
geryons, all adults, moving slowly along, grazing in sparse cover
at the bottom. Adam/Shorty gave no sign that he had seen them.
He walked past and let them become aware of him, then turned
away from the ravine.

  "Where's the next bunch?" Adam whispered into his helmet
mike. Then he chuckled at himself for whispering.

   Ninety minutes later Adam-Shorty had fourteen of the
animals interested enough to follow him. The geryons were
moving in a widespread formation that still seemed to be trying
to give the impression of aimless drifting. Adam, taking care to
keep the little robot well clear of the Field, was headed now
toward a certain eroded slope above a bend of the river. There
was plenty of rocky ground there to offer the firm support that
Shorty's tiny feet might need, and there was a small box canyon
that also figured in the plan.

   He cast a quick look back over Shorty's shoulder. The geryons,
at a distance of a hundred meters or so, were following him a
little more obviously now, a slow certainty of intention apparent
in their movements. Less frequently now did the omnivorous
animals stop to graze, or pretend to graze.

  Adam took a quick count—there were fifteen of the animals
now, three or four of them only half grown, with scaly-looking
bodies and heavily furred legs. The faces of the adult females
among the group were those of lovely but unhappy women. The
males had men's faces with a look of nobility about them, slight
variations on the face of the first geryon that Adam had ever
seen.

   The illusion was intense of his actual presence out there on the
plain, a child small and alone before gigantic predators. How
many real children had turned to discover that the things were
following them, how many real children had run and tripped and
screamed…

   The illusion was heightened further as Adam took Shorty's
legs back under his direct control. Now the rocks of the chosen
slope were not far ahead. Out of nervous habit he felt with the
yesman's hand for a holster at its side. Then he grinned to
himself. Shorty did not carry sidearms. Or need them.

  As he neared the stony area, Adam began to run, imitating the
movements of a frightened child. Glancing back at the animals,
he saw them drop all pretense of innocence now and give chase.
They were probably clever enough to know that a child might be
able to find a sheltering crevice among the rocks.

   Adam/Shorty toddled into the chosen box canyon only a few
seconds ahead of the geryons, then turned and stood as if frozen
in despair, near the center of the steep-walled natural trap. His
pursuers came crowding after him through the canyon's narrow
entrance, snapping and shoving to get ahead of one another.
None wanted to be left out. One child was not going to provide
much sport for fifteen geryons.

   Now Adam continued to stand as if paralyzed by fright, while
the huge gray beasts first settled a pecking order among
themselves, then waddled to form a ring around him. As soon as
the ring was closed, they began to tighten it, moving almost as if
in practiced ritual. Some moved toward Shorty with high dainty
steps, looking down their human noses at him as if in righteous
pride. Some crept forward on their bellies, scummy tongues
lolling from their frowning mouths, an effect that ruined the
nobility of their fine men's and women's faces.

  Adam could feel his breathing quicken and his hands tremble.
The sun beat down upon the barren arena. The pack around him
gurgled and howled, but only softly.

  He made Shorty run to and fro in quick uncertain rushes, as if
he were seeking hopelessly to escape. He was no longer entirely
pretending; he could feel himself living as a Tenoka child, out
there alone in the canyon.

  Now the animals' deadly circle was less than four meters wide.
Adam had to fight down genuine panic. He made Shorty spin
wildly, and cry out in his high child's voice.

  Something struck the yesman from behind. Shorty's legs were
now slaved to human reflexes, so he was knocked on his face.
Adam felt the impact, scaled down by the feedback system, as a
pat between his shoulder blades. He made Shorty roll over on the
ground, and stared up at a circle of nightmare-handsome faces.
He could feel his living breath sawing in his throat, and could see
the kindly sky, the sky remote and indifferent beyond the sinuous
gray necks, the clustered evil power.

 The thought came flickering through Adam's mind: How
many in all the universe, have seen the universe this way—

  A massive foot was coming slowly down on Shorty's
midsection—not with any weight on it. A dead victim would be
no sport at all. Adam had to choke off a scream as one huge
head, human-masked, sank toward Shorty's face. The
unspeakable mouth was gaping over him. Now, he thought, now,
and he thrust up an arm, and the big yellow-brown teeth closed
deliberately on Shorty's child-sized fingers.

   He closed Shorty's fingers on one big tooth, yanked it out like
a thumbtack, and flipped it away.

   Adam heard his own near-hysterical laugh at the reaction he
saw in the geryon's face as the long neck whipped up and back,
away from him. Another similar head loomed over Shorty now,
lowering uncertainly. Adam drove an arm up, hard and fast this
time. Shorty's fusion-powered arm was slaved to follow Adam's.
The metal fingers stabbed through thick neck hide, and drove on
spearlike through yielding tissue, until Adam could feel in his fist
the greater hardness of the neck vertebrae. He clutched at bone,
and squeezed, and had the sensation of crumpling paper in his
hand.

  He had Shorty out from underneath the thing quickly, before
the mountainous convulsions of its death had ceased. Before the
other animals could make up their minds that now it was time to
run, Adam maneuvered Shorty between them and the narrow
entrance to the canyon.

   Startled and confused, unable to sense any familiar danger,
the geryons ran in circles within the high-walled box, raising
clouds of dust in the sunlight. Moving rapidly at last, they
jumped and plunged and bellowed. And now the biggest animal
turned toward Shorty, looking past the yesman to the one way
out of the canyon. Adam/Shorty blocked the path, even as the
animal charged him with a snarling howl; in a flash the geryon
looked to Adam like the one that had been first to bite the little
girl.

   He leaned forward, bracing Shorty's feet on firm rock footing
beneath him. The geryon did not try to avoid the small figure in
its path. The impact that came through to Adam felt like a swat
from a pillow, and in it he could distinguish a sudden snapping
yielding, that must mean that heavy bone had broken. The
geryon fell sideways with a hideous scream, and the pack that
had started to follow it halted again, its members colliding with
each other in confusion.

   Adam/Shorty strode toward them. Most of them scattered
before him, not yet in panic, but wary, not knowing what was
harming their kind. As one of the bigger geryons dodged past
him he caught it by the tail in Shorty's mangling grip, braced his
feet on rock again and swung the two-ton squirming mass
around hand over hand to face the yesman. The huge head came
around biting; Adam swung Shorty's fist with all his strength.
Much of the geryon's head vanished in a gory explosion,
spattering the other beasts nearby. They howled and turned to
frantic flight from Shorty, scrambling in every direction to
escape.

  Adam pushed his latest victim aside and stamped after the
animals on Shorty's tiny feet. With horror he saw that a couple of
geryons were already climbing the steep canyon walls, their
efforts so fueled by desperation that it looked as if they might
succeed.

   He grabbed up a loose rock the size of a basketball, and let fly
with it at one of the madly scrambling animals. The yesman's
throwing arm was slaved to human speed, so the impact was not
all that Adam had hoped for, but still the target beast came
sliding and rolling down the slope.

  Picking up some more rocks, Adam trotted Shorty forward.
Something feral and howling took over completely now inside his
own skull. The world shrank to a rocky arena where time was
hate…

  "Don't forget to bring us a sample for Biology," someone's
voice reminded him.

   "What? Oh, sure." Adam turned Shorty back to the first beast
that he had slain—it was about the least damaged of
any—grabbed it by one leg, and began to pull it toward the
canyon exit. He noticed that his arms were all red, glistening and
slimy. "I need a bath," he muttered.

  "Huh? You're still here in the scoutship, remember?"

  "Sure—I mean I'm sweating." I'd better pull myself together,
he thought, or Psych will be examining me half to death.

   The carcass that he was towing caught and tore and abraded
on rocks. Shorty could pull the leg right off if the operator wasn't
careful, and naturally the biologists wanted a specimen that was
in reasonably good condition.

  Already the scavenger birds were gathering overhead. They
came from kilometers around in no time.

   Adam stopped, got Shorty right underneath the hulk, and
lifted it. It did not feel heavy to him, but it was an awkward
thing to handle. The awkwardness was worse after he got out of
the canyon and away from the rocky slope. Now the ground was
softer under Shorty's tiny feet, and the burdened yesman kept
sinking into the soil. Even when Shorty sank waist deep, almost
swimming in the alien earth, Adam could still plow ahead with
little physical effort.

  The dead beast wobbled repulsively in Adam's grip, the geryon
head trailing on the long broken neck, the human face that was
no longer handsome abrading away on the ground.

  He, Adam Mann, or someone else, would probably have to
repeat today's performance, over and over, until every geryon
that survived in the Stem had learned to fear and flee from
Tenoka children. A good cause, but an unpleasant job.

  The "touch" of the dead bulk became suddenly so repellent
that he dropped it.

  "Pretty tough going here," he said. "Can't you send a scout or a
copter?"

  Presently a voice from Alpha One reached him. "All right, a
couple of biologists are coming down anyway, and they can pick
up the specimen right there. They'll be there in a minute or two.
Good job, Mann."

  As soon as he saw the scout descending, Adam abandoned the
dead geryon and began walking Shorty in the direction of his
own scoutship. Blood was drying thickly on the yesman and
swarms of insects were beginning to follow it. The parallel
themes of Galactic insect life were strongly supported here.

  He trudged on, a little metal man under the enormous sky of
Golden.



           PART THREE
                    Chapter Nine
   The man in the canoe, gliding on the tranquil river, lifted the
hand-carved wooden paddle out of the water, and a moment
later lowered the small outboard motor into operating position
at the squared-off stern. The canoe was handmade too, of bark
and wood, designed in the native Tenoka style, except for that
square stern. Now, as the craft glided from Field to Stem
between moss-grown marker poles, the outboard purred
smoothly into life, propelling Adam Mann toward the small boat
dock at Far Landing.

   People from Earth, as it had turned out, could live perfectly
well on the surface of Golden without benefit of groundsuits.
They could live perfectly well inside the Field, as long as they
were willing to leave all high technology behind them. One
implication of that was that seven years ago a certain Earthman,
if he had been allowed to take the risk and remove his
groundsuit's helmet, might have had some small chance of
saving a certain ins

  Tenoka child from death at the fangs of timid monsters.

  Or, on the other hand he might not.

  After seven years, Adam Mann no longer remembered that
day's horror very often, or thought about it at all that much.

   An Earthman like Adam Mann, who a few years ago had
surprised the few friends who thought , they knew him well, by
resigning from the Space Force, giving up an enviable career to
live a mostly primitive life on one particular strange planet—
well, such a man with his planeteering experience might have
made himself wealthy on a raw world just opened to
colonization. In fact, everyone who learned of his decision to
resign from the Space Force assumed that that had been his
motive.

  If it had been, he didn't have a lot of wealth to show for it as
yet. Nor any great prospects of much in the foreseeable future.
But he was doing all right.

   A couple of hours earlier on this mild winter morning, Adam
had looked out of the window of his isolated cabin on the Field
side of the river, and had seen a shuttle descending to the Stem
City spaceport. The civilian starships were coming out to Golden
more and more frequently now, bringing with them tourists and
adventurers and business people from Earth and a hundred
other worlds. Three hundred thousand colonists were now living
in Stem City, amid a continual roar of construction. On Earth
demand was high for certain exotic products of this world,
among them natural furs. Furs like those in the silvery bundle
that now rode in the bottom of Adam Mann's canoe.

   No road had yet been built between Stem City and the Far
Landing dock, but copters had begun to fly the route on a regular
schedule. Adam could see one such aircraft just landing now on a
meadow behind the dock. The aircraft sat there with its rotor
quietly idling, while a few people dressed entirely in plain black
clothing disembarked from the passenger compartment. They
stretched, and looked round them, and then got to work
unloading from the copter's cargo bay an assortment of small
containers and primitive tools. There were spades, hoes, and
axes. Adam knew some of the black-clad folk, though these
particular individuals were too far away at the moment to
identify. They were religious colonists, who had planted
themselves back in the wilderness, a few kilometers beyond even
Adam's cabin.

  There was only one traditional-looking tourist getting off the
copter this time, a blond woman who was wearing jeans and a
bulky jacket against the chill of the mild low-latitude winter day.
The woman separated herself a little from the black-clad folk,
and appeared to be looking round her as if uncertain what to do
next.

  Now she raised to. her face what Adam supposed were
binoculars, and swept them around until they were aimed at
him. They stayed fixed on him for half a minute.

   All right, girl, he thought. We'll see about you. Just as soon as
I get these furs checked in. Lately he had encountered several
examples of an interesting phenomenon, the attractive female
tourist from Earth or from some other heavily civilized planet,
who was ready to be briefly fascinated by the half-savage fur
hunter and his peculiar world.

  The copter landing area passed out of Adam's sight, behind a
rank of riverside brush. The canoe was nearing the dock now,
and Adam swung his outboard up out of the water and shut it
off. There was only one real building at Far Landing, a lonely
trading shack of log construction. Outside the shack's door, a
couple of Tenoka men were standing, in their usual costume of
almost nothing at all, arguing about something with the
bored-looking Space Force guard. The Great Council of Tenoka
subtribes had granted their friends from far-off Earth
theoretically limited rights to occupy the Stem area, and had in
exchange accepted a mountain of trade goods and the
permanent right of free medical care for any Tenoka who could
reach one of the new hospitals in the Stem. So far the Tenoka
appeared to be generally still satisfied with the bargain they had
made.

  Adam tied his canoe up beside a new and very similar Tenoka
craft—it had a squared stern and a motor too—and tossed his
bundle of furs up onto the dock. From the corner of his eye he
could see that the blond woman was approaching, from around
the corner of the trading shack, but he finished his tying-up
before he raised his head to look at her.

  When he raised his head he stood still. Very still indeed, for a
long long moment. "Merit Creston," he said then, softly. It had
been years, too many years, but as far as he could see at the
moment, Merit had scarcely changed.

   Merit was standing above him, laughing down at him,
laughing very much like a little girl who has just successfully
carried off a joke. Adam hopped up onto the dock beside her.
The smile on his own face felt strange, as if, somewhere along the
line and without his realizing it, smiling had become abnormal.

  "Adam, it's been so long." She took his hands in hers. Merit as
an adult was just about his own height, her hair as uniquely
blond as it had been in girlhood but cut somewhat shorter now.
Her body in maturity remained as graceful as ever.

   "Too long. Much too long. I wonder that you know me." He
took stock of himself: long-haired, bearded, none too clean. He
was dressed in hunter's clothes, some of native leather, with a
long hunting knife of Earth steel sheathed in Tenoka leather at
his belt. "You know I quit the Space Force."
   "Yes, I'd heard that." Merit looked out across the wide placid
river, where a sky free of human technology arched down to a
horizon that was notched only by the trees of the winter-brown
forest. "I wondered why—now I think I can see the reason. Or
part of it, anyway. It's so beautiful here."

   As he remembered, Merit was not one who used that word
lightly or often. He asked, seriously: "How are you?"

  Merit looked back at him, studying him carefully. Or maybe
the impression of care being taken was only a result of her
turning her head to free her eyes of a strand of wind-blown hair.
"Fine."

  "And how are Ray, and all the others?"

  Merit smiled faintly. "All well, as far as I know. Ray is fine too,
he's here on Golden. We both arrived this morning."

   "Welcome to my planet!" In sudden jubilation Adam cried out,
and lifted Merit into the air—hey, this was Merit! She squealed,
a vulnerable and almost childlike sound, carefulness forgotten.
And he kissed her.

  Then Merit was resting easily in the circle of Adam's arms,
eyes examining eyes at close range. She said: "Someone else was
on the ship, traveling with us—my husband."

  "Well." It hit him hard. For just a moment, it really hit him
hard. He hoped he didn't let it show. He said: "I'll congratulate
the lucky man when I meet him. Felicitations for you. Does he
beat you frequently?"

   Merit gave the little girl's laugh that he remembered. "Hardly
at all."

  "Would I know him?"

   "Oh, I don't suppose so." Merit disentangled herself gently
from his embrace, and stood gracefully trying to keep her hair
from blowing in her eyes. "I don't know why you should. His
name is Vito Ling. He's a physicist, specializing in field theory,
and he works for Earth Universities Research Foundation."

  "Then he's not one of Doc's kids? I don't remember the name.
And tell me, how is Doc?"

  "No, Vito's not a Jovian." The remnant of Merit's laughter
faded from her face and voice. "Doc's dead, Adam. Suddenly,
about a year ago."

  After a moment he asked her: "How?"

   "A heart defect. Evidently it developed rather rapidly, between
his regular checkups. He was alone in the lab when he collapsed.
By the time someone found him—it was too late."

   "And no one—none of you—sensed—" Adam made a gesture of
futility.

  "None of us. They're so undependable, our parapsych talents.
Usually most undependable just when they would seem to be
most valuable. Maybe it was…"

  "What?"

   "I was going to say that maybe the reason we sensed nothing
was because Doc felt no fear at dying. No wish to tell us
anything. His life with us was a hard one, in some ways, I'm
afraid."

  Adam squeezed her shoulders. "That was the life Doc chose,
the one he wanted." He took Merit's arm and they walked along
the dock. "So now tell me about your life, my lady."

  Merit's cheerfulness returned. "I'm here partly just to be with
Vito. I must admit he's taken up most of my life for the past two
years. Now naturally you want to know what he's like. He's tall,
and dark, and brilliant, and quick-tempered."

  "And not a Jovian."

  "No. I said not."

  Adam asked it bluntly. "Since he's not a Jovian, does it ever
bother him to be left out, when you and the others start with
your parapsych tricks?"

   "We don't try to make our friends feel that way. Did you ever
feel that way?"

  "Yeah. I did. I know you don't try. You're right. But even so…"

  There was pride in Merit's eyes. "And Vito won't let it bother
him. His ego is neither small nor fragile. He won't see anything
more in Jovians than gifted humans."

  "Are you anything more? I can remember Doc soul-searching
over that."

  The question did not seem to surprise her; but she replied to it
only with one of her own. "Do you want us to be?"

  "I don't know. I've thought about it, and I don't know. I
suppose you and Ray and the ninety-eight others are all still just
one big happy family, too."

   Merit shrugged. "We have our differences. We always have.
But in a sense, yes, I think we're definitely like a family, if you
can imagine a family of a hundred people. Maybe all the more
like a family because we do have differences, and surmount
them. I suppose Ray is really the father now."

   Their walk had reversed itself where the riverside path began
to grow difficult, and now their course brought them back to
where the bundle of furs still lay on the dock. Adam scooped the
bundle up, and said: "Let me take care of these." Merit came into
the trading shack with him, and observed with interest the
transaction between Adam and another Earthman behind a
counter. The clerk opened the fur bundle and examined each
item closely, then wrangled briefly over quality and prices before
noting down the amount to be credited to Adam's Stem City
bank account.

  Adam, folding his paper receipt into a pocket, waited until he
was outside again with Merit before he asked her: "Where are
Ray and your husband now?"
   "They went straight from the spaceport to the physics lab, at
some place called Fieldedge. Scientists to the core. I told them I'd
rather try to look you up first, and see some of the scenery at the
same time. Since Earth people are rather confined here—or most
of them choose to be—I thought I could probably find you with a
minimum of trouble."

  "Glad you did. Very glad." Adam paused. "You said that you
were here partly just to be with your husband. What else?"

  "For one thing, I have an obvious interest in seeing what had
become of you. But there's something else, too. Geryons."

  "Geryons. That's right, the last time I saw you you were
getting into exobiology, weren't you?"

  "Yes, I'm into it, as you say, rather deeply now."

  "In fact—wait a minute. There was somebody named Creston
mentioned as a source in a couple of references, last time I was
over at Stem City library trying to look something up."

   "The accused stands before you. It wasn't geryons you were
looking up, I trust, or I couldn't possibly have been quoted as a
source. I find the idea of them fascinating—the face, of
course—but I've never even seen one outside of a holograph. I'd
like to begin a study, though."

  "Their faces, yes."

   "You see, it's occurred to me that their faces might be less a
result of chance than an example of interspecies parallelism on
different but closely similar worlds."

    "I wondered about that too. I had to study some of that
evolutionary theme theory, of course, for planeteering… so, Ray's
here taking an interest in the Field. I wonder what he thinks of
it. What do you think?"

   "About the Field? I don't know what to think." Merit looked
out over the river, past the distant line of marker poles, then
closed her eyes briefly. "I don't sense it there at all. I haven't been
able to sense anything about it, since we arrived. Though I
suspect Ray may have… do you know if anyone with parapsych
talents has tried to investigate it?"

   "I know of a few civilians who claimed to be making some
effort along that line, years ago. As far as I know, they had no
success. But of course they weren't Jovians… what are your
plans? I mean right now?"

  "Right this moment? I don't really…"

   "Then how about a canoe ride? You can enter the Field
directly and experience it first hand. Not that there's really
anything to experience."

  "Oh, yes. I'd like to!"

  They walked back to where Adam's square-sterned canoe was
waiting. The Space Force guard on duty in front of the trading
shack looked up from his weary debate with the two Tenoka long
enough to nod familiarly to Adam.

  As they got into the canoe, Merit remarked: "It looks like the
Space Force is going to trust me not to start any trouble with the
natives."

   "You're with me." Adam untied the canoe and shoved off from
the dock. "And the Space Force usually humors me, because I'm
still something of a privileged character with the Tenoka. They
identify me particularly with the help we gave them against
geryons, back in the early days. Of course if I ever get far enough
from the Stem, well beyond Tenoka territory, things are going to
be different. There are quite a number of other tribes out there,
who I gather don't much like the Tenoka or their friends." The
outboard started purring.

   Merit was trailing her fingers in the water. "I presume this is
safe to do. Nothing's going to come along and snap some of my
fingers off?"

  "Don't hear me yelling, do you?"
  The Far Landing dock was falling behind. Ahead of them, open
wilderness expanded.

  "Adam, are Earth-descended people ever going to be able to
see much of this planet?"

   "Frankly, I don't think so. I don't believe we know any more
about the Field today, really, than we did on the first day we ran
into it."

  "You don't seem unhappy about that situation."

  "Actually, I suppose I'm not."

  Merit was laughing again. "I can see already that you and Vito
are going to hit it off just great. Oh, wow. He's all charged up
with theoretical ideas, schemes on how to solve the problems
that the

   Field poses, in what he still likes to call general field theory. I
think he spent most of his time on the ship worrying that
someone else would have the Field completely figured out before
he got here."

   Adam found himself smiling, grinning broadly, and then
enjoying a laugh too, for what seemed like the first time in years.
"I'd say he may have a few days yet, before someone beats him
out. Now hang on, here we go."

  Already the canoe was closely approaching the line of marker
poles, at a place where that line went marching almost straight
across the river, at right angles to the banks. Adam turned off
the motor and let the small craft drift on its momentum toward
the boundary.

  He grinned at Merit. "Look at your timepiece," he suggested.
Her expression brought back to him memories of her as
an—occasionally—wide-eyed little girl. The flat silvery plate that
she was wearing on her wrist went totally blank a moment after
the invisible border had been crossed. Then numbers and other
symbols reappeared on the small surface, but seemingly at
random, flickering on and off erratically.
   Adam was on the point of asking Merit why she wore the
watch at all; no Jovian in his memory had ever needed an
artificial chronometer just to know what time it was, only
perhaps for the exact timing of a race or some scientific
experiment; and this particular instrument didn't look as if it
was intended for such purposes. But the convincing idea at once
suggested itself to Adam that the timepiece was a present to
Merit from her husband, who when he gave it to her had not
known her as well as Adam did. At the thought, Adam felt a
moment of superior pride, mixed with an uncertain amount of
jealousy.

   With a sigh, Merit at last raised her head from contemplation
of the confused chronometer and looked around her. "I still can't
sense anything different here," she murmured. "Are we bound
for anywhere in particular?" She sounded as if she would be
satisfied either way.

   "If you've got about an hour to spare, I'll show you where I
live."

   When they were quite near the Field-side shore, Adam spotted
something moving in the bushes there, and rested his paddle for
a moment, watching alertly. Two Tenoka children, a boy and a
girl, came out into the open as soon as they §aw that he was
aware of them. Then they stood on the shore giggling and dumb
with shyness, impressed by the strange woman in the canoe.

  "You have a couple of admirers," he told Merit. "Wave to
them."

   Merit and the two children had a waving good time until the
canoe reached Adam's little dock. At that point the kids vanished
back into the leafless winter brush, too shy to approach the
stranger closely.

   He led Merit up along the well-worn narrow path, that wound
a hundred meters up the side of a low bluff, to the shelf of land
near the top where his cabin stood. The cabin was built mostly of
native logs, the chinks between logs filled with local clay and
sealed with a little liquid plastic. The small house, hardly more
than one room, had a shingled roof that had been sealed with
plastic in the same way, and a chimney of clay and stone.

  Merit appeared to be enchanted by his home.

   But a thought struck her. "How do you lock up when you
leave?"

  "I left the latchstring hanging out this time. There, see? Any of
my local friends who happen to come along can walk in, but
animals are kept out."

  "Don't the Tenoka ever steal?"

   "Rarely from a home. Quite rarely. And anyway I'm something
of a privileged character, as I told you. If the tourists get much
thicker out this way I may need to devise some more protection."
He swung open the stout wooden door, that moved easily and
silently on its Earth-fabricated hinges of neat modern metal, and
gallantly bowed his visitor in.

   Merit, following Earth custom, slipped off her shoes at the
door. Once inside, she was instantly fascinated by his hearth and
hewn furniture, and by the couple of trophies he had mounted on
his walls. The heads were of different species of large carnivores,
evidence of Adam's bow-hunting prowess.

  A small fire was still burning, to which Adam now added fuel.
The cabin was reasonably warm.

   Merit was gazing at a mounted head. "Leopard-variant theme,
I take it."

   "Though it doesn't really look that much like a leopard at first
glance. Right. You're the expert."

  "But the rug—it isn't real fur." It covered much of the rough
wooden floor.

   "I bought the rug in Stem City," he said. "Keeps my feet warm,
when there's no other way." He was still standing just inside the
front door, and now he gently made sure that the door was
tightly closed, and pulled the latchstring in, not wanting
interruption. Then he went to Merit, and turned her around so
they were face to face, and pulled her gently, firmly against him.

  She didn't pull back. She didn't argue, or protest, or say
anything at all, but after a moment he knew that it was never
going to be any good like this, not with her.

  He said: "You didn't always say no."

  "I wasn't always married."

  Adam raised his hands to her shoulders, and held her that
way, still very gently. He said: "I guess this husband is pretty
important."

   Smiling, Merit hugged Adam as if she were his sister, with a
kind of tired tenderness. "I'm glad to hear someone say that," she
told him.

  And so it seemed that someone had said otherwise.

                      Chapter Ten
   The outboard purred faithfully into life as soon as they had
re-passed the line of markers in midstream. Adam asked: "Back
to Far Landing?" He could be calm; he knew it wasn't over yet
between him and Merit.

    Her voice was ordinary, and he supposed she knew it too.
"Vito and Ray were heading for a place called Fieldedge, and
since it's a physics laboratory I've no doubt they're still there. Is
it far?"

  "Fieldedge. No, not far, just a few kilometers. And we can take
the boat right to the door." Adam headed the canoe downstream.

    Ahead of them now the river curved deeply into the Stem.
Falling behind the canoe now, the line of marker poles marched
in their great steady circle toward the river's wild bank, up onto
it, and on away from the water, vanishing from sight.

  Now the land on both sides of the river bore new roads, a
number of new buildings, and a great many enigmatic surveying
markers, bright-colored poles and pylons. People and machines
were at work at scattered sites on every hand, clearing nature
from the land's surface and building what they wanted in its
place. Adam sat silently in the stern of the canoe, steering with
the motor. Merit occupied the seat ahead of him, her trousered
knees aimed at him but her face as often as not turned away,
while she took in the sights of the new land around her.

   Watching the beauty of her face, the curved grace of her body
as she turned from side to side, Adam tried to imagine that they
had grown up together in some normal family, that Merit was
his sister.

  The effort failed totally.

   After curving majestically almost two kilometers into the
Stem, the river's course bent back to the Field again. The great
circle of marker poles reappeared, marching toward the water
and into it, here crossing a bend of the river at an acute angle.
Just where the line of markers came closest to the Stem bank, a
large new building of concrete and glass jutted out over the
water, projecting deliberately across the invisible line. The
relatively small portion of the laboratory building that extended
beyond the markers into the Field had been constructed mainly
of simple interlocking plastic slabs, resting on stone piers.

   The canoe was still several hundred meters away from the
building when Adam saw three men walk out of a door on an
upper level of the structure, to stand on an esplanade steeply
terraced above the Fieldedge dock.

   Vito Ling's mind, energized now by anger, was working with
the speed and skill of an acrobat's warmed-up musculature,
juggling mathematical equations and shuttling values in and out
of them. Every calculation he could make assured him that
Kedro had been right: they should have insisted that the
time—quanta device be redesigned, before they agreed to leave
Earth with it. Now, of course, it was too late for design changes.
And in its present form the device was not going to be of the
least help to them in understanding the nature of the Field.
   What really angered Vito most was the fact that Kedro had
been a step ahead of him again. This time they had really been
on the same side, arguing against the false economy of the
Research Foundation administrators. But he, Vito, keen to come
to grips with the Field directly, had been willing to give in to the
administrators, for fear that otherwise they might call off his trip
to Golden altogether; and Kedro on the other hand had remained
firm in his opposition, only yielding at last, gracefully when he
did so, to the opinion of Vito Ling who was supposedly the senior
scientist.

   It was as if Kedro had been using some precognitive talent to
foresee their present trouble. Of course with the Jovian Kedro,
something of the kind was possible. But looking back, Vito had
to admit to himself that parapsych talent would not have been
necessary to have predicted the trouble, the blind alley in which
they already found themselves with their experiment. Looking
back now, melding what he knew of physics with what he knew
of the behavior of administrators, he was able to see it himself
with perfect clarity. But only Kedro had been as certain of the
result when looking forward, not letting himself be blinded by
impatience or anything else.

   The perfect intellect, thought Vito now, angrily, watching
Kedro's massive tapering back as the Jovian man moved ahead
of Vito out the door at the side of the Fieldedge lab. The perfect
man—or would Kedro perhaps object to being called a man?
Would it be better to say the perfect being?

  Vito was jealous and angry, and angrier because he knew
himself to be thinking unreasonably now.

  "Well, we can't be sure today," said the calm voice of little Dr.
Shishido, director of the Fieldedge lab, coming outside behind
Vito. "Tomorrow, we are certain to learn more."

   Vito suppressed an angry answer. They certainly knew enough
now to be able to predict total failure for the time-quanta gadget
in its present form. And if it failed, after much investment of
time and money, what chance did they have of learning anything
of importance without it? He might as well turn around and go
back to Earth tomorrow.
   He wouldn't do that, of course. Having come this far, he would
stay on for a while, and try.

   Ray Kedro, his fair hair stirring in the faint breeze, was
leaning now on a railing overlooking the small dock and the
broad river, and had apparently given himself up to staring
across the width of moving water. It was as if the Jovian were
trying to pierce the mystery of the optically invisible Field with
his unaided senses.

   The hero posing, Vito thought. Challenging the mystery too
great for mere humanity to solve. Well, we'll see. I don't admit a
damned thing about your so-called Jovian superiority, and Merit
is my wife, and she enjoys being my wife, and wouldn't trade her
life with me for anything that you could give her. And I bet that
fact gripes you yet, for all you act like her older brother.

  And I hope you're reading my mind.

  Then, for some reason, a recurring question nagged at Vito:
Why, really, didn't Merit yet want to have a child? Early on in
their relationship they had agreed they would. But now…

   Little Dr. Shishido, who had been last out of the lab, came to
stand between Vito and Ray Kedro, drawing deep breaths of the
mild winter air. "Why don't both of you come and have dinner
with my wife and me tonight?" the lab director asked. "And
bring your, er, sister, of course, Dr. Kedro." No doubt about who
Shishido considered the senior scientist to be. "We're looking
forward to meeting her. And, ah—"

  "Maybe I'll bring my wife, too," said Vito.

   Ray turned round, sensing minor difficulty, "Ms. Creston I
expect will be glad to attend, in both capacities. You're right, of
course, Dr. Shishido, Merit and I do usually consider ourselves as
siblings for social purposes."

  "Er, yes. That's what I was…"

  Shishido actually appeared to be made somewhat nervous by
the Jovian superman's mere presence. Damn fool, thought Vito.
   Out loud he said: "I usually consider Merit as my wife. We find
it works out well. We'll be glad to come." It took him an effort
right now, gritted teeth, to achieve even that modest degree of
civility. Temper, if you could only watch your temper, friends
sometimes said to him. To hell with them, he'd like to show them
what real temper was.

  But with another effort he managed now to ease his mental
wrestler's grip on the problem of the

  Field, and started to take notice of the new world surrounding
him.

   A stair led down from the open space where the three men
stood, down to a small dock where a couple of the indigenous
people were sitting, onlookers without any visible purpose. The
country on this side of the river looked to Vito like it was only
beginning to be settled, and that on the other side was to all
appearances utterly wild.

   Kedro, still gazing out over the water, said: "Doctor Shishido, I
think you're going to meet Merit before this evening."

   Only now did Vito really notice the small boat that had been
slowly and steadily approaching from upriver, with two figures
in it. The two people were still too distant for any certain
identification, but one of them was a blond woman wearing a
bulky jacket that certainly looked like Merit's. The other
appeared to be a man, and not a Golden native.

  Had Merit hired a boat? But she had said something about
going to look up a childhood friend. Yes, some former planeteer
who had lost his wife.

   The three men at the railing watched in silence as the boat
drew near, heading right for the dock. There was no doubt now
that the woman was Merit. She waved up at them cheerfully,
said something to the man who was with her, and then hopped
out nimbly on the dock. Her companion was a rough-looking
character, bearded and dirty, and wearing a knife at his belt.
After one glance up at the three men watching, and a quick
wave, he busied himself with securing the canoe. Then the two
native men came over to him and began a conversation, while
Merit started up the stairs.

  Vito stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at her, while
she climbed toward him, smiling happily.

   "Who the devil is that?" It came out rougher than he had
intended.

  "An old friend." Merit suddenly looked worried. "His name is
Adam Mann. I told you about him, darling."

   The anger rose up in Vito, a flame finding new fuel. "Didn't
lose any time getting cozy with him, did you? He looks like a
tramp. Is he another of your parapsych friends?"

  "No—no." Merit was shaken. She appeared to be too surprised
by his outburst to know how to react to it; somehow that only
made him worse.

   "So, you got off the ship and went straight to see him." The
wrong words, meant to hurt, came out with perverse ease, like
lines well-studied for a play, even when Vito knew that they were
wrong.

  "Yes, Vito, I did that." Merit, as usual, had needed only a
moment to regain complete control of herself. Still she was angry
too. "And I even went to visit the cabin where he lives. So be
angry if you must. If you can't grow up. You could decide to trust
me."

   "Oh, I could, could I? And what would happen then?" How
good it would be, how really fine, to find some reason to hit
someone. And meanwhile Dr. Shishido, looking more and more
worried, was hovering almost beside them, watching the
argument. He kept making little fussing starts of movement as if
he yearned to interfere. And Kedro still stood at the railing, now
looking down at his huge hands clamped onto the wood,
determinedly minding his own business.

  It was just at this point that the Earthman chatting with the
natives on the dock below looked up at them all again and smiled
pleasantly. To Vito, at the moment, there was no doubt of what
that smile meant: She came straight to me, and I took her to my
cabin, and what are you going to do about it?

   Vito growled in his throat, and started down the stairs. Mann,
or whatever his name was down there, was shorter than Vito and
a little lighter probably, but the bastard was carrying a knife,
and if he wanted to try using his knife Vito right now didn't give
a damn.

   "Vito, no!" Merit clutched at his arm belatedly as he went by
her, and it afforded him minor satisfaction to be able to tear his
sleeve free of her grip without a pause. Skipping downstairs with
the unthinking balance of the natural athlete, he knew in the
back of his mind that he was wrong, dead wrong and going
overboard. But this was one of those times when temper just got
out of hand, and afterward there could always be apologies.

   He heard and ignored Shishido behind him, the little scientist
raising his voice in some ineffectual protest. Then Vito hit the
bottom of the stairs, and bounced along straight toward the man
who owned what must be a very attractive cabin. The two
natives saw Vito coming, and the way he looked, and they hastily
backed away to stand with folded arms and wooden faces.

   At close range, he could see that Man was well built, with a
deep chest and strong arms; good. There wouldn't be much
difference in weight after all. Mann's pleasant smile had changed
to a look of startled caution.

   Vito stopped just within his own long reach of the bearded
man. "Have a good time with my wife today?" he asked. He felt
his lips drawn back, the blood beating in his head, the muscles in
his face hurting a little. He felt his fists big and hard, and his feet
ready to shift, quickly and lightly.

  "Yeah," said Mann, plainly. He was squinting at Vito with his
head a little tilted, as if he were trying to understand something.

   Vito said a filthy name and shifted his weight and stabbed his
left arm out in a well-aimed jab that shot past Mann's instantly
moving face. The second jab missed too, and the hard overhand
right, thrown without having the range at all, missed so badly
that Vito almost fell down.

   He lost sight of Mann for just an instant, and spun around
with his guard up. But Mann was only shuffling backward away
from him. A clumsy-looking man of about average size, his arms
down, still puzzled. "What goes on?" he asked, seeming no more
than annoyed.

   Vito moved after him, with cold precision, and no lessening of
the urge to strike and destroy. He shifted and feinted, like the
good amateur boxer that he was, but drew no response. He
moved in with another left jab that also missed those unblinking
elusive eyes, and a long hook that touched only air, and then a
looping right that was stopped when his forearm caught on
Mann's, which came up with unhurried speed and felt like a
wooden club

  Vito stood there for a long instant, with his right arm caught
and his left out of position, his feet somehow misplaced and his
balance failing as Mann's forearm pulled him slightly forward,
and he knew he was ripe to be clobbered, by someone who knew
how.

   But Vito wasn't clobbered. Mann disengaged at once and
stepped back again.

   "Keep it up, bud, and I'll chuck you in the river," he said in a
flat voice. "Pretty cold this time of year."

  Vito too stepped back this time. He was breathing heavily.
Merit was calling something to him. From the sound of her
voice, she was almost in tears. Shishido like an angry
schoolmaster was saying: "Here, now! Stop it, you two!"

   And now Vito's rage was burning out quickly, not with fear or
frustration, though he began to feel both of those, but as if the
fuel were being cut off. He backed away carefully from Mann,
turned and headed for the stairway.

  The draining out of anger left him shaky, going up the stairs.
Oh, by all the Laws, he thought, I really popped my circuit
breakers that time, He stopped and half-turned once on the
stairs, intending to try to say something to Mann; but what was
there to say?

   Keeping his back turned to the dock, Vito climbed on. At the
top of the stair he muttered some futile apology to Shishido, who
favored him with a look of sad pity as he went by. Vito plunged
right on into the lab; he had to be alone for a minute.

    What kind of a damn fool am I? he thought. What have I done
to Merit now? I never blew up like that before in my whole adult
life.

   He leaned against a generator that was still humming itself
down slowly into silence after the day's futile experiment. After a
few seconds he heard the door behind him, and then Merit's
blessed footsteps.

   "Adam, the way you look seems to prove that going native here
is healthy. I should have come to try it years ago." It was Ray
Kedro who said that, Ray grinning as of old, looking down from
his great height and engulfing Adam's right hand in his own,
almost crushing it in greeting.

  "Seeing you and Merit again was what I needed," said Adam.
Ray was looking stronger and handsomer than ever. Somehow he
even gave the impression of being still bigger than the last time
Adam had seen him, as if he might have kept on growing after
the age of twenty or so. But it wasn't really an increase in
physical size, Adam decided. In controlled dominance, perhaps.

   Adam was introduced to Dr. Shishido, who went through the
motions rather blankly, his mind obviously elsewhere. As
director of the lab he probably had a lot to think about, when his
physicists started trying to pick fights with strangers. Merit had
already followed her husband inside.

  "Do you suppose we had better postpone our dinner
engagement?" the little administrator asked Ray now. Shishido
was still looking almost fearfully after Vito and Merit.

  Ray told him: "Sorry about the demonstration."
  "It's not your fault, Dr. Kedro." Shishido dropped his voice.
"Tell me, is he—?" He concluded with a nervous motion of his
head toward the closed laboratory door.

  Ray puffed out his breath faintly. "Vito really isn't himself just
now. There have been problems, some of which you know
about… I regret to say that I think you're right about the dinner.
Should I call you about it tomorrow?—maybe we can arrange to
get together then."

  "That would be best, I suppose."

   "Good." Ray shook his head, as if trying to dismiss a nagging
thought. "Right now I'd better start trying to get back to town. I
have an appointment in half an hour to see General Lorsch. Ride
in with me, Ad?"

  "Sure."

  While walking beside Ray toward the meadow where the
shuttle copter waited, Adam remarked: "Merit's husband is not
himself just now, you said. I can believe that. Why would she
have married a total madman? What's going on?"

   "It's a long story, Ad. Bureaucracy and frustration are only
part of it. Among other problems. I didn't want to go into it all in
front of Shishido. I'll tell you the whole story, sometime."

   They walked the next few paces in silence. Then Adam
commented: "So you're going to see the General, not wasting any
time. She hasn't too much to do these days. There isn't very
much Space Force left on Golden."

  "I'm not wasting any time," Ray agreed, looking gently serious.
"Not here on Golden. I don't think that there's any time left to
waste."

   And though he tried fiercely, Adam could not persuade him to
elaborate on that.

                  Chapter Eleven
  "Why are you people so anxious to get the Space Force
completely off this planet?" General Lorsch made her voice
deliberately casual. "I know you're putting pressure on Earth
Parliament."

  A woman whose rather shapeless body never managed to look
well-fitted in any uniform, she still sat with practiced ease
behind the huge desk she had inherited some years ago, along
with the mysteries of Golden, from General Grodsky. Grodsky
was currently serving in a high-placed staff job back on Earth.
There were times when General Lorsch would have been quite
ready to change places with him.

   The only other person in the General's private office at this
moment was the Jovian, Ray Kedro, who was sitting in an
equally relaxed attitude in the big visitor's chair on the other
side of the desk.

  "General Lorsch," said Kedro, "I just got off the ship from
Earth this morning. I've come to Golden as the representative of
several organizations, so I'm not sure what you mean by 'you
people'."

  Lorsch consulted a scrap of paper on her generally untidy
desk. She said offhandedly: "Oh, those organizations, yes… I have
the list here. You represent the Research Foundation, of course,
plus a hotel chain, plus a mining corporation. Plus one or two
others."

  "Is there anything wrong with my representing them?"

   "No. Not necessarily. Though / wouldn't want to represent
them all. Most of the people on this roster, probably all of them,
have schemes to get rich quick, and some of them would like a
freer hand in trading and dealing with the natives here… when
they've made their profit, of course, they will then pull but,
leaving a mess for someone else to worry about."

  "You may be right about them, General, in some cases at least.
My representation of them on Golden is limited. And it has a
purpose."
  "I'm sure it does. And I know I'm right. They have put similar
schemes into operation on other planets."

  "I—we Jovians—have had nothing to do with those schemes. I
would only suggest that here, on this planet where we are
somewhat involved, you might wait and see if those companies
don't manage their affairs somewhat differently. More to the
benefit of all concerned."

  "If I waited to be sure of the result, it might well be too late."

  "Not necessarily, General. It would depend to a great extent on
how the contracts were drawn, wouldn't it?"

   "Perhaps… but let that go for the moment. Even that is not my
first concern just now."

  "Then what is, ma'am?" Kedro, she thought, could find just
the right note of politeness.

  "I'll tell you what. There's recently been extra heavy pressure
on Earth Parliament to get us—the Space Force—to leave Golden.
And I don't mean just pressure from the mining corporations
and so on that I've just been talking about. That kind of thing we
expect, that's routine. This, as I say, is extra. And it comes from
you people, always from you, and you know who I mean. Jovians.
Now why is that?"

   Kedro had been gently nodding his understanding throughout
her speech. Now his eyes seemed to be asking her to understand
him too. He said: "To me, the concept of 'my people' extends a
long way beyond my ninety-nine siblings. I consider that my
people are the human race. The whole Earth—descended branch
of it, at least."

   "I might say the same thing about my own feelings,"
commented the General drily. She made her chair creak, rocking
gently. Sometimes the creak unsettled visitors, and she had an
urge to see if Kedro could be unsettled. "But what I have in mind
now is a certain sub-class of that large group, the very one you
first mentioned. Namely you and your gene-altered friends. Your
siblings, if you want to call them that, though I understand
there's no direct biological relationship among you. In the
popular phrase, the Jovians."

   "You should not view us as opponents," said Kedro. His
manner was still thoroughly calm, his tone almost reproving. He
seemed to be skirting the edge of the attitude of someone who
lays down moral rules and then expects to have them followed.

  "General, I think that your organization and mine can help
each other, to the benefit of the entire human race. And I don't
mean just the Earthly branch of it."

   "Fine!" Lorsch pushed forward a carved box on her desk,
offering Kedro several versions of Antarean cigars, an invitation
which was politely declined. The General chose one of the smaller
variants for herself, and lit up. Then she leaned back, still
rocking and creaking a little. Then she asked again, patiently:
"Why do you people want to get the Space Force off this planet?"

   Kedro said imperturbably: "I think you are no longer needed
here. I think that the Field itself adequately protects most of the
natives of this particular world from exploitation. Adequate local
laws, and improved contracts in the case of some of the people
you mentioned, can protect the rest, here in the Stem area,
which is the only place the Space Force can protect them
anyway. I also think that the best place for the Space Force is
elsewhere, out on the real Galactic frontier, exploring new worlds
and in general doing the job that it was created to do."

   Lorsch drummed her fingers on the desk. "Golden still is a
frontier. What we have here is a small beachhead on an
unexplored planet, though Earth people who live here for any
length of time tend to get used to having the Field surrounding
them and think of it as something natural. I wasn't in favor of
opening the place up for colonization so quickly, myself, but…
that's been done now. You're going to work on the Field at the
lab. Do you think there's any hope of our physicists being able to
solve the Field, manage it, push it back in the near future?"

  Kedro shook his head, a thoughtful but definite negative.

  Lorsch went on: "So, we're still very much on the frontier here,
even though as you must know we've explored for a dozen
parsecs beyond this system in every direction, trying to find
more evidence of the Field-builders. So far, no success."

  "I don't know that there are any Field-builders," Kedro replied.

  The General was surprised. "You say it's a natural
phenomenon, then? Why?"

   "I don't know that that's the right answer either… well, stay on
Golden if you like, General. Not that you have to ask my
permission. I have not much influence in the matter, whatever
you may think. But if this is, as you say, still a frontier, then I
wonder why you haven't done more frontier work here over the
last few years. Has the Space Force ever made any serious
attempt to explore this planet's surface away from the Stem?"

   Lorsch's cigar was burning itself out, forgotten in an ashtray.
Her chair was still. "There have been a few scouting expeditions,
necessarily made on foot—neither horses nor native animals have
worked out as well as we had hoped for transportation. We
intend to send out more expeditions eventually, probing deeper."

   "I'd like to go along on the next one that you do send, General.
It might be possible to make some observations away from the
Stem that would materially help the physicists' work at
Fieldedge."

  "Well." Somewhat surprised, Lorsch thought it over. "Maybe
something can be arranged along that line." It didn't hurt to say
that much, at least. "I'll let you know if a suitable chance should
come up while you're still on planet."

   "I intend to be on Golden quite a while. Why did you call me
in here today, General? Just to ask about my lobbying efforts
back on Earth?"

   "You weren't forced to come when I called. You're a practicing
telepath, aren't you? Do you need to ask me about my motives?"

  "I need no special parapsych powers to read your hostility.
General Lorsch, you must know something of how telepathy
actually works, as opposed to the popular ideas. You must realize
that the idea of probing your mind is as distasteful to me as it
must be to you. And I can assure you it's not a very reliable way
to obtain information."

  "You have tried it, then."

  Kedro ignored the question. "Now why do you think I want
you and your people to leave Golden? So I can make myself
governor? Dictator? Or enrich myself by smuggling?"

   The General shook her head. "No." Her voice was weakening a
little, and with a conscious effort she made it stronger. "I don't
really think you people want such things, except maybe in an
incidental way. You people don't work to become conspicuous
rulers, and you're not ostentatious about your wealth. You'd
much rather stay behind the scenes, and marry each other, and
cooperate with each other to accumulate indirect control over all
kinds of human activity."

  "I might say the very same things, and just as accurately,
about the Space Force, General Lorsch. Are those things evil
when we do them, and good—"

  "It's not the same thing at all, dammit!" Lorsch, to her own
surprise, could feel her self control slipping. "It's simply not true
that we try to control all kinds of human activity. And we don't
consider ourselves to be more than human!"

   Kedro looked down at the floor for a few seconds. His
handsome face was sad. When he raised his eyes and spoke, his
voice was soft and almost tentative. "Why should you be tempted
to consider yourselves more than human, General?"

  "Do you think you're more than human? Homo Superior? I've
heard that you do!"

   "Do you believe that I am human, General Lorsch? Or even
something less than that, perhaps?" Kedro's voice this time was
still low. But it was no longer soft, or tentative.

  Seconds slid away in silence. Lorsch, trying with unexpected
difficulty to frame her answer, felt an impression growing on her
with the speed and force of nightmare. It was the impression
that what sat and spoke with her in her office was not a man in
any sense, but rather an elemental force, a materialized law of
the universe that had taken on a slightly larger than human
form, and might at any moment take on a different and more
disquieting form than that.

   While remaining physically calm, the General found herself
somehow—unable? unwilling?—to move or to speak. And her
inner being froze and screamed silently in fright at the prospect
of confronting directly, seeing clearly, the alien being, the god,
who sat facing her across her desk.

  Part of the General's outer mind was able to say comfortingly:
Nonsense, this is just a foolish notion that's taken me. Nothing is
really happening. I can move and speak whenever I like. Of
course I can.

   She looked into Kedro's compassionate blue eyes, and her ego
cowered and whimpered: Is this how a pet feels, a dog, when it
looks up at—

  "Well, do you?" Kedro prompted, in an ordinary voice, and the
instant he spoke the spell, or whatever it had been, was gone.

   "Do I what? Oh. No, I can't admit that you're more than
human." Lorsch moved slightly in her chair, to prove to herself
that she could do so. Her uniform adhered to the chair
irritatingly. The words of her answer almost stuck in her throat.
But still, everything was normal again. Except that she was
perspiring. It was only a big man who sat there, across her desk.
A big, handsome, and extremely dangerous man.

   "Then isn't your fear of us a touch irrational?" Kedro's voice
was as reasonable as any voice that she had ever heard. "Really,
we have the talent to get what we want by ordinary, legal means.
Power? We don't especially want the responsibility of governing,
this planet or any other. And even heavy manipulation from
behind the scenes, however it might be accomplished, implies
responsibility.
   "We do like to guide the world of Earth-descended humanity
just a bit, keep it when we can from making certain catastrophic
mistakes. Show it values that it might otherwise miss. We'd like
to be able to do a better job of guiding."

   Kedro shifted in his chair, leaning his perfectly proportioned
bulk forward, resting one elbow on the desk. He was smiling
now, his handsome eyes narrowing in friendly, almost irresistible
intentness. "Think of the good that we could do if we had,
working with us instead of against us., all the wealth and power
and organization of the Space Force. Or even a part of it. Say the
Wing that you command, here on Golden…"

   The General could very easily visualize the benevolent giants,
golden in their virtue, superior to natural humanity. From their
height above the struggling confusion that had given them birth,
the Jovians saw far into the future, far and accurately,
discerning a thousand dangers and warning their parent race
against them all. The godlike powers of the Jovians' superior
minds won victory after victory, over ignorance and disease and
human misery, victories gladly shared with mere humanity… and
now the golden people turned toward General Lorsch, seeming to
plead: Help us, help us to do these things. For your own sake,
help us.

  The dream of glory faded. Of course Kedro had been
projecting it somehow into her mind. Lorsch started to say: "Oh
how I wish—"

  She meant to finish: "—we could do that."

  "—I could believe you," was what she said.

  Kedro leaned back from the desk. He lowered his face into his
hands for a moment and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired when
he straightened up in his chair again. Tired, but not diminished.

  "I wish you could," he said, and got to his feet. "Was there
anything else?"

  The General shook her head. She felt that she might commit
some spectacular failure if her confrontation with
this—visitor—went on any longer.

  Kedro towered over the desk. "Let me know about the
expedition, please," he said. "Really. If and when it ever gets
organized." And he walked out of the office.

  It was over. The General sat quietly for a minute, pulling her
nerves back together. Trying to pull them back. She was all right,
she was functional, but she suspected she would never be quite
the same again.

   When she got up to check the cameras and recorders hidden
in her office she found that all of the machines had
unaccountably stopped functioning and that nothing of the
interview was preserved.

                 Chapter Twelve
   Adam Mann stood stretching and yawning in the open
doorway of his cabin, looking out from inside with a comfortable
small fire at his back. He was gazing upon yet another mild
winter afternoon with something like contentment—though it
was a different sort of contentment than he had enjoyed, or had
thought he was enjoying, a few days ago. Satisfaction with cabin
life was mixed now with a new restlessness.

  Merit was here. Only a few kilometers away.

  Ever since he had joined the Space Force, the idea of living on
Earth or some other crowded planet had repelled him more and
more. Then the Space Force had lost its attraction too.

   What Adam really wanted, when he looked at it squarely, was
to be a Jovian, to have Merit for his woman and Ray and the
others as his peers, as his brothers and sisters in a sense. But he
was not going to become a Jovian, no matter what he did.
Therefore it was necessary to adopt some other life. Until a few
days ago the cabin and the rough, chancy existence of a
fur-hunter had been, for the time being at least, quite
satisfactory.

  Merit was here, only a few kilometers away. But there were
other women in the world. Many others, in the plurality of
available worlds. Tenoka women, themed close enough to
Earth-human for fun, still separate enough for there to be no
worries about fertility and responsibility.

   Adam stretched again. Tonight he intended to go into Stem
City, and enjoy one last little fling before he left to spend a week
alone up in the northern mountains. One more good haul of fine
furs should be possible before spring.

    Someday the tribesmen who lived up there, distant cousins of
the Tenoka, might try to kill him, just to steal his marvelous bow,
compounded of magical Earth materials. That risk, he thought,
was not yet too great. But what was the risk of going into town
tonight, to seek out another man's wife and at least spend as
much time as possible with her? Because that's what he was
intending to do. There was no use trying to lie to himself about
it. And in fact he doubted very much whether he was starting for
the mountains tomorrow, either. Not while she was here.

  Out of all of them, the entire hundred, Merit was the one, the
only one so far as Adam knew, who had chosen a non-Jovian to
marry. And when she did that, she picked out a man who lived
on Earth like an Earth-descended human being, not one who had
turned into a hermit on an alien world—

  Someone was approaching the cabin. It was a single person,
walking quietly but not sneaking. Thin ice in a small shaded
puddle crackled underfoot. He or she was coming along the faint
path that followed the top of the river bluff, from the direction of
the nearby religious colony. Again Adam heard movement, and
saw small birds fly up from the brush near the path.

   He knew that he had an enemy or two in Stem City, among the
hoodlums settling in there on the fringes of the fur business.
Then there was Tooth Biter, the Tenoka he had once caught
stealing. Without moving from his position in the doorway,
Adam reached an arm along the inside cabin wall to take his
twenty-five kilo composite bow down from its pegs. He set the
bow on end just inside the doorframe, and reached again to slide
a broad-bladed hunting arrow out of the hanging quiver.
   Then in a few seconds .he saw the white robes, marked with
the symbol of the cross. Adam put back the weapons, and
stepped out in smiling welcome. "Father, glad to see you."

  Father Francis Marti was young and small; at first glance, he
might have been a theological student lost in the woods. His
hobby was studying the native wildlife of Golden, while his work
was in a parish in Stem City. There, as he had once told Adam,
the geryons' faces were sometimes even more convincingly
human than were the faces of the geryons out here in the
wilderness.

  Now he might have been greeting a favorite parishioner.
"Adam. Are you keeping well?"

   "Still alive. You trying to convert your religious competition
over there?" Adam nodded in the direction from which the priest
had come. The colony of black-clad folk were back that way, only
a couple of kilometers distant.

   Father Marti appeared to consider the question seriously. He
said at last: "No. I have been trying to warn them—some of them
travel frequently alone and unarmed in the woods. Maybe their
patriarch would listen to you more readily than to me."

   Both men glanced toward the end of the right sleeve of the
priest's white robe, from which no hand emerged. Father Marti
did own quite a good right hand, but it was complex enough that
the metal and plastic joints of it tended to freeze up or exhibit
other bizarre behavior whenever he wore it into the Field. He
usually, as today, left his right hand in the city whenever he
visited the wilderness. Father Marti too had once walked in these
woods unarmed. But then had come his wrestling match with a
small geryon. Since then he came with the sheath of a Bowie
knife hanging on his belt, ready for a left-hand draw.

   "I'll talk to them tomorrow," Adam said. Before I leave for the
mountains, he thought. / really had better go. Then why don't I
tell the Father I'm making one more hunting trip this winter?
Because I know I'm not going. I mean to stay here instead and
hang around another man's wife. Being merely human, I
always lie to myself.
  "Father…"

  "What is it?"

  But there was nothing, really, to be said.

   In the late afternoon Adam heated some water and got
cleaned up and dressed to go into the city. He had no very
extensive wardrobe, and wore a modified version of his usual
garb. According to what he could see of himself in his small
metal mirror, he looked like a tourist trying to look like an old
settler. Not, he supposed, that it made any difference anyway.

   By the time he had paddled and motored himself across the
river to Far Landing, darkness was at hand, the million distant
lights of Stem City starting to come on against the night. The
shuttle copter rose from the meadow behind Far Landing into
the last fading fire-glory of the sunset. The only other passengers
this trip were a tourist couple carrying cameras and wearing
tired, vaguely disappointed expressions. Maybe I shouldn't have
washed up and changed clothes, Adam thought. He pictured
himself boarding the copter in a begrimed hunting shirt, saying
to the tourists: "Me half Tenoka. You take picture?" He grinned.

  When he was on his way to look for Merit, he could feel good
about his life.

   The first thing he did on reaching the city was to try to call the
Lings at their hotel—she had told him which one they were
staying at. But they were out. They might, Adam supposed, be
dining tonight at the home of one of the Fieldedge scientists, but
he had no way of looking for them there. Stem City's rapidly
multiplying places of entertainment were a different matter. He
would give some of those a try.

   Already the center of the only city on Golden strongly
resembled that of a resort town on Earth. If the buildings here
were not yet quite as tall as those on more crowded worlds, the
money flowed at least as freely. People who traveled this far from
Earth or anywhere else to seek amusement had plenty of money
to spend.
   Adam started on a round of bars, working his way outward
from the exact center of town. He actually drank only a small
amount. Neither alcohol nor other drugs had ever assumed any
great importance in his life.

   While smoking an Antarean cigar in a place that featured the
worst music he had heard in at least a year, he happened to
glance out through a large bubble window a hundred meters
above the street. Kilometers distant, out near the northern
perimeter of the Stem, there stood the newest tower on the
planet, four hundred vertical meters of steel and stone, bathed at
night in searchlights of changing color. A huge sign flashed
pictures, first frothy bubbles pouring from a glass, then a couple
dancing side by side, then the name of some entertainer blazing
out, and then the cycle started over.

   Yes, Adam thought, quite likely. It was the newest hotel on
planet, advertised as top-status. Built on a hill that was still
outside the burgeoning city proper, the tower looked up to the
northern mountains in the distance, whence the savage fur
hunters could look down at it in wonder. A Fieldedge scientist
might well consider such a hotel the ideal place to take off-world
visitors. Anyway, Merit would certainly not be here where Adam
was now, listening to this subhuman music.

   From the center of Stem City an enclosed, multi-lane slideway
stretched all the way out to the new resort. FASTEST WITHIN
TEN LIGHT YEARS! advertised the slideway's entrance signs.
The dully-gleaming, black-surfaced lanes bore a thin scattering
of passengers. Adam stepped from lane to lane, out to the
express walk that moved nearest the stationary central divider,
and was whistled along at highway speed. People going the other
way blurred past him, just on the other side of the air-buffered
plastic barrier in the center.

   There was clear plastic overhead, too, a shield against
weather. Every two hundred meters or so, glass or composite
observation platforms had been bubbled out from the slideway's
structure, other-wise mostly enclosed tunnel. These platforms
were accessible from the slow outer lanes, and gave day or night
a good view of the Stem country. Much of the Stem was already
lighted at night, sketched in with roads and markers for future
development even where there were as yet no buildings. Soon,
Adam expected, the city was likely to fill the Stem completely; at
which point the developers would be sure to want a new treaty
with the Tenoka, and then an expansion of development into
Field territory. Which, Adam thought drily, should be fun to
watch.

   Now a pair of teener boys came hurtling past Adam on the
other side of the center divider. With an expertly violent throw,
one of them heaved something over the barrier as they came
shooting toward him, some object that was caught and spun in
the air buffers but still came past Adam's dodging head at sixty
or seventy kilometers an hour, to land on the strip that he was
riding and make a long streaked splash of something messy. For
a second he thought of chasing the kids, but decided that would
be a waste of time, whether or not he was able to catch up with
them.

   As he drew near the outer terminal, the flow of the black solid
surface under Adam's feet began to slow and thicken, like water
in a deepening river. Soon all the lanes were moving at the same
low speed, and he walked forward to the splendid entrance of the
Pioneer Hotel.

   Ten copied pairs of Ghiberti's gigantic bronze doors opened
into nothing that at all resembled the baptistery at Florence. The
huge lobby inside was decorated in Imitation Primitive, with
fake logs roaring electrically in fake fireplaces, and a few real furs
and other trophies on the walls. Adam made a mental note that
he might find a good market here after his next hunting trip.
There were no geryon heads on display; he had yet to see one
mounted anywhere. With the beast's body gone, the look was just
too overwhelmingly human. It occurred to Adam that Merit
would probably have something to say about that, too, when he
had another chance to talk to her. It occurred to him also that
Poe said it once: Even among the utterly lost, there are matters
of which no jest can be made.

  He realized a need: someone that he could talk to.

  Tourists moved through the lobby, coming and going.
   "Welcome to Golden, sir, we hope you enjoy our world," said a
voice near Adam's ear. A pale young man, evidently an employee
of the hotel, was standing beside him. "Were you desirous of a
room, sir?"

  "No." He would have to pick tonight to dress like a tourist,
well, if he had come in his ordinary clothes they probably
wouldn't have let him in.

   "Entertainment and refreshment on the one hundred and first
floor, sir, companionship available one hundred and two. High
speed lifts to your right. Hope you enjoy your stay on our world."

  "I hope so too."

   He got off the lift at one hundred one, to find himself just
under a crystal roof exhibiting the stars, and walking directly
into the restaurant-bar-dance floor-whatever. Anyway it was a
vast dim circular area containing people who had come here to
be entertained, with fake trees and rocks making divisions
everywhere, and pathways that were supposed to look like forest
trails winding everywhere among the trees and tables. In places
the ceiling was invisible, except for the way it contained rolling
clouds of some light vapor, again shot through with multicolored
light. There were probably several hundred people scattered
about through the enormous room, but still it was not really
crowded. It would take some searching to locate anyone here.

   Sidestepping robotic waiters in the form of rolling trolleys,
and a human hostess who appeared to be entirely naked except
for her multicolored body paint, Adam made his way to an
observation bubble—Stem City architects never seemed to tire of
such constructions—that bulged out over the side of the building.
There were several tourists standing and sitting in the bubble,
some using the radarscopes that let them see how the funneling
sides of the Field hemmed in the Stem on all sides and mounted
up above. Three or four hundred meters below, the surface of the
Stem was aflame with all the colors that humanity was able to
get out of electricity. Rivulets of people and vehicles crawled
everywhere, many of them going apparently in circles. I stand
here like Dante on the lip of the Pit, thought Adam. I need a
Geryon to fly me down.
  Bah.

  Instead of calling for a geryon, Adam went back to the bar,
and bought himself a drink, and pinched one of the hostesses,
who seemed to be expecting some such attention. Thoughtfully
rubbing his fingers together, feeling the slippery body paint they
had picked up, he looked around.

   There they were, at a table a good distance off. There was
Merit, talking and laughing and gay, wearing a kind of gown that
Adam hadn't seen on anyone before, that was probably the latest
fashion on Earth or somewhere else, or would be the latest
fashion there next year. There was little Shishido of the
Fieldedge lab, with a woman, her back now turned to Adam, who
would, doubtless be Shishido's wife. And there of course was Vito
Ling, a lean, strong man, a handsome and energetic and
restless-looking man, laughing now at something that Merit had
just said.

   If I go over there, thought Adam, maybe he'll try again to hit
me. Probably that would be easier to deal with than some other
things that could happen.

   "This time I think it's safe," said a magnificent, familiar voice
at Adam's elbow.

  He turned to see Ray Kedro.

   "Well, that's what you were wondering, isn't it?" Ray asked,
grinning down at him. "I don't have to probe your subconscious
more than six or eight layers down to detect that."

   "Hello," said Adam, and relaxed, or tried to relax, leaning on
the bar. He experienced, as usual, a sudden wave of mixed
feelings on encountering Ray. "Good old Vito Ling didn't give me
a chance to say hello, the other day. Damn, he can't always be
that touchy, can he?"

  "He's not," said Ray, and paused thoughtfully. "Actually he's a
pretty good guy." Ray paused again, and a faint smile appeared
on his face, evoking old days at Doc's school, old shared pranks
and adventures there when Adam visited. "Pretty good for one of
you ordinary second-rate human types, that is."

  "Yeah, sure." Adam turned back to the bar.

  "He is. Merit picked him out, didn't she?"

   There was a pause, in which Adam thought he could feel the
slight intoxication of his evening's drinking fading prematurely.
"Right," he said, not able to think of anything else to say. He
wondered if Ray could tell how he, Adam, felt about Merit, and
intended to try to do with her. He wondered how Ray felt about
her himself. Wondered, and couldn't guess.

    "We've already got serious trouble at the lab," said Ray. "And
it's been getting Vito down." He ordered a drink from a robotic
creature that appeared behind the bar, and Adam got himself
another. The area behind the bar was all colored lights and
shadows, and music, much better than some that Adam had
heard recently, was coming from somewhere.

  "What kind of trouble?" Adam asked, sipping.

   "Mainly because of an expensive gizmo that the Foundation
sent with us from Earth. It was supposed to be just what we
needed to unravel the mystery of the Field. But it just flat won't
work. Vito and I both told the administrators back on Earth that
it should have been constructed differently, but they wouldn't
believe us. They were wrong." Ray swallowed half his drink.
Suddenly Adam couldn't remember if he had ever seen Ray take
alcohol before.

  Adam asked him: "So, you haven't much hope of success now
with the Field?"

   "We might have had a good start on it, if our gadget had been
properly designed." Ray appeared to brood. "Now, we'll have to
find another way."

  "Another way?"

  One of the naked hostesses, on the customers' side of the bar,
was approaching Ray. When she got close enough to touch him
on the arm, and he turned to face her, her professional smile
suddenly altered. It was as if she had been awed despite herself
by the Jovian man's size and masculine beauty, suddenly
confronted at close range.

   When the hostess finally opened her mouth to speak, Ray
closed it for her with the lift of one massive finger under her
chin. "You might come back and look for me again in a couple of
hours," he told her. His voice was abstracted, as if his thoughts
were elsewhere. The girl backed away, the professional smile
almost totally gone, until she bumped into someone and the spell
was broken.

  There had been music in the background all along, ever since
Adam had walked in from the lift. Now the instruments suddenly
blared up louder, and more colored lights began to focus upon a
wide central stage.

   "So." Ray's eyes considered Adam. "Something drew you to
settle on this planet—when, about four years ago? Something
keeps you here. When I first heard you were living here, that
you'd quit the Space Force, I thought it was the Field. But that's
not it, is it? Not directly."

  "You're right." Adam tasted his drink. "Something. And no,
not the Field exactly. I don't know if I can define it. But the
Field's what brought you here. Or is it? What does this planet
mean to a Jovian?"

   "You're as perceptive as ever, Adam." Ray slouched easily,
elbows on the bar, leaning there like a crouching lion. "No. The
Field isn't really all."

   "What else?" asked Adam. Then an answer occurred to him.
"In your case, because someone built it. That's it, isn't it? It's the
Field-builders who are on your mind."

  "They are. Increasingly." Ray downed the rest of his drink.
"Let's go over to the table. I don't think you'll have to dodge any
more punches."

  Ray was making fascinating statements, opening topics and
then dropping them. That wasn't really his way, as Adam
remembered. Adam still leaned on the bar. He wasn't ready to
drop this one. "That's it, isn't it? It comes back to the Builders.
Why did they create the Field, and where are they now?"

    "Why? I think they created it—just to see what would happen
when someone else, like—Earth-descended humanity, discovered
it. And where are they now? I think that they're not too far
away." Abruptly Ray pushed off from the bar. Not really looking
to see whether Adam was following him or not, the huge man led
the way toward the distant table where the Lings and the
Shishidos appeared to be having a genuinely good time,
celebrating something. Celebrating what, Adam wondered?
Certainly not the laboratory failure he had just heard about.
Certainly not the near-fight on the dock.

  "Do you think the Field could be a parapsych effect?" Adam
wondered aloud, suddenly, as they were skirting the low stage.
The stage was occupied by frenetically dancing girls whose skins
were covered with colored lights and almost nothing else, and
Adam felt a little idiotic walking almost among them, discussing
parapsych effects.

   Ray turned to answer, the lights playing indirectly on his face.
"If it is, it's a damned good one. They've integrated it with effects
of the physical sciences. That's a little beyond what we can do. So
far." It sounded like that, maybe, was the main point of what he
had been thinking about. He turned again and moved on.

  Vito Ling was the first person at the table to see them coming;
the tall physicist's face took on an anxious look, and he
scrambled to his feet and stuck out his hand to Adam. "Sorry
about the other day. Really sorry. I had no reason to act that
way, no excuse at all." He was obviously sincere.

  "It's all right—no harm done."

  "I'll say not. I'm just lucky that you're cooler than I am."

  The handshake was firm. It might be easy to get to like this
character, Adam thought. That was all he needed, that would
make things really nice. Oh, yes.
   Merit, delighted at the truce, got up to greet Adam with an old
friend's kiss. He sat down in the chair Ray pulled up for him,
between Merit and Ray. A drink was poured for him. He was
introduced to Mrs. Shishido, at close range a nicer-looking
woman than he had expected. Mrs. Shishido beamed at him.

   "Well, now!" said her small husband, also well pleased to see
peace. "Well! Mr. Mann, I understand that you are actually the
first human being of Earth to ever set foot on this planet—except
perhaps for the unfortunate Golden. And you've been living here
for some time now? I wish that I might have been able to meet
you sooner."

   Shishido was genuinely interested in the planeteering history.
The others were too, once the subject had been raised. Adam
began to talk of the earliest days of the Space Force exploration
of Golden, telling as an eyewitness of the first experiments with
the Field. He could speak well when he wanted to put forth the
effort, and now he had a willing audience.

  Vito Ling and Dr. Shishido listened with complete attention.
Ray stared into space, but Adam felt that he was absorbing every
word. The eyes of the two women stayed on Adam's face. The
noise and visual confusion of the Pioneer Hotel faded into a
vague background.

   When Adam paused, Vito let out a sighing breath, and shook
his head. "I wish I'd been here then!"

  "It's still the same planet, outside the Stem," said Adam.
"That's what I like about Golden. We haven't been able to ruin it.
And it's still the same Field that we saw then."

  The physicists began a three-way argument among
themselves, each for slightly different reasons damning the
theories and activities of the Research Foundation. Meanwhile,
dancing was in again this year, and Adam danced with Mrs.
Shishido, though he didn't feel much like it.

   Then he led Merit out onto the crowded floor. The music was
part of an uproar, that was about all you could say for it. Bodies
jostled them this way and that.
  "How's the geryon research going?" he asked.

   "Slowly. I don't know if I can even call it research yet. I've been
to your local zoo and library."

  "They do a pretty good job, I think. I helped the zoo people
collect some of their specimens, last year." Merit dancing beside
him was silent, as if her thoughts were wandering. He asked:
"What brought you to the Pioneer Hotel?"

   "The Shishidos' idea. I really don't mind a place like
this—about once a year." She didn't ask Adam what had brought
him here tonight; probably she knew. Instead she asked him:
"How do you like my husband?"

  "I guess I like him."

  "I love him, Adam. And he's a good man." Something was
definitely worrying her. "And what more important things than
those is it possible to say about anyone? About you, or Ray, or
anyone else?"

   Adam said nothing, important or otherwise. He held Merit
gently and chastely in his arms, at the proper times during the
dance, or tried to do so, while they were bounced around like
fools on the stampeded dance floor. This was what he was going
to get from her. This much and no more.

  When there was a pause in the dancing, and the two of them
got back to the table, Adam looked carefully at Vito for signs of
another jealous fit. But Vito only smiled vacantly at both of them
and went on with the scientific discussion of the Field.

   Adam sat and listened to the scientific argument, meanwhile
sipping on another drink. Now the alcohol in his bloodstream
was easing him past the level of slight exhilaration, to the point
where there seemed to be a certain amount of electronic noise in
his brain, and concentration was needed to drive clear signals
through.

  Ray and Merit. Always his friends, right from the start. More
than his friends. And yet at the same time always above him,
above the rest of humanity too. Merit and Ray, their
ninety-eight… siblings, Ray called them sometimes. Kin? Clan
members? In Adam's opinion there still wasn't a good word.
Maybe that was by design, to make the Jovians appear to
outsiders as less of a cohesive group.

   Not pretending to be superior. Not pretending anything. Not
claiming a birthright above common humanity for the purpose
of boosting their own egos, or to maintain themselves somehow
in power. Adam might deride, or fear, or feel contempt for
people who claimed superiority for such purposes, but he would
never envy them.

  And the truth was that he did envy the Jovians. They were
superior, standing together above the world. Suddenly he
wondered if there were any little second-generation Jovians as
yet. It would be very strange, he thought, if there were not.

   Some words caught his ear. The subject of table conversation
had shifted, and he broke into the talk of Golden's possible
future. "Hold on, this planet may be pretty well populated
already."

   "Primitive," said Vito. "Oh, I don't mean that we should talk
all over 'em. But there must be enormous uninhabited areas out
there, hey? Practically whole continents."

   Adam said: "I really wouldn't think so. Of course it's hard to
tell, from pictures taken from above six or seven hundred
kilometers. The Field seems to cause random distortion of
detail."

  Ray chuckled softly. "I wonder how random it really is."

                Chapter Thirteen
   Adam got to his feet; he felt a little drunk, maybe more than
just a little, and the sensation was unpleasant as well as
unfamiliar. "Well, glad to have seen all you people. I feel the urge
to move on." Merit looked up at him with an unreadable
expression. The other people round the table made their several
protests and offered their farewells, and he started away from
them. From near the elevators he looked back, across the room's
activity. Ray was standing now, resting one giant muscular hand
gently on Merit's head, while she sat with her eyes closed and
face relaxed, looking as if she might be sound asleep. The others
round the table watched the two Jovians, not understanding any
more than Adam did. And we never will, thought Adam.

   Abruptly Ray left the table and walked toward the stage,
which was empty now of dancers and musicians. Adam turned
his back and found his way to the wall near the elevators, where
in an alcove stood a discreet machine, dispenser of sobering pills.
He gulped down a pill, and looked around again. Now Vito and
Merit, who was lively again, seemed to be getting ready to leave,
and Ray was seated at a piano beside the stage. Adam recalled
suddenly that there had almost always been beautiful music, live
or recorded, to be heard at any time somewhere in Doc Nowell's
enormous house. And it would be like a Jovian, Adam thought,
to play fine music now, in a place like this, amid such noise that
no one else would be able to hear it.

  It struck Adam that the drunken uproar was noticeably
diminished. In the vicinity of the stage, a circle of heads were
now turning toward the piano. The ring of quiet polarization
widened. Now, even where he stood at the wall, Adam could hear
some of the piano notes. And now he could hear more.

  Ray's music flowed out to where the night sky of Golden was
curved around the bubble windows. I've never heard this, Adam
thought. What can you call this kind of music? What is it? He
moved forward into the room again, until he stood gripping the
back of someone's chair.

  He can do this, too, Adam thought. They can do this.

   Now the vast room, or most of it, was almost quiet, expect for
the music that Ray Kedro played. Somewhere at the far side of
the room, among the distant trees and rocks, one person sobbed,
loudly and drunkenly. Then a door opened in the wall near
Adam, and a fat man in evening dress came hurrying out, as if
the silence had alarmed him. Then the fat man too stood quietly
listening.
  Experience this, said the music. Feel this—you can almost
touch it now. This is what life is about.

  No. Adam turned away, heading again toward the elevators.
How would you know, Ray, what human life is like?

  Adam's mind felt blurred. The alcohol and the sobering pill
were fighting it out in his bloodstream.

  The elevator door closed on him, shutting him in, cutting off
the golden sounds. He was alone in the car going down. I usually
am alone, he thought. You stupid drunk, he told himself, why
don't you go off somewhere and cry?

  There were only a few people in the hotel lobby when he
reached it. Adam looked at his timepiece. It was two in the
morning. He hadn't realized that it was so late.

   He stepped out of the lobby onto the black and dully gleaming
slideway. His head was full of vague thoughts, none of which
really demanded his attention. The slideway shot him back
toward Stem City, carrying him past observation platforms and
alcoves. In one of these large recesses eight or ten young people
were dancing to some music of their own. They had set up a
screen on which the image of some retchsinger was contorting
itself in three dimensions and unnatural color. No, at second
glance it appeared that the screen was attached to a built-in,
coin operated video that they were playing. Something new here
every day.

   The rest of the observation niches were empty as Adam glided
past them. There were only a few people on the slideway, most of
them riding in what looked like a grim hurry on the faster center
strips.

   Far ahead of Adam, going in the same direction as he was but
on the slowest outer strip, a man and a woman moved along arm
in arm. At a distance they looked like Merit and Vito; they were
certainly dressed the same. But how could Merit and Vito
possibly have got ahead of him?

  Just as the couple were passing one of the observation alcoves,
four figures erupted from concealment inside it. Like a pack of
wild teeners, swinging fists and weapons, the four charged the
couple from behind. The man and woman were both knocked
down. Already they were being dragged off the slideway and back
into the alcove.

  The cold combat computer had flicked on automatically, and
Adam was already hurtling forward, running in a curved path
over slower and slower strips toward the alcove. He pounded off
the slowest strip just in time to see the top of one pigtailed head
vanish down through a utility trapdoor at the rear of the
bubble-walled enclosure. The attackers were gone.

   Vito Ling lay on the deck of the observation platform,
twitching, wide-eyed, dead. His face and head were covered with
his blood.

  A few meters away… Merit…

   Adam turned her over, to lie face up. She was unconscious,
but she was alive, with no injury that his frantic examination
could discover. A pulse throbbed in her wrist as Adam's shaky
fingers held it.

  He looked away for a moment, toward the closed trapdoor.
Would he have a chance of catching anyone? But no, he had
better stay with Merit. He looked back at her.

   Adam screamed, as his legs thrust him erect, away from the
figure on the deck. His hands came slapping up to hide the world
from his eyes.

  Instead of Merit, he had seen Alice on the deck, pregnant and
butchered and dead.

  Behind his closed eyes, his mind scrambled for truth, some
kind of truth that he could cling to. Fearfully he uncovered his
eyes, looking toward the place where Vito—

  Had been. Vito's body was now gone. There were no
bloodstains there on the deck now. Nothing.
   Numbly Adam looked around. No Merit on the floor. No Alice
either, of course not Alice. And no Vito Ling. No pigtailed
attackers. Adam Mann was alone in the alcove, breathing hard
and trembling.

  A couple of people shot by on the fast strip of the slideway,
paying him no attention.

   Hallucination. Forcing himself to think, to act, Adam walked
to the rear of the alcove and examined the trapdoor closely. It
was locked shut, and a thin film of unmarked dust lay around it
and over it, along with a little windblown litter. It looked as if no
one had used the door for days at least.

  Hallucination. He stumbled out onto the slide-way and
resumed his journey. He was shaken, hardly aware of what was
going on around him. To think that he sometimes envied others
their parapsych powers…

   But what could have brought on this experience? He had never
had anything like it in his life before. Probably his feelings for
Merit—relating her to Alice—but of course it might have been
genuine precognition, which would mean that some time in the
future, Merit and Vito would travel this way, and would be
attacked.

  Shock hit Adam again. Merit had said something like: "I don't
mind a place like this—about once a .year." It wasn't likely that
she and Vito would be on Golden that long. It wasn't likely,
Adam thought, that they would return to the Pioneer Hotel
before they left. Tonight it was going to be, of course, tonight.

  In a slow unthinking way Adam had moved again out to the
rapid strip; now he spun around and raced back for the
immobile utility walk along the outer edge of the slideway. He
had to get back to that alcove—or might the attack be going to
take place at a different one?

   Looking down the long slideway toward the Pioneer Hotel, he
could now see Merit and Vito in the distance, approaching arm
in arm, gliding toward him along the slow outer strip.
  Adam reached the utility walk and sprinted back toward
them. Now his view of them was blocked by vending machines
on the walk ahead of him. How far was it to that alcove? God, it
mustn't be far, the attack and killing took only a few seconds.

  A lone man went by on the slideway, turning his head to watch
Adam run, then turning away with determination, minding his
own business.

  Adam ran.

   There was a scuffle and a faint outcry from close ahead. Adam
rounded a vending machine and came dashing into the alcove. A
figure at the rear was just putting coins into the video machine
to turn it on, bringing the retchsinger figure gigantically alive
upon the holostage above.

   Vito Ling was not dead on the floor, he was still more or less
on his feet, but he was being held in that position. One of his
arms was being twisted behind his back by a tall powerful young
man in teener garb, while another one stood before him with a
brassknuckled fist drawn back, holding Vito's bleeding head up
by the hair while turning his own head to look at Adam. The
fourth attacker, who appeared to be more or less directing
matters, was a short, lightly built man with a face lined well
beyond the teenpack age. He looked around with surprise at the
sound of Adam's entrance, then put a smile on his face and
stepped toward Adam.

   And there, behind the short man, Merit was lying on her face,
just as in the vision.

  The short man stepped forward. He was a cocky little
character with dangerous eyes. But now he was going to do his
imitation of polite reasonableness.

   "Friend, we really don't need no help here," said the short man
to Adam in a pleasant voice. The other three had paused, waiting
and watching to see if there was going to be a real distraction.

  Vito looked like he might be going to die.
  Adam did not move or speak.

 The short man said to Adam: "I mean the lady had a touch too
much to drink, you know, and it's just a friendly little argument."

   Adam leaned forward a little. At the end of his run he had
automatically come to rest with his feet just the right distance
apart for balance and quick movement. He could feel the
strength ready in his arms, that were hanging loosely in front of
him, and he could feel his chest heaving with the exertion of the
run and with the build-up of adrenalin.

  Alice. And now Merit. Twice in one lifetime. But now he had
them in front of him. He watched the short man's eyes, and
smiled at him.

   "I mean," asked the short man, in a new tone, one meant to
frighten, "why be a dead hero?"

  When nothing happened, he stepped forward, making his
voice friendly again. "Let me explain—"

   Adam observed the short man's subtle shift of weight in stride,
which meant that the right knee was going to come up for
Adam's groin. The combat computer guided Adam's sidestep,
and launched his right fist in what would have been a clumsy
sucker punch if it had not come with almost invisible speed from
a standing start. The blow took the short man on the neck under
his left ear, and lifted him onto his toes. He fell, rolled over, and
lay face down on the deck without moving.

  The retchsinger image tore off its shirt, and jittered in its
plastic cage. Its mouth opened and noise came out.

   "Get him!" ordered the man who had been feeding the
retchsinger coins, the lean figure standing close under the noise
and light of the machine.

   The two who were holding Vito let him drop and came at
Adam, spreading out to get him between them. Their faces also
were too old for teeners. Adam defended cautiously when they
closed in on him, and in the first blurred second of savage
motion and impact he knew they were a professional team. It
was all he could do to keep himself alive and spin out from
between them.

   The lean figure in the rear came forward, cursing impartially
at them all. "Get him, I said."

  Adam had two seconds to look at Merit again. Still she had
not moved.

   The two big men regarded Adam with awe, and paused before
coming at him again. One of them was flexing his wrist, where
the edge of Adam's hand had caught it. The man was getting his
fingers to work again, but his length of metal pipe had bounced
away and was riding the slideway to Stem City.

  "Come on!" urged the lean one. "Quick!"

   Adam started a move at the biggest man, a subtle feint
intended to fool a good fighter. The man jumped back a step as
Adam spun round. He caught the lean man moving in, with a
side snap kick that hit him in the knee like a swung hammer.
One more down.

  The giant with the brass knuckles was almost quick enough;
Adam felt a scrape across his forehead as he dodged the swing.
Then he was stepping in, hitting with backfist, knuckles, elbow.
He thought that he had never hit anyone or anything so hard
before.

  And now the big character who had lost his pipe weapon was
the only one besides Adam still on his feet. Still flexing his sore
wrist, the big man backed away, no longer a workman going at a
job, but a man with the fear in him. Now he was shaking his
head a little. This one knew, this one appreciated •what was
going to happen to him.

   The man took a last look into Adam's face, and turned and ran
for the slideway. Just at the edge of the alcove Adam caught him
from behind. The two went down, with Adam on top; the man
beneath him strained and squealed and then his neck was
broken.
  Adam turned round in a crouch. The lean opponent had
overcome the pain of his knee enough to pull out a gun; and Vito,
battered almost to death, had got up to throw himself at the
enemy and save Adam from a bullet.

   Vito had luckily managed to bang the lean man's sore knee,
and now the two wounded were struggling feebly against their
injuries and against each other. Or, they had been struggling, for
by now Adam had crossed the intervening space and kicked the
lean man in the head. The head on its lean neck bounced
through one vibration like a punching bag on its mount, and
then was still.

   Bloody and gasping, Vito just stayed sitting on the deck,
staring ahead of him. Adam, gasping if not bloody, stood beside
Vito looking warily around in all directions, ready to meet the
next threat when it came. People were still going by on the
slideway, passing the alcove scene and looking in at it, then
turning away with a desperate blank-ness in their faces, eager to
not-involve themselves. Adam eyed the passing people
cautiously. But it seemed that none of them were going to turn
aside into the alcove and try to hurt Merit any more.

   In a few moments he had regained a certain relative sanity,
and went to look after her. She was just stunned, he thought, just
as in the vision. She was undoubtedly breathing, and now she
was even turning her head a little from side to side, and her
blood was still pulsing safe inside its warm tender vessels. Adam
touched her face with one of his terrible hands. A living face. Yes,
Merit had to be alive, because the universe still had to be a place
in which a man could live.

  The jukebox was still playing. Probably less than two minutes
had passed since the start of the fight. But suddenly the voice of
the retchsinger was silent. Adam looked up to see the image
swallowing, drinking from its bottles of colored liquids,
meanwhile twisting its body in time to the throbbing music, its
sculptured belly muscles writhing.

   Then the image raised its arms and the music crashed toward
a climax. The imaged body snapped forward, and with a heaving
groan projectile-vomited a streaming rainbow of bright color
that splattered and filmed the inside of the plastic cage.

  Vito Ling lay looking up from his hospital bed. A hundred thin
insulated wires led to the helmet in which his head was cradled,
but he was aware of his visitors and perhaps he was trying to
smile at them. It was hard to be sure.

  Adam kept watching Merit as she sat beside the bed holding
Vito's hand. Her eyes seldom left her husband's face, and when
she spoke to her husband her voice was sometimes not loud
enough for Adam to hear it clearly. Vito was unable to speak to
answer her, but his eyes kept coming back to her face and he
appeared to be listening to what she said.

  After a while, Adam got up and left the room.

  Ray, his face looking tired, was waiting out in the corridor,
where small bubble windows glowed with a wintry dawn.

  "Looks like he's going to make it," Adam told him.

   Ray nodded. "I've just been talking to the doctor in charge."
Then he made a gesture of futility. "You saw it coming,
fortunately, but I saw nothing. Nothing. Parapsych talent, the
undependable. How can we build on it? And yet we must."

   The two of them stood talking there in the corridor for a little
while, not really saying much, until Merit, smiling tiredly, came
out of Vito's room. She took an arm of each of them. "He seems
to be doing as well as we could hope. He's going to make it, I'm
sure now. Let's all get some rest."

  Two plainclothes detectives met them just as they were
passing the waiting room. "Mr. Mann, we'd like another few
minutes with you, if you please."

   Adam shrugged wearily. The small bandage pulled at the
slight cut on his forehead.

  "We'll wait downstairs," said Ray exchanging looks with him.
He moved away, with Merit leaning on his arm.
  The detectives watched them go, then faced Adam. One said:
"We checked up on your Space Force background. I guess it is
possible that you laid out those four hoods all by yourself."

   "I'm glad to hear it. I was worried. Mind if I sit down?" He
stepped into the waiting room and took a chair. Physically he felt
weary. And he felt a little giddy, lightheaded, almost cheerful.
Merit was all right. Merit was all right. Nothing else mattered
very much.

  The other detective asked Adam: "What do you think those
four men wanted?"

  "Looked to me like they wanted to kill Vito Ling. But you'd
better ask them."

   There was a brief pause while the two detectives exchanged
glances. "Three of them are dead," one finally informed Adam.
"It's not certain that the fourth, one is ever going to think
straight again. You hammered him pretty good. They say an
artery in his brain gave way."

   He knew their eyes were probing him to see what he thought
of the carnage he had wrought, but he had been looking down at
his hands when he heard the words and he just kept looking at
them. The fight seemed unreal to Adam now. At last he looked
up. "Can't say I'm especially sorry. I guess there are a lot of
members of the human race I just don't give a damn about any
more."

   The two detectives had sat down facing him across the little
waiting room, that was otherwise empty. One of them sighed.
"Well, can't say I'm sorry either. They were all professional
strong-arm boys. Two just arrived on Golden last month, two
have been here for a year. They worked a lot for gamblers."

  "We're growing into a big city," Adam said.

  "Does Dr. Ling like to gamble a lot, do you know?"

  "I couldn't say. I just met him a couple of days ago. But he's
only been on Golden a couple of days. I doubt he's had time yet
to run up any giant debts and refuse to pay them."

  "Yeah." The detective sighed again; it made him sound as if he
were surprised and saddened by the kind of things he kept
running into in his job. "Know any other reason why anyone
would want to kill him?"

   Maybe me, thought Adam. / want his wife. Or maybe there
was something else. His imagination showed him the president
of the Research Foundation on Earth, tired beyond endurance of
Vito's complaints, calling in the hired killers. He smiled (for
Merit was safe, and he could smile) and said: "I have no idea,
no."

  And something was still worrying Merit, something besides
the mere fact of her husband's being nearly killed. Well, he,
Adam, intended to find out what it was.

  "We understand Mrs. Ling is a Jovian, is that correct? One of
those…"

  "Yes. She's one of those."

   "She's a telepath, then, isn't she? But she didn't foresee the
attack?"

  Adam felt annoyed. "They don't go around reading people's
minds right and left. And once the action started she must have
been stunned before she knew there was anyone approaching.
Any danger."

  "Stunned expertly," said a detective. "Very expertly. The
doctors say there's no sign of any damage now."

  "Yes?" Well, there were ways in which that could be done.
"Meaning what?"

  "What do you think that fact means?"

   "Someone wanted her husband dead, but not her. Is that all?
I'm tired."
  Again the police looked at each other. "That's all for now, Mr.
Mann," one said. "You're not being charged with anything, of
course. In my personal opinion it'll smell a little sweeter here
with those four gone."

  "There'll be four more—or eight," said Adam, moving wearily
away. "Lots of opportunity on Golden."

                Chapter Fourteen
    "It's this damned Jovian business," said General Lorsch. She
was sitting behind her desk and looking at Boris Brazil through
tired eyes. "Probably that fight episode on the slideway, with the
Jovian woman involved, is somehow tied in with all the rest of
it." With one hand she pushed a carven wooden box across her
desktop to the Colonel. To Brazil it looked like Grodsky's old
desk, but the Colonel wasn't going to try perching on a corner of
it today.

   He silently accepted the invitation to smoke, and took a little
time to get his chosen cigar fired up. Time in which he could also
do some thinking.

   He was glad to be back on Golden again after a seven year
absence, even glad in a way that the Field was still unconquered.
But not everyone was so happy, evidently, or he wouldn't have
been called back. He hadn't met General Lorsch before today,
but he doubted that she normally appeared as worn and harried
as she did right now.

   "Excuse me, General," Brazil asked, "but is the problem really
just these hundred Jovians?"

  "Yes, it's basically just the Jovians, even if there still are only a
hundred of them." The General, toying with a small cigar of her
own but not lighting it, managed a smile. "From your viewpoint,
Colonel, maybe I sound like a trifle like a monomaniac—but you
don't really know anything about these people, do you?"

  "The Jovians? No ma'am."

  "I didn't either, until very recently. Now I've been through one
interview with Ray Kedro—he's evidently their leader, to the
extent that they have a leader—but I can't communicate what
happened during that interview as evidence. There are the
intelligence reports."

  She could, thought Boris, at least have talked to him about
that interview, since it sounded so important. Maybe later he
would push to hear about it.

  As for the intelligence reports, Boris had already read through
some of the printouts that were now scattered about on the
General's desk. Now the Colonel glanced down again, skimming
quickly over certain paragraphs:

  "—Jovian organization has penetrated every branch of Earth
society, probably including the Space Force. Their economic
power like their political influence, is indirect but enormous—"

   "—can they be considered subversive? If they would lead or
coerce humanity, they have given no real evidence of what
direction they would choose."

   Subversive. Boris frowned at the word. He knew that there
were people, in the Space Force as elsewhere, who could see
subversive plotters be-hind every rock. There were also a few very
real people, real terrorists, who for one reason or another plotted
violence and destruction of the government. Usually, as far as
Boris could see, it was not really because of anything in
particular that the government had done, but just because the
government was there, and terrorists in love with violence and
destruction had to have some target, and big important targets
were more fun.

  And some of the terrorists might, for all that Boris knew, be
Jovians.

  The most urgent-looking message on the table read:

  —EVIDENCE INDICATES JOVIAN CONSTRUCTION
ILLEGAL STARSHIP ON GANYMEDE. GANYMEDE
INSTALLATION NOW DESERTED JOVIANS UNFINDABLE IN
SOL SYSTEM. PROBABLE SPECS OF SHIP CONSTRUCTED
HERE FOLLOW:

   The ship appeared to be a big one, and if the specifications
given in the report were accurate, it mounted certain generators
and other equipment generally reserved for exclusive use in
weapon systems. It looked like the Jovians had built for combat.

  "Neat trick, putting together a starship in secret," Boris
commented. "One like this, especially."

   "They're pretty clever people," said the General drily. "The
authorities on Sol System didn't realize that the Jovians were up
to anything on Ganymede until all the Jovians known to be in the
system began to head that way. By the time we really took notice
that something was up, they were in their starship and gone."

  The situation was a complete dustcloud to Boris. He leaned
back in his chair, puffed gently on his cigar, and said: "So,
they're all out joyriding in their outlaw bird. I take it you expect
them to come here, to Golden, ma'am, since you pulled me off
another job and had me brought here and are telling me all this."

  "I do expect them to show up at Golden, yes."

  "I see, ma'am. What'll they do when they get here?"

   "I wish I knew." Lorsch shook her head, and threw her own
tormented cigar away, still unlighted. "I have three ships…" The
General let her words trail off, then added: "I've asked An tares
for some reinforcement, just in case. Three more ships. Don't
know if I'll get them."

  "You're expecting a fight, then?"

  "I want to be ready for one."

  "And just what am I here for, ma'am?"

  "You're here because you know something of the planet and
the situation, Colonel. And according to the records, you also
know this fellow Adam Mann."
   Aha. "Adam Mann. Yes ma'am, I remember him. He worked
for me as a planeteer at one point. Right here on Golden."

  "So the records state. What did you think of him?" Brazil
pondered. "A good man, basically. Not— well, not an ordinary
man, even for planeteering, where we tend to get—an
assortment."

   "Yes," the General responded drily. The reputation enjoyed, or
endured, by the planeteering profession was nothing new to her.
But she was thinking now of something else, of Adam Mann
specifically. "I don't know if he's working for the Jovians now, or
just friendly with some of them, or what. In any case he probably
knows them at least as well as any non-Jovian alive. I'd like to
talk to him, find out if he's disposed to be helpful to us, and, if he
is, consult with him. If he isn't—I'd like to know that too. And
he's not always an easy man to talk to, or so I've been told."

   "So you'd like me to try. All right. I'll talk to him." Boris got up
out of his chair and took a quick nervous walk, the length of the
office and back. Standing in front of the desk, he said: "It's the
Field, of course, that's the special thing about Golden. If the
Jovians, or anyone else, could control the Field, obviously they
could control the whole planet. And any other planets where a
Field could be established."

  "Yes, I've thought about that, Colonel. That's an obvious
answer. But I'm not sure the truth is that direct and simple. I tell
you, every time I think I've figured out what they're up to,
something—"

  The intercom chimed, with muted elegance. The General
answered it. "All right. Have him wait a minute." She raised her
eyes. "Colonel, Mann's here now."

  Coming into the inner office, not knowing why the General
had asked to see him, Adam stopped short at sight of the
unexpected face. "Well, I'll be—Boris!"

  Pumping his hand, Brazil said: "Look, when I told you to go
out and scout, I didn't mean you had to live five years in the
woods. You can come in now, there's a settlement here."
  The two of them shared a modest laugh, and there was an
easing of tension. They had asked each other the usual questions
people exchanged during the first stage of a reunion, while the
General, smiling benevolently but guardedly, watched from
behind her desk. Adam, noting her scrutiny, felt more and more
certain that he knew what this meeting was all about.

   Brazil had hardly changed, to the eye. He was still
planeteering, of course, and Adam suspected he was now in
chronic trouble with certain of his superiors, enough trouble at
least to have prevented his promotion, while at the same time his
reputation for getting results kept getting him what Brazil
considered good jobs, interesting assignments: Maybe the
Colonel really preferred not to be promoted into dullness.

  "There're women chasing me on most of the old planets—the
only time I get any rest is on the new ones," said Boris, who
would have a lot of new planets behind him now, and a billion
and one more ahead of him if he could keep going that long. And
Adam was sure that the Colonel would try.

   "Where was your last one?" Adam asked, now beginning to
feel the old lure again himself.

   Boris glanced at the woman who sat patiently observing them
from behind her desk. He said: "A good long way from here. I
sort of got pulled off the job."

  "Oh?"

  "To come here. Certain of our leaders"—he wasn't indicating
whether General Lorsch was one of them—"think that the human
race here has a Jovian problem."

  That announcement was, by this time, no real surprise to
Adam. He said: "There're only two Jovians on Golden, that I
know about. So what—?"

   They told Adam about the Jovian starship, built secretly on
Ganymede and now departed Sol System for parts unknown.
Now Adam was puzzled. He had heard no hint from Ray or Merit
of the existence of a Jovian interstellar craft, in Sol System or
anywhere else.

  "Well, if they built it, they must have had a good reason,"
Adam said at last. "They wouldn't just break the law…" He
gestured, trying to find the word he wanted. "Casually. You
know, cynically. Not just for their own personal profit."

  "They might break it, though," said Boris.

  Adam looked at him. "Anyone might, who thought there was
enough at stake. I seem to remember that you've bent a rule or
two from time to time."

  "How long since you've been on Earth, Mann?" General Lorsch
asked him.

  "I take it you've been looking over my record, General, and you
probably know how long. It's been years. Why?"

   "People can change, even your Jovians. There's good evidence
to indicate that during the past few years they've been behind a
number of dirty deals, on Earth and the settled planets. There's
more evidence that they're out to weaken the Space Force,
reduce our influence. Have a chair, won't you? Want to look at
some reports?"

   Weaken the Space Force—ah, so that was the capital crime!
Adam opened his mouth for an angry answer, but Lorsch looked
so tiredly determined that an angry answer seemed certain to
bring on an angry argument and that seemed futile, so he
forebore. He could argue anytime; right now he wanted to learn
more. Silently he accepted the chair the General had indicated.

  Boris was waiting, watching him silently.

  The General pushed a pile of paperwork on her desk, evidently
the reports that she had mentioned, toward Adam slightly. She
watched him too.

  "I've known Ray Kedro since we were kids."

  Adam finally told them both. "I'd trust him with my life."
  Boris asked: "How well have you known him, Ad?" .

  "Well enough. As well, I suppose, as you can know someone
who—you know what they are?"

  Boris spread out his hands. "We don't know that, not in the
same way you do. Maybe our suspicions are all wrong. Can you
explain why?"

   "I've never known one of them to do a mean thing." Only at
this moment did Adam fully realize that fact himself; and with
the realization he could feel his anger growing. "I've known
people to beat them up, for the crime of being different. That's
our way, isn't it, the way of the great human race?"

  "Sometimes," said Boris. "But I have to put in a good word for
my employers, in spite of all their blunders that I bitch and
moan about. As far as I know, the Space Force has never
deliberately exploited or injured an alien race."

   "We've never before met another race we had to look up to."
Adam paused, feeling a little embarrassed by what he was going
to say. "Only the Jovians. They're like our children, growing up
and getting ahead of us in the world. I think we should be proud
of them."

  "I see," said General Lorsch, tiredly, after a little while.

  Later that day, when Adam entered the hospital room, Vito
was sitting up in bed and working at feeding himself, apparently
enjoying fair success at the job through the helmet with its
hundred wires was still on his head. The tiny probes inside the
helmet were keeping his injured brain going, stimulating and
guiding a healing process. Some of Vito's cranial bone was still in
the hospital's deep freeze, awaiting the right time for
replacement.

   Merit, sitting at bedside, looked up at Adam's entrance, and
reached up a hand to him; he was able to hold her hand while he
stood there getting the routine chatter of greeting out of the way.
There was a newsprintout open across the patient's knees, and
Adam could see one item headed: SEEK MOTIVE IN SLIDEWAY
ATTACK. And below: Police Probe Jovian Angle. But as far as
Adam knew, no one had really found an angle yet, Jovian or
otherwise. In a few days the item would be out of the news, and
half-forgotten.

   Which would suit Adam fine. He moved a few centimeters
closer to Merit and put a hand on her shoulder.

   "I'd like to take your lady out on a little sightseeing trip this
afternoon," he said to Vito. "Give her a chance to relax."

   "You do that," Vito responded instantly. His voice sounded all
right, though he obviously still had to be careful about moving
his head. "She needs that. Look at her, all worn out, looks worse
than me. Bring me back a picture or two, hey Hon? Send me a
nice thought, maybe, from out there?"

  Merit looked at them both. "I will," she said.

   When she had stepped out of the room for a moment, wanting
to talk to one of the doctors, Vito said to Adam almost
truculently: "She'll be safe with you. Safer than with me. Some
good I was for her the other night."

  "Hey, you probably saved my life by jumping that last guy,
remember? And what could you do, with four of them?"

  "You did all right."

  "I'm a kind of well-trained freak."

   The most easily reached Tenoka Village was a couple of
kilometers inside the Field. Riding the shuttle copter out with
Merit on the first leg of the journey, Adam brought up the
subject of his own unsuspected parapsych powers.

  "There's a mystery for you. Why did I have that precognitive
experience? I've never had, seen, done, anything like that in my
whole life before."

  She had listened to his account of the experience carefully. "I
don't know what to tell you, Adam. People throughout human
history have occasionally had such experiences. Usually—they
don't have any vital effect, either on the person who goes through
them, or anyone else."

  He sighed. "Everyone says how undependable parapsych
powers are. I guess the accepted wisdom is in this case right.
You and Ray and the others—it's all fading away for you, right?
That's what I've heard."

   "We don't do those things as casually as we once did. I'm not
sure that the power to do them is fading for all of us. Is that a
village, over there, behind those trees?" Now the copter was
descending.

   From the shuttle landing place Adam and Merit hiked along a
trail that he knew well, past the line of marker poles, here
placarded with warnings to tourists. Essentially the signs
cautioned them that from here on they would be in Field and on
their own.

  The appearance of the villages near the Stem had changed
substantially over the last few years, as had the lives of those who
dwelled in them. Now, nearly all of the Tenoka teepees were
made from tough Earth fabrics, and nearly every Tenoka fire
heated a cook-pot of Earth metal.

  The warriors of this particular village greeted Adam warmly,
and eyed Merit and her camera with greater toleration than
most tourists received, since she was with him.

  "There have been signs and omens, Geryon-Slayer," said one of
the elders, speaking in his own language. "Even now Pierced
Arms lies in trance. We have been expecting you, for he foretold
two visitors for today."

  "Did you get that?" Adam asked Merit.

   She wrinkled her forehead. "Not too well." There was nothing
unethical in a telepath's "reading" a message that was available
to the ears anyway— and, as Adam understood it, nothing
particularly unpleasant to the reader. But thoughts formed in an
unknown language were apt to be difficult.
  When Adam translated for her, Merit was interested. She
asked: "Could we see this medicine man? Do you think it's
genuine parapsych or fakery?"

   "Probably fakery, if I know old Pierced Arms, and I think I
do… but then, I thought I knew myself, before I started catching
glimpses of the future. Well, we can try."

  Adam turned to the elders and addressed them in their own
tongue. "How about if we see old Pierced Arms? Would it be
possible? Might scare my lady here a bit."

  They smiled and took the bait; very little was so sacred to the
Tenoka that it could not serve as the basis for a practical joke.

   "He speaks messages now," whispered an attendant, as Merit
and Adam were ushered into the darkened lodge. This one,
consecrated to magic, was made of real skins. Surrounded by a
large assortment of magical paraphernalia, with oil lamps
burning at his head and feet, Pierced Arms lay tossing on his
pallet. The body of the medicine man was daubed with colored
clay in intricate patterns, and strings of feathers were laced
through the loops in his wrinkled skin. Now his eyes were open,
now they were shut. His arms and legs twitched, and he breathed
irregularly and jabbered strange words.

  "I don't quite get that dialect," Adam whispered.

   Merit closed her eyes. "I can get something out of it. Yes. I
think—a message from one man to another, here on Golden.
They're distant relatives, and they live a long way apart.
Congratulations, I think, one is saying to the other…
congratulations on I don't know what. Something will be sent. A
present. But both men are surprised at being able to
communicate in this way. It doesn't usually—"

  Her eyes opened. "And, Adam, wait. There's something else
going on, in the background." Merit was excited. Not quite
worried; alert.

  Then she was silent for a moment, and Adam said: "I think
you're right about the messages being passed, somehow." He was
fascinated. "I've never seen this before, though I've heard
stories."

   Merit pressed his hand, urging silence; she was concentrating
intensely.

    The shaman was beginning a new message now. His voice
changed in tone as he did so, and shifted to a language that
Adam had never heard before. Neither could Merit really follow
it this time. Then quickly there was another shift. More talk
followed, more minds were tapped. There were greetings
between more people who were surprised to find themselves in
mental communication—usually the subjects were not really
astonished, though. It was something not unknown to the natives
of Golden, this type of communication, but it was something
rare. When they found themselves unexpectedly in mental
contact, they exchanged greetings, or occasionally threats.
Sometimes the exchange consisted of obscure words and ideas
that neither Merit nor Adam could understand.

  Once, when Pierced Arms paused longer than usual between
messages, Adam paused to open the tent flap and look out. He
was getting restless. "We'd better start back soon. It's going to be
getting dark—"

  Merit gripped his hand, suddenly and hard. But it was Pierced
Arms whose voice boomed out a second later, louder than before,
commanding, uttering perfectly accented words and sentences in
the preferred language of Earth's Space Force and most of her
colonies.

  "Raymond Kedro, a message for him," Pierced Arms almost
shouted. "My name was Alexander Golden, and I speak to warn
the man from Earth called Kedro. He closes his mind against me,
but he should hear. If he persists in what he plans for this world,
he must fail. People will die, other people will suffer. Kedro
himself may die—"

   Merit raised fists to her forehead. Her scream was an
elemental, primal sound, that had to have been driven out of her
by some force greater than the mere shock of the words, of any
words. The scream was so loud that it made Pierced Arms
awaken, with a start.

  Adam held Merit tightly while she recovered. The Tenoka at
the door of the lodge were giggling quietly at the joke's excellent
though long-delayed success.

  "Merit. What was it? Merit—?"

  "Adam," she whispered, "Ray was here—his mind— fighting
something—"

   "Hungry," muttered Pierced Arms, sitting up and scratching
his lean old ribs. "Much talking always makes me hungry.
Where's my worthless elder wife? Ha, Geryon-Slayer, you bring a
woman to hear me speak? No matter, she can help prepare the
food. Wife!"

   "Merit, brace up," Adam murmured in her ear. "We'll talk
later. Right now we'd better be good guests."

   And she did brace up, immediately. If an ordinary woman had
recovered with such speed from screaming fright, you would
think she had been acting.

                  Chapter Fifteen
   The string twanged sharply, and the arrow from Earth went
humming away from Ray Kedro's thirty-five kilo bow. After a
flight of thirty meters the shaft punched almost exactly into the
center of the bright blue bullseye. The target, concentric rings of
color on a soft plastic disk, hung from the stump of a branch on
a tree at the edge of a clearing. The clearing was no more than
about a hundred meters from Adam's cabin.

   "I have no doubt about one point," said Ray, as he drew a
second arrow from the new, fancifully decorated quiver on his
back. "What you heard from the medicine man was genuinely
intended as a message for me. I take the message seriously. And
I'd prefer that you tell no one else about it."

 The two men were completely alone in the woods at the
moment, there being probably no other human beings within a
kilometer in any direction. Merit was at the hospital, where she
was spending most of her time these days. The medical reports
were good, and Vito was due soon to be released.

  "I won't tell anyone else about it if you say so," Adam said.
"But why not?"

  "Humor me."

 "All right. But the Space Force is going to hear about your
message anyway, through the Tenoka."

   "I suppose they will. But let's not confirm it." Ray nocked his
second arrow on the bowstring and took quick aim. A moment
later another shaft sank into the bullseye, close beside .the first.
At archery, as at everything else, he was superb.

   "And the communication was from Alexander Golden," Adam
said, meditatively. "Pierced Arms said that name very plainly.
And I don't understand it at all."

  "I don't believe the message really came from Alexander
Golden, but through him," Ray answered calmly. "Or through
what's left of him, more likely."

  Adam paused in the act of reaching for one of his own arrows.
"What?"

   Ray was looking at him soberly. "Even before I left Sol System
I was vaguely, distantly aware of very strong parapsych activity,
here on this planet and around it. Yes, I know, the enormous
distance. But the mind, the Jovian mind at least, is not entirely
constrained to obey the laws of physics… and since I arrived on
Golden I've been able to confirm the parapsych activity. There's
more of it here than there is on Earth, or anywhere else I've been.
It may be that there's something natural about the planet, that
induces or promotes it. You never had a precognitive experience
before you came here, did you?"

  "No… but what is all this activity that you detect here? What's
the source?"
  "Some of it emanates from these native people. The Tenoka
here and around the Stem area, and others of their species
around the planet. But the preponderate amount of parapsych
action on Golden comes from the beings you have called the
Field-builders." Ray studied Adam's reaction, and added: "Oh
yes, they're still around. Very much so."

   It was Adam's turn to shoot, but he still stood with his bow
forgotten in his hand, staring at Ray. "If that's so… then you're
the first person from Earth to ever make contact with them."

   Ray smiled faintly. "Except for the unfortunate Alex Golden, of
course… but they don't want such contact, Adam. They prefer to
hide from us, from both Jovian and Earth-descended humanity,
and study us at their leisure. And more and more…" Ray came to
a halt, gazing at Adam in an abstracted and unhappy way.

  Adam had a premonition of fear. "What?"

    "Just that they hate us, Adam." Ray's voice had fallen almost
to a whisper. "I can see the sickness in them. I become gradually
more and more aware of what they are capable of doing. I admit
it's a touch frightening… more than a touch, I must confess. They
try to bury the sickness and hatred deep in their minds but there
it is. I don't think Merit is able to make contact with them at all,
which is perhaps just as well."

   "Frightening, yes," Adam muttered. He remembered Merit's
scream in the medicine man's lodge. "And the Field-builders are
still right here, on this planet? You're really sure of that? I mean
if you can contact them at the distance of Earth…"

  Ray nodded. "They're here, all right."

  "But where?"

  "That question was not so easy to answer." Ray had another
arrow drawn now, as if automatically getting ready to shoot
again, but once drawn the shaft rested in his hand ignored. "By
the end of my first day on Golden I had determined that they
were somewhere in the other hemisphere. And I was also sure
that Alexander Golden does not exist any longer. Not as a human
being, anyway."

  "What?"

  "No, he's not human any longer. I can sense what they're like,
Adam, the Field-builders, I can tell it by the things they do. To
people here and elsewhere. And by what they'd like to do to us.
But they're a little cautious. We're quite strong."

  "Ray. Gods of all space, Ray."

  "I know, I know. Most likely all that's left of Golden by now is a
sort of telepathic frequency converter, a bridge over which
messages can be forced from their minds to those of ordinary
Earth-descended humans, or to the Tenoka."

  Adam was listening in horror.

   It was as if Ray were reluctant to speak, to reveal the
horrifying things, but was able to see no other choice. "I've seen…
sensed… the Field-builders' dungeons, Adam. The torture
chambers, where Alexander Golden still exists—I can't really say
that he still lives—along with other prisoners. By now I've
determined more precisely where they are, over on the other side
of the world from here. Not stone walls with chains hanging from
them, no. And not physical torture, or not that particularly.
They—the ones you call the Field-builders— have solved
somehow the old problem. How does a being, determinedly evil,
use parapsych talents to inflict pain? And how can one maim
and kill… with the mind alone…"

   Ray's voice had grown grim, and now it almost quivered. His
expression had darkened. Adam had never seen or heard him
this way before. Now the huge man paused, staring into space.
Suddenly Adam saw him as tired and strained, living under a
burden that would have been too great for any ordinary human.

  "Alex Golden was an Earthman," Ray said suddenly. "As I am."
He looked at Adam suddenly. "Those who have done what has
been done to him are on this planet. And I intend to call them to
account."
  "You—?"

  Ray smiled at Adam. "General Lorsch thinks that we Jovians
consider her our enemy."

  "If you don't—and if you have some definite knowledge of the
Field-builders—why not tell her the truth?"

   "I've tried to do so, Adam. She and I once enjoyed a very
private chat. More private than the lady realized, because I
turned off the spy devices in her office. And then I even used
what we call projection to present our case. That method gives
me very considerable powers of persuasion." Ray grinned faintly,
and Adam had no trouble believing him. "But she's a tough lady,
Adam, and a stubborn one—and even if she could be persuaded
to come to terms with us, she could not for very long deceive or
disobey her superiors, and we would still have to deal with
them."

   "Look, Ray—even if she doesn't like you, I don't see why you
can't tell her what you've found out about the Field-builders.
About your contact with them. Did you try to tell her that? And
why shouldn't we tell her about this message that purports to be
from Golden?"

  "No, Adam. I didn't try to tell her that." For the moment Ray
sounded less like an old friend, and more like a patient
schoolmaster. "Because there is nothing that she or the Space
Force can do about Alexander Golden, or about the
Field-builders either—at least not while the Field still covers the
Ringwall, over on the other side of the planet."

  "That's where they are, then." Adam almost whispered it.

   "That's where they are… what we must do with General Lorsch
is get her to prepare for a fight—let her think, if necessary, that
we are the ones who must be fought. Then we shall convincingly
uncover the real enemy."

  "Uncover them how?" Adam paused. "You mean you can
control the Field?" If it were anyone else talking to him… but it
was not anyone else. He found himself ready to believe anything
of Ray.

    "Not yet," said Ray calmly. I don't expect to be able to control
it from this side of the planet."

  "From the other side, then… the Ringwall again?"

  "That's right."

  "But how are you going to get there?"

   It was as if Ray had been waiting for that question, as if
everything he had said up to now had been calculated to lead up
to it.

  "Watch," the huge man said.

   A moment later, Ray's heavy bow dropped to the muddy
ground; the hand that had held it was gone, had winked out of
sight along with the rest of Ray. Ray Kedro had vanished
completely, as if he had never been.

   Teleportation. It had to be that. One parapsych effect that
Adam had never seen before, that no one he had heard of had
ever seen. He had heard or read somewhere that not even the
Jovians were capable of it. Some authorities went so far as to say
that there was not a single properly authenticated case of
teleportation in all of human history…

   But what else could it be? Now teleportation… Adam looked to
his left and right, and behind him, and he was still utterly alone.

  He turned around. He called out, tentatively: "Ray?"

   "I was slightly off target," said Ray's voice from-behind him.
Adam spun round again. The big man was standing near the far
edge of the clearing, grinning wryly at his own condition. Ray's
feet and legs were plastered with wet mud, up to above his knees.

  Ray picked up a piece of dead bark and with a faint grimace
began to scrape away some of the goo; there were still some
human situations, it appeared, that no amount of intelligence,
parapsych talent, or superb co-ordination were capable of
dealing with gracefully.

   Pointing with the defiled bark, Ray explained: "I was aiming
for the top of that little hill over there; I was sort of curious
about what was on the other side, which may be why I came
down beyond it, in a mudhole." He raised his eyes to Adam's.
"But the point is that the parapsych talent is not adversely
affected by the Field."

   Adam sat down on a handy log. After all that he had learned in
the past few minutes, he felt he needed to sit down. "I thought
the story was that all the Jovian parapsych talents were
disappearing. That they've been fading steadily since you all
passed adolescence."

  "You're absolutely right, Ad. That's the story."

  Ray's grin was, as of old, infectious. "You don't still believe all
the stories you hear, do you?"

  "You mean…" Adam let it trail off.

  All he could think of for the moment was that Merit hadn't
seen fit to enlighten him about the powerful talents that she, too,
must still have at her disposal. But all he said was: "You're lucky
you didn't land on one of those jagged stumps over there where I
did my logging, for the cabin. Or come down right on top of a
poison lizard in the swamp."

   Ray shook his head. "That would be physical harm caused
directly by the use of parapsych talent, within the meaning of the
law—and that, leaving out minor bruises and such, is still a
practical impossibility. Remember?"

  "Still an impossibility for you. Not for the Field-builders. You
were just telling me how they…"

   "Yes… well, they may no longer enjoy a total monopoly on the
ability to use parapsych as a weapon. We must develop, are
developing, means of self defense. I can put it more precisely:
violent harm from parapsych causes doesn't happen to us, to
Jovians, by accident… teleportation is probably the safest form
of transportation yet invented."

  "If you say so… Ray, what's your plan? You said you were
going to call the Field-builders to account."

   "I am indeed," said Ray with calm confidence. He had now
finished scraping most of the mud away, and he threw down the
piece of bark and came to sit on the log beside Adam. "Our
siblings have finished constructing a starship, at the old base on
Ganymede where Doc—"

  Adam held up a hand. "The Space Force knows about your
ship. I was wondering if I should mention it to you, but then I
assumed you already knew they did."

    "Your assumption was quite correct. And General Lorsch I
suppose is worried lest we be bringing our ship here, and
planning to upset things for her somehow? Well, we are. Our
ninety-eight siblings are bringing our ship along to Golden now.
It'll be here when we need it."

  Adam got to his feet. He walked a little distance and turned
back. "Ray? I don't like this. I mean this between you and the
Space Force. I know them, and I know Jovians, I suppose better
than anyone else does."

  "I'm sure you do, Adam. And what is it you don't like,
precisely?"

   "They don't understand you, Ray. And I'm not sure you
understand them. As soon as that ship of yours arrives in normal
space near Golden they're going to arrest whoever's operating
it—or try to arrest them. They consider that kind of a ship illegal,
and they take things like that seriously."

  Ray threw back his head, and his laughter roared out, sudden
and surprising. The log rocked under him. "No, Adam, we're not
going to fight a battle against the Space Force—although we
could. Sorry if I let you think that, even for a minute. We'll park
our ship about six hundred kilometers above the Ringwall, and
there they'll surround us with a large force—I hope—trying to
arrest us as you say.

  "We can keep them at arm's length, until events on the surface
below have made it possible for them to join us in our endeavors,
and convinced them that they should do so. Does that help to set
your mind at ease?"

  "No, Ray. No, not really. Events on the surface? What events? I
don't understand. Look, I'm just a slow human. Take it easy and
explain it all to me slowly."

  "Adam, we're just going to have to show the Field-builders to
the Space Force. It's a case where mere explaining and arguing
won't do the job."

  "Show them how?"

   "Bring them out into the open, out of their dungeons into the
light of day. Display them as they really are. I and a few others
are going to teleport to the Ringwall from here—from in the
Stem or somewhere near it. We ought to be able to reach the
Ringwall in, I suppose, five or six jumps. We'll do that while our
ship and the Space Force ships are above it. The enemy can be
found there, at the Ringwall. And they have the key to the Field
there with them, Adam. I've felt it. I've seen it in their minds.
Once we arrive there, we'll be able to take that key into our
possession. We'll turn the place upside down and inside out if
need be."

   It was all coming at Adam too fast, much too fast. "You, and a
few others, are just going to walk in on the Field-Builders and do
all this to them? How many of them are there?"

   Ray strode over to where he had dropped his bow. He picked
the weapon up and stood there gripping it. "I'm not sure, but we
can do it. Numbers won't count for that much, not in our part of
the struggle. A little later we will need the ships and weapons of
the Space Force—that's why I'm taking steps to make sure they'll
be on hand. There'll be plenty for our brothers and sisters of the
normal Earth-descended strain to do; but basically, primarily,
this is Jovian business. We are not going to submit to being
laboratory animals for the Field-builders; we don't intend to sit
here like rats in a cage, tapping our noses against the Field."

  Ray was obviously bitter, and deeply angry. Again, Adam
thought that he had never seen Ray quite like this before.

   Adam himself felt small and inadequate, as he rarely had since
he had been a toddler. He asked Ray: "Why are you telling me all
this?"

  "Because you are a Jovian," Ray answered.

  "Doc never knew about you," Ray was explaining, a little later,
when Adam again felt capable of listening to explanations. "I was
only two years old, myself, and a long way from being able to
assume leadership, when the other children began trying to
duplicate Doc's experiments. That Ganymede installation was
and is a huge place. There were vast areas within it that Doc
hardly ever entered, and we had a good deal of freedom. And we
had abilities that Doc never imagined, at least until much later.
He didn't miss a little genetic material from his stock.

   "When you were decanted, Adam, one of the laboratory
workers was bribed into seeing to it that you were transported to
Earth safely. At that point, something about my colleagues' plan
went wrong—they couldn't oversee the details from the distance
of Ganymede, and you wound up in a public Home instead of a
real one as they had intended. My elder siblings tell me they were
sorry about that, and I believe them; but as events turned out,
we all had to follow you into similar places, at least temporarily,
as you know. By the time I was fourteen, I had learned about the
experiment that produced you, and I was anxious to get a look at
the result. I managed to get myself assigned to the Home that
you were in, when it became necessary to go into one—the rest,
as they say in stories, you know."

  "… but I never guessed…"

  Ray grinned at him. "Oh, and one more thing, Ad—Merit has
never known. She'll be as surprised as you are."

   It was all too much. Adam sat down on the log again, making
a helpless gesture.
   "I haven't told you any of this before," Ray went on, "because
there have been times, many times in fact, when it seemed a
distinct disadvantage to anyone to be known as a Jovian. Also, I
admit, my older siblings expressed some curiosity about how you
would develop, living in an environment substantially different
from ours. Whether you've gained or lost by now knowing your
heritage—who can say?"

   Adam continued just to sit there. He felt numbed, stunned,
like part of the log himself. He looked at Ray for a while, then
stared into space, then looked back at Ray again. He couldn't
doubt any of this, basically, that Ray was telling him.

   He, Adam Mann, was a Jovian. He wondered if the curious
kids who had created him had given him some other name at
first. If so, he didn't think he wanted to know what it was.

   No wonder that all his life he had known a sense of being
different from the people he lived among, a chronic sense of
outrage at the surrounding human idiocy.

   "I am telling you this now," said Ray, "because very soon I am
going to need the willing help of every Jovian mind and body.
And you have it all, Adam. Whatever talents we have are yours,
at least in potential." Ray was calmly ready to resume his archery
practice, and now the big man's bowstring thrummed again.

  Adam raised his eyes just in time to see the arrow hit home. A
perfect shot, as always. And now, for himself too, for Adam
Mann…

  Gradually the realization was growing in him. A foretaste of
the new world that he was about to enter. A Jovian world, in
which he might climb to heights that were now beyond even his
imagination.

  "This is what I call the right way to convalesce," said Vito
Ling, pulling two rabbit-like hoppers out of his game bag, and
dropping them on a rock beside the cooking fire. The
biochemistry of Gold-en's native life ran so closely parallel with
that of Earth that an inhabitant of either world could generally
provide safe nourishment for an inhabitant of the other.
  "Convalesce!" Ray laughed. "I think you've just been loafing for
the past week. Like me."

   "And I'm glad," said Merit, on her knees beside the fire and
feeding it with kindling. "I'm not eager for you two to vanish
back into Fieldedge, and find a way to spoil this planet. I've
decided I like Golden just the way it is."

   "We'll convert our scientists to Field-lovers yet," Adam said.
Several days had passed since he heard Ray's revelations. Ray
had said he hadn't yet told Merit much about the coming
struggle, though she was certainly aware of his perceptions of the
Field-builders' minds. And Vito had as yet been told nothing.

  Merit had been informed, by Ray, of the truth of Adam's
Jovian origin. And, as far as Adam could tell, she had been as
astonished by the news as he was himself.

   Immediately afterward she had come to Adam with a strange
look in her face: "Ray just told me…"

  "About me?"

  "Yes."

   And those were the only words the two of them had yet
exchanged on the subject. There had been little chance for them
to be alone, with Vito now out of the hospital. But ever since that
moment Merit had looked at Adam in a different way. Exactly
what the difference was he could not analyze.

   At the moment, Adam was sitting with his back against a tree,
feeling comfortably tired and at peace in a way that he had never
really known before. Since the day of Ray's revelations, Adam
had been spending the mornings trying to develop his latent
parapsych talents, under Ray's tutelage, and the afternoons in
teaching Ray, Merit, and Vito his own hard-won skills of the
primitive life. Ray had warned Adam that probably he would
never be able to teleport unaided, but he had already learned to
achieve some intermittent telepathic contacts.

  And now, relaxed, Adam felt a sudden quick touch against his
mind. It came like a glimpse of monstrous black wings overhead,
foreshadowing some danger.

   If Merit perceived the dark passage, she gave no sign; she and
Vito were now horseplaying like happy newly weds beside the
fire. But Ray stood up, and with a beckoning motion of his head
got Adam to walk away from the fire with him.

  Once out of sight of the clearing where the four of them had
camped, on a supposed vacation, Ray stopped, looking Adam in
the eye. "By this time tomorrow, we must be ready to move."

  "As soon as that."

  "As soon as that." Ray was brisk and businesslike. "Are you
with me?"

  Adam shook his head. "I'm keeping up so far." His tone was
almost plaintive.

  Ray grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. Like the old
days, playing some game at Doc's. The message came through
plainly, without spoken words. "Good enough. Right now, jump
with me into Stem City, okay? Let me guide."

   Adam nodded and turned his back on Ray, who was standing
just out of physical reach. They had taught him teleportation
theory; they had held him back, so far, from the brink of actual
movement. This would be the first time—if it worked—

   Adam let the wall of trees before him slide out of focus in his
eyes. His vision, his attention, came to be centered somewhere
else—

   —he felt the premonitory aura, stronger than it had ever been
in practice—

   —and then before his eyes there was a different wall, the
interior surface of some building. They had arrived.

  "A hotel room I use," said Ray. It was a cheap hotel, Adam
decided; the small room was piled with loaded camping packs,
canteens, axes, knives, arrows, enough to set up a small
wilderness outfitting company. "Help me decide what to take to
the Ringwall, Ad. We might be several days there, though I doubt
it's going to take that long… something wrong?"

  Adam drew a deep breath. "Just that your confidence strikes
me as a touch overwhelming—you know, if it was anyone else
suggesting this kind of an expedition to me, what I would tell
them?"

  "It's not anyone else."

  "Right… so who's going on this expedition? The two of us,
and… ?"

  "And Merit. I want every Jovian to be there, in the action. All
one hundred and one." Ray winked lightly. "There'll be
ninety-eight of our siblings aboard the ship above us. I've had
confirmation of the number."

  "And what about Vito?"

  "What about him? Oh, I think I see what you mean. Well, he
can find his way from here back to Stem City, he's essentially
recovered now. Or, we can carry him along if he insists, and
Merit insists, as they both probably will."

  "You think they will?"

  "I'm reasonably sure. Don't you think so?"

  Adam sighed. "All right. Three of us, or four. And when we get
there?"

  "Yes? What about when we get there?"

   Adam picked up a pack, and tossed it down again. Knowing
that he himself was equipped with the genes for Jovian
intelligence seemed to make no difference in the difficulty of
understanding Ray, when Ray started explaining his plans, or
rather started actively not explaining them. Adam said: "I don't
know what I'm supposed to do when I get there, Ray. That's what
about it. I won't know a Field-builder from a fencepost if I bump
into one."

  But Ray was not perturbed. "You'll know. And you'll know
what to do, when the time comes."



             PART FOUR
                 Chapter Sixteen
   "If she does go on any such expedition, I'm going too," said
Vito Ling, speaking very firmly. There was in Vito's attitude a
strong mixture of you're-all-crazy-but-I'm-going-to-humor-you,
along with a good measure of grudging respect: some of the
three of you at least might be smarter than I am, you Jovians
have been right before, and you could be right about this too.
This was not Vito's very first reaction. Merit had only kept her
husband from immediately informing the authorities of the plan
to teleport to the Ringwall, by not telling him about it until the
party of four were out in the wilderness, with no possibility of
quick communication with anyone back in the Stem. Still, when
Vito was finally informed, it had required all the persuasive
abilities of the other three to keep him from starting a solo hike
back to Stem City immediately.

  For perhaps the fourth time in the last few minutes, Vito
looked at his wife and asked her: "Why are you going, Merit?
Maybe these two guys have lost their minds… but why you?"

  She gave him a strange smile. " Jovians together, against the
world."

  "If the ninety-nine others all walked off a cliff… all right,
Adam, the hundred others." One more item had been revealed.

   "Ray might be wrong about the Field-builders," Merit
admitted suddenly, and looked suddenly at Ray, who gazed back
at her calmly and did not appear particularly upset by the
suggestion.
   Merit went on: "If he is… there's only one way to prove it." She
looked at her husband again. "And, if he's not…"

   "That's about the way I see it," Adam said. Not that he really
thought Ray might be wrong, but it was a good way of putting
the situation to Vito. And the fact that Adam was convinced and
was going along with Ray's plan had from the start made Vito
stop and think; he had considerable respect for Adam.

  But the argument wasn't won yet. "Then the only basis you
have for this whole thing," said Vito, "is Ray's word."

  "That's right," said Adam. Merit nodded.

  Vito and Ray looked at each other.

  "I'd be skeptical too, in your place," Ray said to him mildly.

  Vito looked at his wife again. "Then you've never seen these
Field-builders, except, as I understand it, in Ray's mind."

  "No," she answered. "I never have. There are a number of
parapsych things I'm not strong enough, or skilled enough, to do
without Ray's help." Adam, listening, couldn't tell whether she
was getting angry with her husband or not.

   "But you're convinced you have to do this." There was a new
finality in Vito's voice.

  "I am."

  "To teleport," said Vito, as if to himself, and Adam could see
how fascinated he was, as a scientist doubtless, but not only in
that way.

  "That's what we're talking about, yes." Ray's voice was quiet,
but held a certain challenge.

  "If you go," said Vito to his wife again, "I'm going with you."

  Darkness was falling now at their camp, in the
archery-practice clearing only a hundred meters or so from
Adam's cabin. Ray had announced that they should be ready to
start within about twenty-four hours. He explained that it would
take them about an hour, with several rest stops included, to
teleport halfway around the world, and he wanted to arrive in
the vicinity of the Ringwall soon after dawn there.

   "I've explained the dangers," said Ray to Vito calmly now. "If
you insist on going, we can take you." Then Ray looked at Merit,
as if the final decision in this matter should be hers.

  "My husband makes his own decisions," she told Ray firmly,
before the angered Vito could speak for himself. "He has said
that he accepts the risks, on your word that they are necessary. I
accept them on the same basis."

   "I thank you. All of you." Ray glanced up briefly toward the
stars. "Obviously our ninety-eight siblings have already agreed
with me. If not unanimously—near enough."

  "Not unanimously?" Adam asked.

  Ray looked at him, as if fearing to be disappointed by what he
saw. "Near enough. They'll have the ship in place over the
Ringwall tomorrow."

  Merit closed her eyes, and nodded. "So be it, then."

   When the next day's sun dipped out of sight behind the trees
just to the west of their campsite, the four from Earth stood in a
circle, packs, weapons, and other equipment strapped to their
bodies. They faced each other across a close circle, not quite
touching each other.

   "We may be temporarily separated after the first jump," Ray
warned the others. "But we should still commence the second
jump at the same time, if not from exactly the same place. And I
guarantee we'll get back together when it becomes necessary.
After four or five jumps we should arrive together in the vicinity
of the Ringwall—not in it, but in sight of it. All you all ready?
Then here we SO-"

  —and they were standing on another wooded hillside, a place
Adam did not recognize; it was still dusk here, so they could not
yet have traveled many kilometers toward their goal.

  Vito was not with them. Merit, her sudden fear evident, looked
around in all directions for her husband. But he was gone. She
turned to Ray.

   "It's all right," Ray told her, calmly, paternally. "The little feller
isn't too scared—I've still got a touch on him."

  Merit's eyes blazed briefly in anger, and Adam was glad they
were not aimed at him.

   The three of them waited, resting minds and bodies between
jumps. They had warned Adam that teleportation could be
physically draining, and he was learning that they were right.
They walked about a little, restlessly, as individuals, but still kept
close together. Dusk was deepening slowly. Limited conversation
was exchanged. Ray had to keep reassuring Merit, or trying to do
so. "I tell you he's all right."

  "He'd better be. He'd better be."

  "Time to go," Ray told the others presently. He was as calm as
ever.

   —and they were standing in the middle of an open space, a
larger clearing surrounded by a different forest, and now it was
deep moonless night. The group was still three strong; Vito had
rejoined it somehow, but now Ray was nowhere to be seen.

   Merit almost crushed her husband hugging him, crying out
softly in her relief. Then the three exchanged whispered
information. Vito had spent his time of separation from the
others in almost total darkness. Except that he had been under
trees somewhere, evidently in a forest, he could offer no
intelligent opinion as to where he had been, or how far from the
others.

  Overhead, the Galaxy sprawled across a velvet sky. From the
position of the constellations Adam estimated the local time at
about two hours after sunset. That meant that they were well on
their way around the planet, standing now on Golden's surface at
a point much farther from Stem City than any other Earth
visitors had ever reached.

  Vito was fumbling with something in the dark. Then he
announced: "We're still in the Field here. Just as I was on my
solo side trip. I thought we might strike a pocket of normality
under the Field somewhere. Theoretical possibility, but we
haven't come to it yet."

   Adam whispered to Merit: "How long will we wait here, do you
think?"

  "Maybe as long as half an hour. I don't think the next jump
can be delayed more than that—Adam?"

  "What?"

  "Did Ray show you—anything of the Field-builders, as he did
me?"

  "No. He evidently couldn't—I'm not able to see into his mind
that clearly."

  "He showed me. If he's right, well, what we're doing is more
important than—almost more important than we can imagine."

  "Great." Vito sounded more impatient than impressed. "Is
that the sea I smell?"

  They all sniffed the air. There was a certain alien tang; none of
them could be sure if salt water was a component.

  Adam said: "But we can't be far from the sea now, anyway. Do
you think we'll make the other coast in one more jump, or will it
be an island?"

  "There's no way to be sure," said Merit.

   Adam could feel an inner tide rising, an oncoming aura of
teleportation. He opened his mouth to speak, but there was no
time to speak. Then the ground dropped out from under Adam's
feet, and he lost his surroundings in the darkness. He was aware,
for just a moment, of a strong, cool wind blowing in his face
from out of the continuing darkness, as he fell feet first through
empty night.

  And then he splashed into salt water, deep and rough.

   He fought his way back to the surface, swimming desperately
to keep afloat against the weight of pack and weapons. The
pattern of the icy stars told his racing mind that the time here
was near midnight, and that in turn meant that he must be
somewhere near the middle of a great ocean.

   Parapsych theory to the contrary, there seemed to be nothing
to prevent his drowning here as a direct result of his
teleportation. Adam slipped out of his pack straps, abandoned
bow and quiver to the sea, and let the belt that held his knife and
hatchet sink away from him. There was no choice.

   The water was almost comfortably warm. At least it felt
considerably warmer than the air, and now, relieved of his
burden of equipment, Adam could swim quite easily. There was
no need, at least as yet, to shed his boots. They were lightweight
and non-absorbent, Space Force surplus like some of the rest of
his clothing.

  From moment to moment he expected to be rescued from the
sea by another teleporting jump. But the usual premonitory
sensation did not come to him, and no jump happened. Did that
indicate that even in the middle of the ocean he was really not in
serious danger? So Ray had reassured him. Adam wouldn't have
cared to bet on it. But now he had no choice.

   Adam bobbed about in moderate waves, turning to look and
listen in every direction. He tried to keep a screen blank in his
mind, ready for any telepathic message that might be sent his
way. He called out vocally, but got no answer.

   At first the night around him had appeared featureless. But as
his eyes adjusted more fully to the dark, he thought he saw, in
one direction, a dark mass at the horizon, blotting out stars in
the lowest part of the sky. Having no other plan to follow, Adam
paddled toward the blot. Still really expecting to be teleported
away at any moment, he took his time, coasting relaxed face
down in the water for long seconds, then coming up for a quick
breath and a lunging stroke with arms and legs.

  It was impossible to judge the distance of the land ahead. If
indeed it was land—it still might be clouds, for all he knew.
Whatever it was, Adam swam on toward it, through the alien sea
and night, each moment half-expecting the next teleportation
jump to whisk him away.

  The stars informed him that something like an hour of steady
swimming had passed, before he felt completely sure that the
dark mass was solid and that he was definitely closer to it. Then
almost at once he heard the sound of gentle waves on a beach,
and touched sand with his feet.

   He had been in excellent physical shape and well rested when
the teleporting started, and the swim had not really tired him.
With hardly a pause for rest, Adam walked up out of the water
onto a sand spit which curved away toward a greater land mass,
his original dark target bulk. There were no lights to be seen
ahead, nothing but featureless darkness. Staring through the
darkness, Adam tried to formulate a plan.

  He was beginning to grow worried. He should have been swept
away many minutes ago, together with his fellow Jovians, in
another teleporting jump. But he had not been swept away.
Something might have gone wrong. The telepathic world was
dark and cloudy too, as far as his own limited, half-developed
powers could show it to him.

   It was borne in on him how much he was dependent on the
others, on Ray especially. Too dependent. There was no help for
it now, but Adam didn't like it. He was going to have to develop
his own powers.

   But now was not the time to start on that. Still it was not in a
planeteer's nature to just sit and wait and hope for the best—nor
was it in a Jovian's nature, Adam told himself. He began to walk
slowly and cautiously along the narrow curving spit of sand
toward the dark amorphous mass ahead. He tried to probe
ahead with his mind, willing to settle for a minimum, for the
foreknowledge of a few meters of space, a few seconds of time.
Even this modest effort failed.

  Slowly the dark blur resolved itself. An island gradually grew
and widened and took shape around Adam as he advanced.
There were many trees, sheltering pools of deeper blackness. He
could not guess at the island's size. For all that he could see, it
might have been some portion of a mainland; but he was still
sure that he was somewhere near midocean.

   His steps slowed as the darkness thickened. The only artificial
light he had with him was matches, and he feared they might
only reveal him without letting him see much of his
environment. He decided that it would after all be best to find
some kind of hiding place in which to wait for daybreak. Then,
when he could see, he would cope with the situation as best he
could, assuming that teleportation had still not swept him on.

   Adam was moving forward, one cautious step at a time, under
a thick growth of trees, when the stench hit him. The
overpoweringly evil smell came at him in a wave, as suddenly as
if some huge beast with bad teeth that yawned in the midnight
darkness immediately in front of him.

   But it was not really the odor of rottenness, though it was just
as bad. It was not only repugnant but totally strange. It stopped
Adam in his tracks, and sent him centimetering his way
cautiously backward.

   And then there was a voice out of the darkness ahead, a kind
of voice that formed words, though it was otherwise an utterly
inhuman, belching sound.

    "Earthman," it said, creating words in the common language
of Earth, carving them out in a strange heavy accent. "Earthman,
I like to think about your kind."

   "Uh—uh—" Adam stuttered; he nearly fell. An impulse to
giggle fought within him against an even stronger urge to turn
and run. Planeteering training won out, and he neither ran nor
fell into hysterics, but only backed away another step, his arms
rising automatically to a defensive position.
  Talk, his training urged him. If someone on a strange world
spoke to a planeteer, the planeteer was supposed to answer.

   Adam replied: "You like to think of us? Why?" He experienced
a trivial satisfaction at the steadiness of his voice.

  The voice came again. "Why? I marvel at your grasping of the
small. And why do you kill each other with such enthusiasm?"
The basso barking, belching at him out of the night had a
tympanic sound, like the deepest roar of a lion. Still Adam was
able to sense nothing else about the speaker, except the
smell—the smell was gradually fading now, and perhaps it did
not really belong to him, or her, or it.

  "I'm not sure why we do these things," Adam temporized.
"What do you want of me now?"

  "You have come to an island where I am. Do you know why
you have come here?" There was a pause, just long enough for
Adam to have forced in an answer if he had had one ready.
"Then follow me," the voice commanded.

  There was a receding sound. Adam's imagination, trying to
match that sound convincingly with something in the physical
world, could picture nothing more likely than a hollow metal
drum, being dragged away forcefully through dense thorny
bushes.

   Adam hesitated only briefly; then with a mental shrug he
followed the sound, walking with slow lightless caution through
the almost perfect darkness under the trees. Within a few
strides, at approximately the location from which the voice had
spoken to him, he stepped on something that quivered and
scattered like small hard living creatures under his boots. A wave
of the strange ugly odor rose overpoweringly about him, only to
fade quickly as he moved on.

   Under the trees Adam encountered neither thorn bushes nor
metal drums, nor anything remotely like them. The ground was
level and largely barren. The sound led him on steadily, at an
easy pace. Adam paced cautiously after its maker through the
darkness, sensing the tree trunks only just in time to avoid
bumping into them.

  Soon the source of the sound changed the direction of its
movement sharply. Adam followed the change, and soon after
that bumped up against a wall of something that felt like
sandstone. His groping hands told him that the wall was no more
than chest high, but thicker than he could reach across.

   His guide seemed to be following the wall now, moving to the
right.

   After a few more turns, all made following the windings of the
wall, Adam saw a yellowish light ahead. At about the same time,
he and his guide emerged from under the trees. Now the
starlight showed him the being he was following, but only as a
vague shape, the size of a man perhaps. It was ten meters or so
ahead of him and moving quite close to the ground. Whatever it
might be, it was not a human of the primate theme.

   The yellow glow ahead was coming from inside a one-story
building. The structure was of a simple, flat-roofed design, with
doorways and windows open to the tropic night. It appeared to
be constructed of the same rough stone as the low wall. There
was a gateway in the wall now, and they passed through it, Adam
still following his guide, toward the building's largest doorway.

   "Go inside," said the tympanic voice of Adam's guide, who had
now stopped at a little distance to one side. "Go inside and look.
I want to see what effect on your parapsych theories is had by
the sight of a possible result. Did I phrase that correctly? I am
not one who knows your speech behavior well. But go and look.
Be my fellow scientist, hey?"

   Adam walked toward the open doorway at the center of the
low building. Inside he could see a large, plain, stone-walled
room, illuminated by the bright yellow glow that was coming
from no visible source. The room contained nothing but a large,
open pit or tank sunk into the middle of the floor and defended
by a circular low wall.

  The sight of a possible result. The Field-builders' torture
chamber, or one of them. Adam paused in the doorway, intuition
whispering to him that in this room he was going to find the
half-alive remains of Alexander Golden.

  He didn't want to see that. He hoped more fiercely than ever
that the next teleportation jump would quickly come, come now,
and take him out of this. But he made himself cross the floor to
the low wall around the tank, and look over the wall and down.

   "They came in past the robot picket ships ten hours ago," said
General Lorsch. For the first time in many days there was no
tiredness in her voice. Her electronic pointer flashed as it
marked the location of the sighting on the holographic model of
the space around Golden. Around her the small, dimly lighted
briefing room on the command deck of the flagship was quiet,
the small group of people who filled it listening intently.

  "The pickets have been following them," the General went on,
"and no doubt they are aware of that. Now they're within fifteen
hundred kilometers of planet surface, and holding position there.
We're going to surround them as best we can with our three
manned ships, and then we're going to ask them some questions.
Yes, Colonel, what is it?"

  Brazil stood up in the small group of senior officers present.
"Ma'am, is an arrest certain?"

   Lorsch paused for just a second before answering. "I'd say
almost certain. This is the Jovian ship, and it's illegal; we can't
have people jaunting anywhere they like in starships, involving
all humanity in God knows what.

  "I don't know if the Jovians intend to resist arrest. We don't
know what weapons they may have. Considering their abilities,
maybe something very new and very good." She looked around
her solemnly. "We'll be three ships to one, but, frankly, this
operation may develop into a battle. We must be ready for that."

  Another officer stood up. "Boarding parties, ma'am, I
presume?"

   "Correct. Colonel Brazil is going to be in command of that part
of the operation. Colonel, I want you to me right after this
meeting."

  Me and my hotshot record, Boris thought, sitting down again.

   Adam stood looking down into the tank, feeling a kind of
strained, puzzled relief, an anticlimax. Five meters below, an
amphibious beast of a kind that he had never seen before
splashed and wallowed in shallow water. There was nothing in
the appearance of the beast to connect it with Alexander Golden,
or indeed with humanity in any way; rather it looked vaguely like
a seal. Assuming that the creature was native to Golden, it was
hardly surprising that Adam had never encountered a member
of its species before. Golden was after all an Earth-sized world,
and he was now standing in a hemisphere of that world that had
never before been explored by Earth-descended humans.

   There was a tiny splash in the water, just beside the seal-like
creature. And then another splash and then another. Something,
a slow hail of small objects, was falling into the tank.

   Adam looked up at a blank stone ceiling, close above. He could
see the tiny objects materializing in the air now, a thin rain of
them, looking like pebbles, coming out of the air under the low
ceiling to fall and patter around the thing living in the tank.
Suddenly, like an animated rubber toy, the creature stretched its
body completely out of its old shape and into a new one, altering
its form completely into something like that of an octopus. Still it
never at any stage of the change looked anything like Alexander
Golden, or any other human being of Earth.

   "Observe classic symptom of falling stones," boomed the
guide's voice, from somewhere in the darkness outside the
building. "But do you not detect the sickness? I thought you were
a sensitive, teleporting as you were."

   Adam turned to face the wide dark open doorway. All he could
think of was to try to change the subject. In his growing state of
shock, ingrained planteering methods won out again. "Will you
tell me your name?" he asked.

   "I am studying you, not the other way around. Co-operation,
please."
  "I only want to—"

   Afterward Adam could not remember just what he had meant
to say he wanted. He found himself sitting on the stone floor,
with his back against the low wall that guarded the tank, and
with no idea of how long he had been sitting there. He felt no
pain and had no memory of any, but the feeling that he had
driven his will into some analog of a stone wall, so that his will
had been bent back upon itself. The effect was disorganizing, like
an electric shock to the central nervous system.

   The guide's concussive voice, patiently curious, now repeated
its question from the outer darkness. "Do you sense the sickness
of the one in the tank? Answer, please."

   It seemed wise to avoid further argument. Adam got to his
feet and looked into the tank again. No further change in the
occupant was observable. "No. This being looks—strange to me.
But I can sense nothing wrong, in the sense of sickness." Merit,
Ray, where are you?

  They were nowhere, as far as he could tell.

   Could he somehow have missed, been left out from, a
teleportation jump?

   If Adam's guide was aware of his efforts at telepathy, it did not
comment on them. "That being in the tank has deformed itself,"
the creature outside in the night explained. "Crippled its mind
and body, by using what you call parapsych forces in an attack
upon another being. Such is the usual result of attempting such
use—" The guide interrupted itself with a sudden skreeking
noise. "Did you think he was one of your kind? Not so, he is one
of mine, and this planet is his native world.

  Such as he are brought to this island to reach for health, and I
am here to help them. I think you came here because of that, and
because I like to think about your kind."

  Adam knew that straining anxiously for the teleporting jump
would not help him to attain it. He strained anyway. He got
nowhere.
  Again he tried to contact Merit's mind, or Ray's, and again he
had no success.

  The guide asked him again, with patient interest: "Why do
you of Earth destroy each other with such enthusiasm?"

   Trying to think of a reasonable answer, Adam for the first
time and without trying caught a flash of the guide's mind; a
glimpse not of black threatening, foreshadowing wings, but of
something incomprehensible but magnificent. Adam's mind
supplied the image of a carven alien palace.

  Was this a Field-Builder? But no, it couldn't be. Ray had been
very vague in his physical descriptions of them, but he had said…

   Now that Adam tried to think of it, he could not recall that
Ray had given any physical description of his enemies at all. But
their minds, their minds as Ray had pictured them, were vats of
sickness.

   Now the guide, with keen curiosity, was telepathically
directing a question—Adam could not tell what question—to
another of its kind. Adam sensed that other mind, too, for one
instant, then both were gone from his perception. Through the
open doorway he heard metallic scratching noises again, as his
guide went moving away through darkness.

   Adam was left alone with the thing, the creature, in the tank.
But do you not detect the sickness? He could not. Remembering
his hallucination on the

  Stem City slideway, he closed his eyes briefly; the low stone
wall beneath his hands felt utterly and completely real.

  Opening his eyes, he saw a light outside the building, and for
an instant interpreted what he saw as the dawn. But this was a
much closer fire, not far outside the doorway now and moving
nearer still.

  After another glance at the wallowing, stretching thing in the
tank, Adam went to. the doorway and looked out.
   The fire came walking quietly around the corner of the
building and toward him, in the shape of a tall man. A man
being consumed steadily by flame, pacing toward Adam, who
backed away mechanically, with almost no capacity left for
astonishment. With dim horror Adam saw that the flesh was
already charred away from the bones of the man's arms and
fingers. The figure turned a blackened horror that was no longer
a face toward Adam. Sound came from it, a parody of speech.

   Only then was Adam able to react with some semblance of
purpose. He dashed back into the building, with the vague
thought of somehow getting water to throw on the burning man,
or some flame-smothering thing to wrap him in. But there was
no way to scoop up water from the tank, nothing within his
reach but stone, no way to help. The seal-like creature in the
tank still sloshed gently, in water far down out of Adam's reach.

  Adam turned away from the tank and ran outside again. He
was just in time to see the flaming figure collapse. There was no
writhing in pain or shock; the body was simply too structurally
damaged now to stand.

   As Adam watched the body shrivel on the sand, the next
teleporting jump swept him up unexpectedly.

              Chapter Seventeen
  Colonel Boris Brazil had just left a last briefing session with
the General, and now he was conducting a similar meeting of his
own, meanwhile wondering in odd moments how he had ever
managed to get himself into this.

   "We're about twenty-four thousand kilometers from them
right now," he was telling the hundred potential space
marines—most of them really planeteers—who sat in rows
looking up at him. "We're keeping station. And they're just
sitting there, eight hundred klicks directly above the Ringwall.
They won't answer us, but they certainly know we're here. In a
few hours we're going to start closing in on them from three
directions, and do whatever we have to do to get their attention
one way or another. If it does come to a fight, and the General
does decide on a boarding action— well, you and I are elected."
  The hundred faces arrayed before him were all sober, and the
great majority of them were young.

  They asked him silently: Are you going to be able to lead an
operation like that? What do you know about it? How many of us
are going to get killed?

  Boris went on: "I don't need to tell you that a genuine battle
would be something new for all of us. I've been in a little fight or
two, here and there. And I did get a high score the last time I
played at maneuvers with robot ships, if that kind of thing
reassures anyone."

   His audience relieved him somewhat at this point by
managing a faint perfunctory laugh, and he went on. "All
right—let's see who among you had the highest ratings in
boarding techniques, last time you practiced. Anybody with
A-one, raise your hands. Good. How about A-two?"

   In a matter of minutes he had squad leaders chosen.
Dismissing the rest temporarily, he called the handful of squad
leaders, a much more manageable number, into a smaller
meeting to sketch in a tentative battle plan.

   "We have half a dozen yesmen available for what look like the
dirtiest jobs. So I'm going to volunteer six people, I want you to
suggest names, for the comparative safety of puppet chambers
aboard this ship."

  Wish I had Adam Mann here for this job, Brazil thought to
himself. He was remembering that first geryon hunt here on
Golden, with Mann in the puppet chamber then. That seemed
now like so many years ago.

   Adam came out of the last teleportation jump into broad
daylight, standing almost upright at the bottom of a ravine
overgrown with low vegetation. He staggered, off balance for an
instant, crashing through bushes of unfamiliar types. The sky
visible above the steep sides of the ravine was a clear blue, with a
few clouds in it red-tinged by a sun quite low in the sky. The
time was either shortly after dawn, or late in the afternoon.
  There was a sound like steady thunder, coming from
somewhere in the middle distance.

  No one else was in sight.

   Adam started up one side of the ravine. When he had climbed
a few meters he could see drifting, mountainous clouds of spray
in the lower sky ahead of him, and he knew that he was very near
the Ringwall now. The thunder in the air must issue from the
vast falls and rapids of its surrounding rivers.

   He climbed all the way up the side of the ravine, and stopped.
He could see now that he was standing about halfway up the side
of a larger slope. All along the wide valley below him, a wild
nameless river tore itself over kilometers of rocks. Above the
river's opposite shoreline, rainbow-haunted clouds of mist
climbed steadily, as if impelled by a rising wind. The clouds were
ascending a steep, barren slope, kilometers long, to fog the
morning sky above the Ringwall itself.

   Built atop that long opposite slope, the outer cliff-face of the
Ringwall went curving and angling away from Adam in both
directions. It had a look of unreality, like a surrealist painting on
a stage backdrop; yet it was real. Flying birds were distant
specks between him and its bulk.

   And it was not really a cliff face, or at least it was not
completely natural. Looking at it this closely, from this angle,
Earthly eyes could at last be sure of that. The Ringwall was at
least in part deliberate construction, made according to some
intelligent design.

  There were outcroppings, along its top and upon its flanks,
with lines as straight as those of any structure ever built on
Earth, their shapes suggesting turrets and battlements. There
were calculated niches, and true columns, and real buttresses,
appearing here and there along the length and height of that
awesome wall. In the blue-shadowed recesses between the larger
projections there might be room for small villages—but Adam
knew somehow that villages would not be there.

  The Ringwall. Adam Mann looked down at the foot of its
island, then looked up, up a kilometer and more, at the face of
the wall itself. He could see now how a million niches and a
million windows of various depths and shapes had been cut into
the white or brown or gray rock. There were streaks of pure
crimson, straight or in perfect curves, that ran among the
openings and marked the joinings of stone blocks whose sides
were measurable in hectares. Trees grew on the wall in places,
miniature forests less like window-gardens than like moss upon a
castle wall.

   Adam thought of the thousands of pictures taken from Space
Force scoutships, ships driving or floating six hundred
kilometers or more above this scene. No telescopic camera had
been able to see detail anything like this, not through the
eternally rising mist and through whatever it was that fogged the
films in infrared. Not simple heat, apparently. Adam, at his
distance on the ground, could feel no radiant heat.

   There were certainly structures on Earth at least as high as
this one. There might be one or two as big, measured by volumes
and distances. Measured by sight and feel, there was nothing to
compare with it.

   Adam tore his eyes away from the Ringwall at last. On his own
side of the river he scanned the long bushy slope, cut with small
winding ravines, that extended for a great distance to his right
and left. He was looking for his companions, and once he began
actively looking for them he quickly spotted Ray. The huge man,
his body tiny against the backdrop of the river valley, was
standing some distance below Adam, on a little rocky plateau
directly above the river's edge. Ray had his back turned to Adam,
and was gazing steadily across the river, up to where the giants'
stonework waited.

   Adam cupped his hands to his mouth, but the yell he had been
about to utter died in his throat. When he looked at Ray more
closely, he saw that Ray was standing firmly in midair, his feet
half a meter above the rock.

   It was no news to Adam that Ray Kedro had the power to do
such things; but the sight of a para-psych trick now, here in the
face of the enemy, gave Adam a sense of something indefinably
wrong. Was the trick meant to impress someone? The
Field-builders? If not that, what?

   Adam looked around again in all directions, but could see
nothing of either Merit or Vito. He turned and scrambled back
down to the bottom of his small ravine, then followed its
sinuously eroded curve down the larger slope toward Ray. Adam
had lost his weapons, his food, and his canteen, but such losses
might not matter much. Not if they could quickly complete
whatever job Ray had in mind…

  Adam halted for a moment, closing his eyes. For the first time,
doubt came over him with dizzying force. What job did Ray
expect to do here, exactly? No one knew that but Ray.

   And Adam hurried on. Yes, complete the job—or quickly
abandon the attempt, Adam thought to himself—and jump out
of here again within a few hours.

  He wondered at himself, as he trotted down the ravine. Why
had he ever agreed to come here? Three men, one woman,
against…

  Against what, exactly? Adam thought of the creature who had
spoken to him on the island, and of the burning man he had
encountered there.

   If it had been anyone else but Ray who had suggested that four
of them come here and attack the Field-builders, Adam would
have called it madness. But because it was Ray…

  And then I even used what we call projection to present our
case, Ray had said to him once. That method gives me very
considerable powers of persuasion.

  Did Ray actually mean for only the four of them to—

   Adam stopped again. Somewhere down the ravine ahead of
him, a woman was wailing. It was a low sound, expressing
terrible grief. Slowly Adam moved forward. A terrible buried
suspicion was rising in his mind, and he could not yet let himself
see exactly what the suspicion was.
   He came in sight of the woman, and she was Merit, collapsed
and weeping on the ground, huddled over a hiking pack. Adam
knelt beside her, to lift and turn her gently. Her face was
contorted, in agony of some kind, in an agony of grief, and her
blank eyes seemed to look up through Adam to the sky.

   He saw now that the pack Merit was crouching over was the
one that Vito had been wearing. Adam saw also that the
shoulder straps of the pack now ended abruptly, in short stumps,
and that the very ends of the .straps were burned black, as if a
slow laser might have cut them away.

   Still not really looking at him, Merit spoke to him suddenly, in
a hurried and mumbling voice. It was as if she were hardly
conscious of who she was speaking to or what she said.

   "… he said, the time has come for defiance—of something. He
said that now was the time for a bold decisive step. He told me
he was behind what they did to Vito in Stem City." Her eyes
came to focus on Adam's face at last. "And he was the one who
made Vito try to fight you, at Fieldedge. I thought so, then, I
feared so, but I couldn't believe it."

  "Who?" Adam asked her. As if he did not already know.

  "Ray. Ray, Ray, Raymond Kedro. Then they burned my
husband to death just now, he and the others."

  "The others?" Adam whispered. He added dazedly: "I saw a
burning man."

   "The others. Most of our siblings, up in the ship. Most of them
follow Ray. They have for years. I followed him too. I did
everything he wanted, all these years. Almost everything. I had
no children. But still he had to kill Vito. Vito, Vito!"

   Merit bent again, swaying from side to side as if in physical
agony, and a long keening moan, an almost animal sound, came
from her.

   Adam spoke to her. He petted her and stroked her hair. Then
after a few moments he abandoned the effort and stood up. He
could do nothing for Merit right now. He moved on down the
ravine.

   The raging water was near at hand, and the sound of it was
loud, when Adam reached the foot of the rock that Ray was
standing on, or rather standing above. Ray still gazed as if
entranced across the river, at the Ringwall. Ray's right arm was
now almost two meters long. The arm hung grotesquely out of its
sleeve, the big hand trailing along the rock below Ray's feet like
something Ray had forgotten. The arm was stretched out of all
natural shape and proportion. It suggested the deformed
members of the creature that Adam had seen on the island,
confined in the sunken tank.

   Ray, continuing to gaze at the Ringwall, paid no attention to
his altered arm, or to Adam, calling up to him.

  Adam climbed the rock, with difficulty. By the time he
reached the flat top, Ray's feet were down on rock again, and his
arm had regained a normal appearance. Adam noticed now that
Ray was also missing his pack and weapons and canteen.

  The huge man looked at Adam now, calmly and without
surprise. "Ours," Ray said, raising an arm and pointing to the
Ringwall. "Whenever we choose to take it. And after that, the
Field. And, after that, the universe."

  "Merit says you killed—"

   Ray interrupted, his loud voice riding over Adam's as if he
were not aware that anyone might be speaking. "I was wrong,
before, when I thought that a greater race than ours might come
after us. That would be impossible. I see now that we are the
ultimate peak of evolution. I could have allowed pure-bred
Jovian children to exist, for they could never have become our
superiors. Never. But… it's best after all that we've waited for
them. All my decisions are for the best. When this little war is
over, we will have a time of peace. There'll be time enough for
children then."

  Adam grabbed at Ray, seized the arm that a moment ago had
been stretched. In his grasp it felt quite human and normal now,
plain flesh and bone. "You and the others killed Vito? Why?"

  "Easy, Ad. Take it easy." Ray pulled his arm roughly away.
"We had to spank Merit, but she'll be all right in a little while.
You don't know yet what it is to be a Jovian. So don't try to tell
me what to do."

  "Spank her?" Adam could hear panic in his own voice. "What
are you talking about? Who do you mean, we?"

  Had the Field-builders somehow managed to drive Ray mad?

  "Our ship's up there, now." Ray pointed overhead; listened to
word by word, he sounded rational, as firmly in control of
himself and of events as always. "Merit fought us, over that
human husband of hers, and so we had to discipline her. I should
never have allowed her to have him, to begin with—but she'll get
over it. She'll be all right, soon."

   Adam backed up, getting as far from Ray as he could on the
little plateau. The river roared at the rocks below, not caring
what people did.

  Why do you kill each other with such enthusiasm?

   Ray was looking at him now with an expression of—well, of
annoyance. And meanwhile one of Ray's legs was beginning to
elongate, doubling up under the big man's massive body. Ray
shifted his balance, putting his weight on the other leg, but
otherwise he did not appear to notice the new change.

  Ray said to Adam: "Don't look so shocked. Remember, Ling
was only human."

  "Only human."

   "Yes." Ray nodded soberly, as if he considered that he was
making quite a serious point. "And he was keeping Merit away
from us. Away from me especially. And what if she had become
pregnant by him, and carried such a hybrid to term? That was a
possibility, you know. Interbreeding is still possible, and the
purity of the Jovian race must be preserved. She'll be glad, when
she finally understands what it means to be a Jovian. Yes, the
purity of the race must be preserved." A shadow crossed Ray's
face, and he raised his voice. "I tell you, don't look that way at
me! After all, we once did the same for you."

  The river thundered in Adam's ears.

  Alice.

                Chapter Eighteen
  For combat Brazil was buttoned into his boarding capsule,
melded with the machine into a semi-robot that along with a
swarm of others like it had been fired out of the flagship into the
sunlit vacuum of six hundred kilometers altitude above the
Ringwall, where it now clung, a leech among other leeches, to the
huge hull of the Jovian ship. Instruments now reported to Boris
Brazil, the man inside this particular semi-robot, that one of its
metal arms was gone now, burned or blown away already and
that the temperature of the capsule's outer surface had risen well
past the melting point of lead.

   The heat inside the Colonel's capsule was still survivable. It
was the hole in the armored hull of it, near his left foot, that
might be going to finish him. Something had pierced the capsule
at its foot, and had come through the leg of the armored suit the
Colonel wore inside it, and clobbered his own left foot and ankle.
The suit's hypos and tourniquet had bitten him. Flesh and blood
had no business, he thought, mixing into this kind of a fight.

   The capsule had sealed itself again around him, and Brazil had
no time to worry about his numbed leg. Now he was scrambling
his boarding capsule, under semi-automatic control, over the
surface of the Jovian "s hull, probing for some weak spot where
he could hang on successfully and start trying to dig in. At the
same time he was trying to coordinate the similar activities of
the rest of the boarding party, which was under his command.

  Until about half an hour ago, the Jovians on their ship had
behaved like relatively sane people, talking calmly if a bit
unreasonably to the three Space Force ships confronting them,
while the four of them rode together in formation around the
planet, leaving the dawn terminator behind them and keeping
the Ringwall below.

  Then a disturbance had erupted inside the Jovian ship. It had
begun, as far as the Space Force listeners could tell, suddenly.
First there was the background noise of verbal wrangling,
coming plain over the communications channel open between
the ships. Then there were sounds of some more violent trouble.

   It began with one voice, that was heard over the radio channel
for the first time as it broke into a wrangle over space law and
the rights of travelers, crying jubilantly: "We've done it, we've
killed with our minds alone!"

  Then protest, from other voices, equally fierce and sudden:

  "It's wrong!"

  "And what of the reaction, have you thought of that?"

   But the protestors had been obviously a minority aboard the
Jovian, for they were shouted down. Then pandemonium. They
had forgotten to turn off their radio transmitter over there, or
they had scorned to do so, or else they had deliberately wanted
the human world to hear. To Boris and other outsiders listening,
it was as if everyone aboard the Jovian ship had suddenly got
drunk, or gone mad.

   "For the purity of the race!" one voice, a woman's, had cried
out from there, exultantly. And on that note the Jovians, or their
prevailing majority, had started the firefight without warning,
aiming what must have been everything they had at Lorsch's
flagship. The flagship was hurled a hundred and fifty kilometers
away, her outer hull punctured in spite of ready defenses, and
three of her crew killed instantly.

   Lorsch had driven her ship back as fast as possible to where
the others were roasting each other, and her three ships had
clamped on to the Jovian with forcefields, the flagship using all
the power of her space-bending engines, so that the four ships
hung locked together now, like atoms in some giant molecule.
   While their computers fenced, striking at one another with
their flickering hammers of weaponry, women and men huddled
in their cocoons of metal and padding, waiting for computers to
present them with the next decision that could be made slowly
enough for humans to have competency.

  General Lorsch made one such decision, and the boarding
party was launched, led by yesmen in the first six capsules. The
Jovians' smaller weapons picked out and destroyed the yesmen,
and killed or wounded the first six human beings to launch,
Brazil among them, before any of the boarders reached the
enemy hull. And here and there, in a capsule-cocoon that had
been penetrated by no apparent physical force, a Space Force
man or woman burned silently and perhaps painlessly to death.

   To Boris, the battle was experienced largely as electronic
signals inside his capsule, and the movements he made with the
capsule's inhuman limbs; the gabble of question and answer and
noise inside his helmet, and heat and shock and pain. And the
gradual conviction that his left foot and ankle were completely
gone.

   In his helmet a voice said, at intervals: "We're holding, we're
holding." The Colonel understood what the voice meant: the
engines of the Space Force ships, acting as generators now, were
standing the overload of combat, resisting the enemy, and
striking at him with weapons of heat and force and disruption,
powers like something out of the heart of a sun.

   And the enemy was still resisting too, and still hitting back
hard, but it seemed that he could spare none of his incredible
strength to pick the metal gnats of the boarding party from his
armored surface.

   Each metal gnat was protected from Space Force weapons by
its own friend-or-foe radar beacon; the racing combat
computers on the big ships picked the tiny voices of friendship
out of the inferno of battle noise, and channeled their violence
elsewhere—at least, so matters went in hopeful theory. Practice,
to Boris, was being bounced off the hull time and again, when
something heavy hit nearby, then getting back to the hull again
with his capsule's jets, and scrambling again for a hold.
  He was bounced off again, more violently than before, and
coming back saw on his capsule's viewscreen a red-rimmed dark
hole, a couple of meters in diameter, piercing the smooth bright
Jovian hull just ahead of him.

  "Breach! Breach!" someone else was shouting, having spotted
the hole at the same time.

   "Thor, this is Bee, we are entering a breach," Boris called back
to the flagship, giving the machine called Fire Control the
information that fragile friendly human flesh was about to do
just that.

   "We're gaining!" shouted the voice that usually said We're
holding—the voice of someone who watched an indication of the
total force being exerted by the Jovian. The enemy had been hurt
now—either that or he was faking, pretending weakness,
gathering his strength for an even greater effort to come.

   Brazil led his boarding party into the torn-open hull, hoping to
stay alive, trying to take the enemy alive. Weapons ready, he
scrambled his capsule forward through a slick patch of still
semi-molten metal, into the breach.

  "You killed Alice. You were behind everything they did to her."
Adam spoke as he stood facing Ray on the flat rock, with the
wide river roaring below them and the Ringwall looking down.

   Ray looked at him calmly, and made a slight dismissive
gesture. "Oh yes. Your wife. But never mind that now. We knew
best. You have to admit that we always know best." The answer
was delivered almost absently, as if Ray were overwhelmingly
distracted. Even before he finished speaking he had turned his
face partly away from Adam, and was looking up at the Ringwall
again.

   Ray said: "The Field-builders are in there, with their
victims—and they're aware of us out here. Aware at this moment
of me here, looking in at them… but our ship is overhead—did I
tell you that?" He looked back at Adam, calmly and inquiringly.

  Adam stared back. Even rage had to pause. "You've forgotten
telling me that, two minutes ago?"

   Ray blinked at him, as if Adam's question had no possible
relevance. Then Ray, as if continuing with some subject already
under discussion, said: "It was years ago when we first began to
weed the human garden. For a time, a long time, we were too
conservative. We removed only certain very objectionable
people—the power-mad, the organizers of hate groups and of
crime syndicates—obscene little creatures, unworthy even of our
true human ancestors. Then gradually we began to feel more
confident, and to do more.

   "From now on, we will do more still. You of course were wrong
to mate with a human female. But you didn't know then that you
were Jovian. We can forgive you."

  "You—can forgive me Alice."

   Ray ignored the answer. "We were right, of course, to dispose
of her. But I see now that we were in—can I call it error?" He
shook his head, muttering for a moment to himself. "Of course I
can call it error, I can say whatever I like…"

   He looked closely again at Adam, and for a moment Ray's old
infectious grin was visible. Then the grin as gone, replaced
by—something else. A look that would have gone better with a
long, scaly neck. "… in error, in our choice of methods. Hired
physical violence." Ray's voice expressed contempt, and he shook
his head. "You foiled the attempt on Ling in Stem City, and I'm
glad now that you did. The use of such means is really beneath
us. Now, after we have killed with our minds alone, I understand
that… I think my intellect is growing tremendously now, hour by
hour, even minute by minute… now I understand that, and now I
see the true glory of… of… what was I saying?"

   A pebble fell, from out of the clear blue sky. Adam saw it
clearly as it fell, as it struck Ray on the shoulder and bounced off
to come to rest with minor clatter on the huge flat rock where
they were standing.

  Ray looked up, puzzling at the sky with slow, vague eyes.
   The mighty intelligence was crumbling, the godlike powers
falling in upon their center. Adam watched the collapse with cold
rejoicing, violent hatred.

  Adam said: "Damn you to hell, you deserve what you're
getting!"

   "Ohhh?" Ray again tore his gaze down from the Ringwall. And
now, for the first time since Adam had climbed up on the rock
with him, he gave Adam his full attention. Ray's body came
jerkily back to normal shape, the elongated leg restoring itself as
in some dream, or some conjuror's trick.

   Ray said: "One thing you must remember, one thing about
being a Jovian. It is that I am your leader, and I am always right.
If you dispute that, you must and will be disciplined. We have
begun with Merit. I think that it will be preferable to destroy her
personality entirely, and then rebuild—"

   A trigger pulled in Adam's brain, sending him two steps
forward, left, right, and then the front snap kick with the left
foot, snapped faster than the eye could follow.

   Ray moved almost as fast, and very lightly for all his bulk,
sidestepping perfectly. He smiled pityingly, and shook his head.
"Adam, Adam, will I have to rebuild you too? How can you hope
to fight a telepath physically? One who is bigger and stronger
than you are?

  "I think I will remove both you and Merit to the ship, and
begin the process there, as soon as the difficulty with the human
ships is over." Ray squinted up into the misty sky. "That should
be soon now." He turned his back on Adam again to gaze up at
the Ringwall. "Later I can return to deal with
the—creatures—who live there." Without looking Ray dodged
Adam's chop at the back of his neck. Then the huge man spun
around, avoiding a driving knee, and swung.

  Adam saw the enormous fist coming at him, and thought he
had it ducked, but it seemed to swing lower, following the
movement of his head. There was a flash in his head and his
consciousness was gone—
  —for what must have been only a second or two; he found
himself rolling onto his back, hands and feet ready for defensive
work. There was a numb fogging pressure on his mind, and his
eyes were blurring.

  Ray was standing back, calm and safe, talking and talking,
delivering a lecture:

  "—acting like a human—cannot condone—"

   Ray, Ray, who was Ray? Alice's killer, Merit's tormentor, freely
confessed, standing there in front of him. Adam rolled up into a
catlike crouch, and heard himself muttering the gutter words
and threats of his childhood. In a few seconds the cold computer
in his head was clear enough, the body ready. He started forward
in a half-crouch.

   "You cannot fight a telepath in such a way." Ray was leaning
forward, speaking very distinctly, as if to a child. Then a shade of
alarm crossed his face and he started his dodging motion in time
to avoid the first kick and the second. Then he parried the
smashing backfist strike with his forearm, and launched a kick
of his own that Adam was expecting and easily avoided.

   There was not much room on the little table of rock for
stalking, the cold computer commented unhappily to Adam. He
moved in again on Ray, and saw knowledge of his own intentions
in Ray's eyes, knowledge disregarded by Ray's supreme
confidence.

   Adam threw another combination of kicks and blows. Again
Ray could not totally avoid the final impact, though he almost
succeeded in dodging it, so much of the force was lost. But the
last kick caught him just above the knee. This time Ray's
counterpunch went only halfway before he jerked it back, just in
time to keep from being grabbed by arm and shoulder, levered
off his feet, and slammed down onto rock.

   Adam and Ray moved hesitantly closer, then alertly jerked
away from each other. Now, whenever Ray's weight came on his
right leg, he limped.
   A purple welt from one of the exchanges was now rising on
Ray's hairy forearm. But he was able to make himself stop
limping. "You are a true Jovian," he said, sounding like a proud
father. "A true—"

   He got his guard up just barely in time. Again the last phase of
the attack damaged him; he could not move swiftly enough to
escape entirely what he perceived was coming. Nor could he
strike back with Adam's unthinking speed.

  Adam made no conscious tactical plan. He moved in on Ray,
and let the years of training and practice take over.

   Adam was knocked down again. Then when Ray stepped close
to kick at him, Adam blocked the kick with his own feet, tripped
Ray and threw him back and down. Both men got to their feet,
almost grappling, breaking apart at the last instant. Then they
lunged and fell together, lungs sobbing for air, arms locking and
twisting for advantage. Ray's greater strength began to tell.
Adam got an arm free, and jabbed his enemy in the throat, and
broke away.

  Timeless and bloody, the fight wore on.

   Adam stood watching Ray's head sway back and forth. It was
an almost hypnotic movement against the background of the
Ringwall, and Adam could not tell how much of the unsteadiness
was Ray's and how much was his own. But Adam had to pause
for a moment, to gasp for breath, he had to rest. He felt as if a
gang had been beating him, though he could remember no
details of the times that Ray had been able to get to him.

  Ray's head swayed farther to one side; then all at once the
huge man sank into a half-sitting, half-kneeling position. His
hands lay down at his sides, his arms moving, quivering as if he
were trying to lift them and could not. His throat made a
choking whistle with each breath, and now before he could speak
he had to spit out something bloody.

   "I must conquer you." Ray could get out the words only a few
at a time, with little sobbing breaths between. "Or I must kill
you. Can't you see. I am the leader. I am. The greatest. Jovian of
all."

   Adam could still stand up. And he could still talk. "You killed
Alice."

   The blue eyes of the superman were filled with pain. Once
before, long ago, Adam had seen those eyes look just like that.
But now Adam bent and picked up a sharp piece of rock. Just
the right size. His hard hands hurt, and a rock would be a handy
thing with which to crush a skull.

   Ray was trying to say something more. "I—I—if you are the
leader, Adam—" He gasped, and shook his head. "Lead them
well, Adam." He looked up, pleading. "Don't get them into
trouble. I—I—sometimes I feel sick—"

  Ray managed to lift his hands all the way up to his head. Then
he rolled over sideways, writhing on the rock. From the clear sky
there came a fall of pebbles to patter around him.

   The rock in Adam's hand felt far too heavy now; his bruised
hand was trembling under the weight of it. He turned and
pitched it out into the river. Now there was nothing left.

   No, one thing, one person. Merit. He had to get to her.

   Climbing down from the little plateau of rock was painful. And
after he had climbed down he could not rest, but had to go
staggering back up the little ravine. Because Merit was there.

  From across the river the Ringwall looked down on him, as
indifferent as the sun. Someday, he told it, we'll learn what you
really are. But now he had no emotion left for it.

  Merit was sitting almost where he had left her. No more
contortions of grief, but apathetic calm.

   Adam sank down beside her, looked into her eyes that followed
him gently, and reached out with his hand. Without meaning to,
his fingers left blood on her cheek. Maybe it was the feel of the
blood that pulled her up to full awareness.
   "Adam, you're hurt." Gently she took him by the neck, and
pulled his head down into her lap and held it there, her hands
pressing and rubbing the back of his head tenderly. "I was afraid
for a long time that they'd do something to Vito," she said softly.
"Still when it happened I couldn't believe it."

  Adam closed his eyes. His whole body trembled violently for a
moment, then was able to let go in utter relaxation. "I fought
with Ray," he told her. As if he were a child hoping for an
explanation from Merit, for reassurance, for something that
would make sense. "He's still alive, sitting up there."

  "I know, I know." Her fingers soothed him. "Later we'll worry
about him. Rest now. Heal."

   Time passed. Adam felt the strengthening morning sun on his
back. Suddenly he became aware of two things: he was intensely
thirsty, and his cheek was resting on the thigh of a very desirable
woman.

   He raised his head and opened his eyes, and saw a geryon
looking at him, from only thirty meters up the ravine.

               Chapter Nineteen
   They had one knife between the two of them, one small blade
with which to try to defend themselves. Looking over the upper
edge of their little ravine, Adam spotted four more geryons,
higher on the broad slope, and working their way slowly down.
The hides of these animals were darker than those of the geryons
of the Stem area, and these were perhaps on the average a little
larger; but from what Adam could see of them so far, their
hunting formation appeared to be the same. He had no doubt
that they were hunting now, and little doubt of what they had
selected as their prey.

  He held a quick discussion with Merit, and they began to
make their way down toward the river; no other direction
appeared to offer any chance at all of avoiding the animals.

  When they came in sight of the high rock on the shoreline, Ray
was no longer there. He was nowhere to be seen.
  "Adam."

  He paused. They were almost at the shoreline now. "What?"

   Merit was holding both hands to her head. Then she looked
up, as Ray had, squinting toward the few high clouds that trailed
through the calm silent sky above the endlessly rising mist. She
said: "Something terrible is happening—there's killing and
killing, out there."

  "The Field-builders?"

  "No. I don't know if they even exist. All I know about them is
what Ray… I mean our people, and… our people. We can't expect
any help, down here, from anyone."

   "You teleport," said Adam. "Jump out of here. Try to get back
to the Stem, or up to a ship, whatever. We'll forget about the
Field-builders, they don't seem to be bothering us. I'll be all
right, until you can get some kind of help back to me."

  "No." She looked at him. "I wouldn't leave you."

   "Go, I tell you. I'm used to this kind of thing. I enjoy it. I'll be
all right."

  "No. Anyway, you don't understand. I can't tele-port alone.
Not now."

   Adam had no breath or strength left in him for argument. He
looked back. The things with human faces were getting closer,
coming slowly and methodically down the slope in their
fan-shaped formation. A couple more of them had appeared
from somewhere. They were able to smell the blood on him, of
course, Ray's blood and some of his own; they could tell a
kilometer away when something was hurt and weakened.

  Should he separate from Merit? Not yet, anyway; there were
advantages for her as well as for him in the two of them being
together. He would try to get away with her down the river, or
across it; the water ought to wash him clean of blood and that
might help.
   They forced their way through a shoreline row of tall bushes,
and emerged from it with the river right at their feet. They were
in full view now of the Ringwall, towering distantly atop the
rocky slope that went up from the far shore. The river here was
swift foaming water a hundred meters wide, everywhere shallow
and dotted with small rocky islets. Not far from where Adam and
Merit were standing, a fallen tree made a bridge from shore out
to the nearest of these islands.

  The geryons were closing in on the two humans quickly now,
their hunting formation only fifty meters away. Adam urged
Merit out onto the fallen tree.

  It was sturdy enough to bear them, and they both reached the
nearest island easily. But the island promised no safety. Within a
minute there were seven geryons gathered only a log's length
away, on the shore that the two people had just left. The animals
began cautiously testing the water with massive feet.

  "They're going to come after us," said Adam.

  "Then we'll have to cross the river."

  "All right. Let's go." It did not look absolutely impossible—and
there really was no other choice.

  Gripping hands, they slid into the water, that was here about
waist deep.

   Behind them, the animals were entering the water together,
beginning a slow swimming and wading progress toward the
first island.

   The crossing would have been a perilous one, even starting
fresh and with no danger in pursuit. Wherever the water was
deep, the man and woman swam and were swept downstream.
When a sandbar or one of the small islands came within reach,
or the stream shallowed sufficiently, they would brace their feet
on the bottom and wade again, or grip and climb on rock.

  Their lead over the cautious animals steadily lengthened.
  There were periods of time, some of them lasting for many
seconds, when Adam found that his mind and Merit's were in
contact, when without using precious breath they could trade
exact pictures of grips and footing and the distance of the
pursuing animals. Perhaps it was this mental contact that tipped
the scales, and brought them across the river alive.

   Adam crawled out upon the shore of the Ring-wall's vast
island feeling that another three meters of river to cross might
have been too much. Now he could imagine no experience in life
finer than just to lie on firm ground, without moving, and
concentrate upon the enormous job of breathing that there was
to be done.

   The geryons were still following them, so far as inexorably as
death. But they had made the crossing with their usual
prudence, and without the help of human hands to cling to
island rock. Therefore they had been swept well downstream,
and were now visible only as a scattered cluster of small dots in
the distance, still in the water. The animals' crossing of the river
was not yet finished; it might well be half an hour before they
reached this spot. But their presence downstream killed any idea
of escape by simply drifting or floating in that direction.

  Merit had recovered enough to sit up. But all was not well with
her. "Damn it. I've done something to my ankle."

  Adam raised himself on his elbows. "Teleport. Get out of here.
Bring back help. Do it for me. I'd do it if I could."

   "I tried, Adam. A moment ago. I tried to teleport to a spot just
in front of the geryons. I thought it might scare them off. But I
couldn't jump. Anywhere. Not even ten meters." Merit gave a
little watersoaked smile that quickly faded. "When Vito died, and
the others who were burned like him, up in their ships, there was
some kind of terrible— backlash. A parapsych reaction. None of
the talents are working properly any more."

  Adam grunted. Finding himself able to move again, he got
over to where Merit was sitting and started to examine her
ankle.
  From behind him, a familiar voice said: "I plan to rebuild your
minds. Both of you."

  Ray was there, seated crosslegged in the air, two meters above
the ground. His eyes looked vacantly out at them from his
battered face. Ray's arms both hung limply at his sides; one of
them was elongating and shortening again, over and over, bone
and flesh and even the sleeve included. Ray did not appear to
notice the varying deformity at all.

   "I crossed the river easily," said Ray. He spoke in a cheery
voice that made the rest of him infinitely more horrible. "I can
still teleport. I am the unique leader. The Field-builders won't be
able to hide from me now. What do you suppose they think of
that? Watch."

  And he flickered out of sight.

  Merit buried her face in her hands.

  Adam stood up, and took her by the hand, and tried to get her
up on her feet. "Never mind about Ray. Don't think about Vito.
Those animals haven't given up. We've got to keep ahead of
them, till we get somewhere they can't follow."

  Merit managed to stand up. She even found a laugh from
somewhere, though the sound of her laugh was far from
reassuring. "At least we've had a good drink now," she said, and
hobbled to refill their single canteen from the river. Their course
now was going to take them uphill, away from water.

  Adam asked: "How's the ankle?"

  "I can block that kind of pain. And I think there's no great
damage. I can walk."

  Adam's beaten body had already stiffened from the short rest,
he straightened up fully, with a grunt, and looked up the long
rock-strewn slope toward the Ringwall's overwhelming pile.

  "Then let's start up the hill," he said. "Who knows, if there's
anyone home, we might even get some help."
   From a rich supply of shoreline driftwood they chose two
broken, dead branches to serve as staffs. They started up the
slope, saving strength at the start by going slowly. Not that they
were capable of much speed anyway. The pursuing geryons were
still only distantly in sight.

  Ahead of them, Ray sat on a rock, waiting.

  Merit cried out to him: "Ray, do you know me? Can you
understand me? We need help."

  "I know you, both of you." Ray nodded wisely. "I understand
you better than you understand yourselves."

  "Ray, we need help."

  "Against the Field-builders—yes, of course. And it's only right,
only proper, that you should pray to a superior being for the help
you need. Yes. Only right." Ray's face still showed some effects of
the battering Adam had given him, but Ray no longer appeared
dazed. Rather there was a look of profound wisdom in the blue
eyes.

  Adam glanced back over his shoulder. The geryon pack was
completely across the river now, and were coming along the
shore at a loping pace. Already they had gained a hundred
meters or more. He said: "Ray, what do you want from us?
Either do something to help us, or go away."

  Ray looked at him keenly. "Adam, I want…"

  "What?"

  "I want you… I want you to come and visit our school when
you can… Doc and Regina will be glad."

   Ray still looked wise and confident. He presented the image of
a leader that any human might be glad to follow.

    In Adam's memory rose the events he had witnessed during
the night on the ocean island. He let the picture rise, and pushed
it forward in his thoughts; he could see in Merit's eyes, turned
now to him in desperation, that she was reading it, and he could
see that the implications of it hit her hard.

  Adam took her by the arm. "Never mind. No time to think
about all that how. Come along."

  There was still only one way to go; animals and fate were
driving them up to the Ringwall itself.

  They walked around Ray, and in the moment of their passage
he disappeared again.

   The sun rose higher as they climbed. It burned down on them
through the high rolling clouds of mist that here went up
eternally from the great confluence of rivers. The rocks nearby,
the great angled pile of the Ringwall ahead, the methodical
animals steadily gaining in their pursuit, all shimmered faintly
in the heat. Merit and Adam alternately drank from the canteen,
a swallow at a time, and climbed on, not daring now to pause for
even a moment's rest. Not when each backward glance showed
the unhurried geryons a few meters closer.

   We'll make it, Adam thought, trying to project encouragement
to Merit. With his imagination at least he reached forward,
trying to anchor himself on that approaching moment when they
would stagger into the shadow of one of the Ringwall's mighty
buttresses. There was no use trying now to look beyond that
moment, to see what form safety was going to take.

  But they were not going to win the race. There was no moment
when the hope of escape vanished; it faded away slowly. The
geryons were closing in more rapidly now, still without
appearing to exert themselves. One of their commoner tactics
was to let prey exhaust itself in flight, thus weakening the final
resistance.

   Merit stumbled suddenly—Adam had forgotten about her
injured ankle—and he caught her by the arm. "Teleport out of
here," he told her. "If you love me, go."

  She shook her head, her body swaying in exhaustion. "I can't."
She clung to him briefly, then pushed herself away, standing on
her own feet. "I won't."

   He took a last drink from the canteen and handed it to Merit.
"Finish it," he ordered. Then he bent and picked up a small rock
and threw it thirty meters downhill at the nearest animal. The
stone missed the arrogant, handsome face, and bounced
harmlessly off the dark hide of one shoulder. The animal stopped
for a moment, then took another hesitant step forward.

   Adam screamed at it, a brief volley of obscenities. "We didn't
come all this way to finish in your rotten guts!" Now all of the
geryons paused briefly in their patient climbing, to watch and
listen to him.

   His throwing arm possessed no yesman power now, so it was
unlikely that he could damage the animals seriously with rocks.
He climbed again, with Merit. He had not thought, looking at
this slope from the other side of the river, that the way up would
be so long, the Ringwall so remote. The very size of it had fooled
him. Now human strength was failing, draining from their
trembling legs and sliding feet.

   As always, the pack followed. Now suddenly one animal pulled
out of it, and ran past Adam and Merit up the slope, grunting
and wheezing in its brief effort for speed. It got ahead of them
easily, cutting them off from the foot of the Ringwall. Blocking
them from the towering mass of shimmering convoluted stone,
laced with shadows, whose foot Adam now estimated was only a
hundred meters ahead.

   "There must be something there," Merit croaked to him.
"There must be some kind of help there, if they trouble to cut us
off from it." She was hardly able to stand, and her hands were
bleeding from the sharp rocks that she had gripped and fallen
on. It would be of no help to Merit if he were to separate himself
from her now.

   "Come on." And Adam led her on, climbing straight toward
the waiting geryon. The beast weighed ten times what they
weighed together, and its yellowed teeth were the size of human
hands. Yet it shook its head nervously when they moved straight
at it. Adam pulled out the knife from Merit's belt, and used it to
slash a rough point on the end of his driftwood staff. His legs
kept working under him, somehow still driving him upward,
slow step after slow step.

  "Give me that." Merit took the pointed staff from him. "I can't
throw as well as you can. You keep the others off."

   Adam picked up rocks. There was always some chance, with
geryons, if you could fight back enough to hurt them at all.
Geryons waited and watched, and followed, and waited some
more. They always waited, if they could, until you were too weak
to hurt them. Adam hurled rocks downslope at the following
pack, and kept on climbing.

  Now he diverged slightly from Merit's course, hoping that the
animal ahead of them would be more likely to retreat if they
came at it from two different directions. He still had the hunting
knife, and he held it ready, out where the geryon could see it.
Adam was sure that the damned things were able to recognize a
weapon.

  Merit climbed straight toward the waiting beast, leveling the
pointed stick at its head.

  "Wait!" Adam staggered closer. "Let me get—"

   She jabbed the spear at the geryon's face, just a second too
soon, before the animal might have backed away. Adam heard
its teeth bite through the foolish stick as he lurched forward,
stabbing the hunting knife into the beast's leathery neck, trying
to turn it away from Merit. The geryon's lunge at her became
panicky flight the instant it felt the knife. It trampled Merit
blindly and galloped downhill, seeking the safety of the pack; and
again the rest of the pack hung back briefly, startled.

   Merit lay on the rocky ground. For a moment Adam could
touch the blurred confusion of her mind. He put the knife
between his teeth, tasting geryon blood, picked up Merit and
slung her across his shoulders.

  He staggered up the hill again. The pursuing geryons still
delayed, watching the wounded one as it leaped and twisted,
trying to bend its long neck enough to snap at its own wound.
Adam ceased looking back; before the animals got near enough
to attack, he would be able to hear them coming on the loose
rock.

   He climbed. Merit on his back was still breathing, and was not
bleeding very much. He would stop when he could, and do what
he could to help her.

  He climbed. Until a time came when there was deep, cool
shade around him…

   … then he was aware that more time had passed, and he was
lying on his back, after someone or something had just rolled
him over. His eyes opened to the sight of a geryon face half a
meter from his own, and he slashed up at it instantly with the
knife that was still in his hand, carving the human nose.

   The animal screamed and reared up like a horse. As it spun
around to flee, its foreleg struck Adam's right arm. The knife flew
away, and he thought for a long instant that his arm had been
torn off. But the limb still hung from his shoulder, bleeding, and
with a heavy numb pressure inside it that was soon going to turn
into pain.

  The pack of animals had backed away again, and were content
now to sit in the sunshine twenty meters away, and wait. Merit
was lying close beside him, but just out of reach.

   He called to her, but she did not move or answer. She was still
breathing. Her eyes were closed, her face was drawn, but there
were no geryon teeth marks on her yet. Adam looked for the
knife but could not see it anywhere. That was almost a relief; if
he could see the knife he would have to try to crawl to it and get
it back.

   Sitting up, he got his back against cool stone. Slowly he
realized just where he was. They had reached the shadowed base
of the Ringwall. He knew the great smooth stones around him
towered on up into the sky, but he could see neither the stones
nor the sky very well just now, nor think about them clearly.
   Now Adam saw that one of the waiting geryons had caught a
little animal of some kind. And now the pack found some
amusement in killing the creature as slowly as they could. They
never allowed themselves to become completely distracted by the
lesser game. Always one of the pack was watching Adam. Soon,
now, you will be weak enough, the patient yellow eyes informed
him. We can make you last much longer than this little animal.

  Adam got to his feet, without thinking about whether such
movement might still be possible. The packs were long gone,
food and medicine gone with them. Canteen still here—Merit
had it clipped to her belt—but Adam knew that the canteen was
empty. Water gone, then. And now the knife gone too.

   He got himself over to Merit somehow, and got his one
operational arm around her, and picked her up. Then he half
carried, half dragged her deeper into the cool shadow. There was
a doorway waiting for them there, within a recess and then
another recess of the towering stone, or at least they came upon
an opening of the proper size to be a door. Adam looked at it as
calmly as he would have looked now at blank hopeless walls.
Holding Merit, keeping her from falling, he limped forward into
a passage that was large enough to let the geryons follow.

   Adam followed the passage. He knew without looking that the
geryons still pursued. There were no branches, no agonizing
choices of which way to go. There was light enough to see the
way, daylight, he supposed, filtering in somehow from overhead.
He wasted no effort in trying to fix the source of light. Merit
moaned as she walked, leaning on him. She said nothing, and
half the time her eyes were closed. There were odd blocks of
stone, projecting from the floor and the walls. Adam bumped
into them and fell on them frequently.

  He thanked whoever might be responsible that his injured
arm had not yet begun to hurt. Or maybe it was hurting, and he
was just too far gone to know the difference.

   There were many turns in the passage, all of them with sharp,
right-angled corners. Sometimes at a corner Adam looked back,
and when he looked there was always a geryon head sticking
around the last corner, watching him carefully. Here the animals
could follow only in single file, and they were being very cautious.
The thing for prey to do was to get into a smaller passage, where
geryons could not follow. But there was only this one wide
passage, filled with light enough to see, when Adam's eyes could
see, and stone blocks on which to fall.

    Adam stumbled into a pool of water a few inches deep, formed
by a small stream that came gurgling merrily and for no
apparent reason from a plain fount in the wall. He drank and
wallowed in the pool, and took the canteen from Merit's belt and
filled it up again. He waved his useful arm, and shouted echoes
at the geryons when they dared creep closer. He splashed Merit,
and thought he got her to swallow a little water from his cupped
hand. He himself felt shivering and sick and unreal after his
drink; he didn't want to revive, didn't want to know what was
happening to him.

  He was moving on again, somehow, holding Merit up with his
good left arm. They came upon Ray, sitting crosslegged in the
passage.

   "I've thought about the geryon," said Ray, in conversational
greeting. Now it was Ray's face that was changing in and out of
its proper shape, altering, bulging, sagging like wet plaster. But
Ray did not mind. He said: "They're not just animals, you know.
They're something more."

   "They're after us now, Ray. They're right behind us." Adam
slumped down, unwillingly, his legs just giving out beneath him.

  "I know what they are," said Ray.

  "They're animals and they want to kill us and eat us. Ray. Can
you—"

  "No, not mere animals, Adam. I am considering, evaluating,
the possibility that the geryons are really the Field-builders
themselves. They are the ones who really built…"

  Ray paused. His face, handsome once again, frowned lightly.
"What was it that they really built?"
  "Ray. Listen. Can you get Merit out of here somehow? Teleport
with her?"

   "You see, Adam. First, at the bottom of the scale, there are
vegetables… no, start with viruses. Or perhaps one should really
start with rocks…"

  "Ray."

  "… and vegetables, and then there are animals, and then
comes good old Earth-descended Homo. Sap. And then at the
top are Jovians."

  "Ray, I'll listen to it all some other—"

  "The ladder of created being," said Ray in a loud firm voice.
"That's what C.S. Lewis—do you know him?—wrote somewhere…
but he was wrong. Very wrong. Because that is all there are…"

  "Ray."

  "Rock, vegetable, animal, human, Jovian. We're at the top.
Now I am considering the possi—the possi—I am thinking
about…"

  "Ray."

  "Lemme think. I—can't—think—" Ray's body distorted into
new frightfulness; a moment later he once more flickered away
out of sight.

   Adam stared stupidly; had Ray really been there at all, this
time? Adam's arm was throbbing violently now. He must be
feverish. He looked around and saw a geryon watching him, from
the last bend in the passage, watching with those yellow eyes,
like those of a dead thing. The geryons were real enough.

   The animal stretched its neck forward, the human face as
always lacking any expression except for the illusion of pride.
Was it at long last impatient, ready to charge? Adam got to his
feet.
  Merit's mind touched his again; now it was as if he could hear
her calling to him, out of a foggy distance. Adam, leave me, go
on, look for help.

  It took no courage to say no to that. There was no place in the
world for him to go, if he left her.

  Some time later, they were again limping along in glaring
sunlight. Adam realized that they were now inside the Ringwall,
because now the day-light was much brighter, and around him
there were tall trees and tall stones, and towering, unidentifiable
shapes that he had not seen outside. But it didn't matter. Soon
everything would be over. He kept expecting to feel teeth.

   At one point he realized clearly that he was crawling up a little
slope, moving on his knees and his one good hand, and that
Merit was standing beside him, trying to pull him along. Then
they were sitting together, side by side, backs propped against a
wall, looking down a little slope to where the familiar
geryons—almost old friends by now— peered from among tall
rocks to see if their victims were yet weak enough. Merit looked
as if she had passed out again. Good. That was good. She might
never feel the teeth.

                 Chapter Twenty
   A frightening thought came to disturb Adam's calm. It was
that he might be able to get up and go on farther if he really
tried. It would be much easier just to sit here and be chewed to
death. But he couldn't just sit here, that was impossible. There
welled up in Adam a terrible puny rage, a fury like that of a sick
old man, against the animals. He would not them defeat him,
destroy him and his woman. He could not. He groped with his
left hand for something, anything, to use as a weapon. Like an
animal, he growled at the other animals that menaced him.

   They cringed away uneasily. But not from Adam. They looked
around, raising their leathery ears beside their human faces.
They turned and looked behind them, aiming their tails in his
direction. Then they retreated prudently between tall rocks, to
watch and wait. Someone was approaching from that direction.
Or something was.
   A figure wearing heavy Space Force ground armor emerged
from among the tall rocks, a little distance beyond the geryons.
The figure came walking, with steady powerful strides, straight
toward Adam and Merit.

   "Our plan has succeeded," said a voice at Adam's side. Ray's
voice. Ray sat there on the ground. His face still showed what
Adam's hands had done to him, but his shape was normal again,
as he sat watching the walking figure approach.

   The newcomer halted a few meters in front of them. Through
the transparent front of the ground-suit's helmet a man's face
was plainly visible… and Adam thought that he had seen that
face somewhere before. Somewhere, somewhere.

  "You're not real," Adam accused him suddenly. "We're in the
Field here. Your groundsuit wouldn't work if you were real."

  "But my suit does work," the stranger's air-speaker replied
calmly, in what sounded like a native Earthman's voice.
"Therefore we are not in the Field. Not right here."

  Ray stood up, towering taller than the other. "Now I have
you," Ray said to him majestically. "Your race is in my power. I
am the supreme being of the universe, do you realize that? I have
come to harrow your dungeons, release your prisoners, destroy
your power."

  Merit was still passed out.

   Ray's mad rambling voice seemed to be reaching Adam's ears
from a distance. Not in the Field, the man in the groundsuit had
said. Not right here. What did that mean? Adam couldn't think.
His mind was running itself to death in a little circle of animals
and rocks.

  The man in the suit had said something to Ray, and now Ray
was speaking again, arguing with him: "—no, I am not human. I
am much more than that."

  "But you are human," the stranger answered. "And so are we.
Did you think that we who built the Field were more than that?
You have a small idea of what being human means."

  "I am not human."

  "I have never understood you Earth-descended, though I know
you better than most of my kind know you. Because I have lived
among you."

  "Alex Golden," Adam croaked, suddenly remembering. Both of
the other men turned to look at him. Merit did not turn her
head. She was still out cold.

  Ray only seemed annoyed by the interruption, but
Golden—yes, it was he all right—gave Adam interested attention.

  "Yeah, that's me," the man in the suit said, in a different,
more ordinary voice. "The only Alex Golden that ever was. This is
my planeteering outfit." He raised a gauntleted hand and
gestured at himself; whether he meant the suit alone, or suit and
body both, Adam could not tell.

  Ray's annoyance had grown. "Lived among us, did you? That's
nothing! I can change my shape, too!" He demonstrated. "I can
get free your prisoners."

   "We have no prisoners. Your mind has torn itself on its own
weapons," Golden told him, watching bizarre alterations with
little apparent interest.

  Adam could feel a wave of faintness coming over him. "Help
us," he asked, of anyone who would listen.

    Golden turned back to him. "Most of my kind would not take
notice of you here. It's not that we're your enemies; Kedro here
sees our minds only through his own hate, he fills our images
with his own sickness. There are no torture chambers here,
except the ones he has imagined. But most of us would simply
not take notice. Our minds and yours are vastly different. I think
it's only because I lived so long on Earth that I realized you were
here now."

  "I am no human. And I can do more than you can do! I am
going to turn you into a telepathic frequency converter." Ray
stood beside Golden, grabbing at the smaller man's armored
sleeve. But even Ray was not going to be able to push around
someone wearing heavy ground armor, and Golden was not
perturbed. The Jovian towered beside him like a giant child,
fretting and plucking, demanding more attention.

  "Help, then," Adam whispered.

  "I've already told you," said Golden. "All you need to know.
You can do the rest."

  There was a silence. Ray stood clenching his hands and staring
helplessly at Golden. But Ray was being ignored.

  Adam suddenly pushed himself almost erect, leaning against
the rock behind him. Every time he blinked his eyes, the figure in
armor wavered, like everything else in his field of vision. But it
did not disappear.

   "Your suit works," Adam croaked. "So there's no Field here,
inside the Ringwall."

  Golden regarded him calmly, but gave no other answer.

  "So seven years ago your scoutship had room enough, altitude
enough under the Field, to pull out of its fall. It landed here, as
you knew it would."

  Maybe Golden smiled, just a little, inside the helmet.

 Ray sank down on his knees, suddenly, with a loud cry. "No! I
must be more than human!"

   Golden immediately crouched down too, as if he wanted to
keep on a level with Ray to speak to him. He waved at the
skulking geryons. "Those are only animals, no more than animals
now, no matter what their faces say. Once—they were more.
Consider that. We are above them, you and I. Above the human,
there is nothing, or one life-form only. Is there not pride enough
for anyone in that?"
  "One life-form only…"

  "Not you, my sick man, no, not you. Those sane beings who
say they see it call it God."

 Ray shook his head slowly, slowly. "I am more than a man.
More than a man."

  "There is much pain, too, in being human," Golden said. "But
there is only one way we can turn to rid ourselves of that. And
that is backward."

   "I defy you, Field-builder, torturer." It came out as a mad
scream. "I will destroy you yet!"

   Now Adam could no longer see Ray anywhere. The big man
had disappeared again. But Adam could spare no time or
strength for Ray, wherever he might be. Adam was thinking, and
thinking now was as hard a climbing a cliff. He dared not
slacken his grip for a moment.

   "The scoutship is still here, then," he said aloud, staring at
Alexander Golden. Adam could feel the throbbing in his arm,
going faster and faster. The sun shone down on him. He was
awake, he must be. "Even if you're not real, it's still here, crashed
or landed. A lot of it would survive a crash. At least there'll be a
first aid kit."

  Golden stood erect again. Now his head turned to one side, so
that his eyes looked toward the open space, the vast unroofed
center of the Ring-wall. Then he too was gone.

  Adam stood up straight with a gasp, lurching away from the
rock that had supported him. Only Merit was still with him now.
He bent over her and slapped her, trying to wake her up; she only
moaned. With his one good arm he dragged her to her feet. His
bad arm had started to hurt like hell now. Good. It would keep
him awake.

   He laughed aloud, and there was a mad horrible echo from the
laugh, and the geryons who had started to come out shrank back
again among the rocks. Maybe he had been keeping the pack at
bay for an hour with the loud sounds of delirium, maybe this
time neither Ray nor Golden had been any more than fever
dreams. But it didn't matter. Because, somewhere near here,
landed or crashed, the scoutship had to be real.

  He shook Merit by the hair. "C'mon, get moving, kid! We've
got to travel!"

  He got her walking down the slope, angling away from the
geryons, taking the direction in which Golden had turned his
head.

   In the middle of a grassy meadow the scoutship waited
undamaged, in perfect landing position. As Adam finished the
last dragging step, he could hear the geryons moaning behind
him, still not quite daring to charge and kill the beings who had
fought them for so long.

   If an illusion cast a long shadow in the afternoon sun, if it felt
like solid smooth metal when you leaned against it, then an
illusion was enough, no one could ask for more. Adam was
gathering his strength to knock on the ground level hatch, when
it swung open. The standard model planeteering robot stepped
out and caught him as he started to fall.

  He was aware of not hurting anywhere—not until he tried to
move. Even then, a blanket of protective numbness enfolded his
body, thickly enough to constitute a vast improvement. He tried
the fingers of his right hand and thought that he could feel them
rub against each other. Not bad, then. It wasn't bad at all.

   Adam opened his eyes to find himself in the familiar setting of
a scoutship's small control room, strapped into the right seat.
Maybe the last seven years had been all a dream, and when he
turned his head he would see Boris—but no, the robot was
bending over him.

  "How do you feel, sir?" the robot asked.

  "The woman who was with me—"

  The robot pointed, and Adam turned his head, heavy skull
swiveling on neck muscles that cried out with pain when forced
to work again. There was Merit, securely tucked into a bunk.

   "She is asleep now, sir, and seems to be in no immediate
danger from her injuries, though she needs further medical
attention as you doubtless know. I have administered first aid
treatment to both of you. Now, will you please identify yourself to
me, sir?"

   "My name is Adam Mann." It sounded strange, it even tasted
strange as he pronounced it. "I used to be a planeteer. Oh, one
thing, very important. I'm a human being, nothing more."

   "Certainly, sir," said the robot, unperturbed. It knew a human
when it saw one, or it thought it did. Probably its programming
included instructions to humor crazed wanderers, or accident
victims, when they said strange things.

   But the robot wasn't going to let his identification go at that.
"Please answer this question," it requested, and then queried
him on a technical detail of scoutship operation. Not one civilian
in ten thousand would know the answer, but not one planeteer,
or former planeteer, in ten thousand would have forgotten it.

  Adam consulted his memory, and gave the correct reply.

 "I accept that you have had planeteering training," said the
machine. "I place myself, within limits, under your orders."

  Adam took thought. Thinking, at least, was not painful. "What
were your last orders?"

  "My last orders were given me more than seven years ago, by
Chief Planeteer Alexander Golden." As the robot quoted, it
reproduced the tones of Golden's voice: " 'Stay with the ship and
keep it in good shape until another Earth-descended human
comes.' The type of order is unique in my experience, as are the
conditions under which this scoutship landed here."

  "You fell, through a condition we have named the Field, which
surrounds this planet almost completely."
   "I was inoperative through the fall," said the robot, "but since
landing I have observed this Field, as you term it, on the radar
screens."

  "What happened to Golden, after the landing?"

  "Immediately after giving me the order I have just quoted, he
walked away. I have had no contact with him, or any other
human, since then."

  "So." Adam drew a deep breath; his ribs hurt too. "Can we
take off from here, and get back into space?"

   "Yes. I have computed that there is room enough under the
Field for the necessary acceleration. The scoutship can be made
to coast upward through the Field, on a ballistic path, if it is
assumed that control and power can be re-established above six
hundred kilometers altitude."

  "They can be." Adam let his eyes close; a robot could make the
takeoff, if it could be made. "Let's go, then. You'll probably see
some Space Force ships when we get above the Field. There may
be fighting in progress."

  "Fighting, sir? In space?"

  "Yes. If you see any, avoid the fighting ships and drive around
the planet to the antipodal point— there's a shuttle port there
now."

  "First there is another matter."

  Adam opened his eyes again.

  "It requires human judgment to decide," said the machine.
"Since shortly after your arrival, a creature I cannot identify has
been outside the ship, moving among the large animals that
pursued you. I cannot decide whether or not it is human."

  The robot switched on a viewscreen in front of Adam, showing
the meadow outside the scout. Adam watched, for long, long
seconds.
  "Did you say 'no'?" the robot asked.

    "Yes," said Adam. "Yes, he's human. Go out and bring him in.
Lock him in the alien room. You must stun him if he resists; I
order that, and take responsibility. He is mentally and physically
ill."

 "I will obey. Then we must leave the surface and obtain
medical help."

  "Yes." Adam let himself slump back in his seat.

   He could let go, now. Drifting toward a pleasant stupor, he
watched the screen, where a somewhat smaller animal cavorted
among the geryons. It had a scaly body and furred legs, like one
of their young, but it lacked the true geryon shape. It lacked true
shape of any kind. Suddenly the creature went down, as if hit by
a stun beam; a second later the robot appeared in the
viewscreen's picture, to drive off the larger beasts and lift the
small one carefully. Its head swung loosely, dangling on the long
geryon neck, and it had the wide powerful geryon jaws. But he
nose and eyes and forehead were those of Raymond Kedro.

  Adam realized that he was lying in a bed. He blinked his eyes
open and shut a couple of times, without really comprehending
anything they saw. He rolled over, and grunted when his arm
twinged fiercely.

  "The beauty sleepeth," said a familiar male voice, quite near at
hand. "And where in all the realm can be found a maiden
desperate enough to awakeneth him with a kiss?"

  Adam opened his eyes again. "Boris."

   Brazil sat bathrobed in a wheelchair, his left leg sealed into a
cabled mold. "Howdy, bub. Anything interesting happen to you
lately?"

  They were in the sick bay of some big Space Force ship, Adam
realized. The place was crowded, with casualties overflowing into
extra beds. The background feeling and faint sounds suggested
that they were in space.
  "Yeah, she's all right," Brazil said. "No need to strain your
neck looking. She's up and walking around already."

   Adam lay back. "You lanky ape," he said. "Looks like you had a
fight and won."

   "You looked like you had one and lost, when that robot flew
you in. In Golden's scoutship, yet… yeah, we had quite a scrap
here. We took about fifty people alive out of that hundred. We
might even have come out on the short end, but they started
fighting among themselves. About someone being burned,
whether it was right or not— maybe you can enlighten us on
that."

  "Yeah—but it's a long story."

  "That fellow we took out of the alien room of that
scoutship—he's Kedro?"

  "Yes."

   "Some of the other people were pretty sick, in the same way. I
wonder what got into them? All we wanted to do here was hand
'em a parking ticket, so to speak. And they opened up on us with
everything at once. And they kept talking about burning this
fellow Ling. And a couple of my people got burned to death too,
in a most peculiar way."

  Maybe this is my first official interrogation, Adam realized
suddenly. Just Boris sitting there in his bathrobe, talking things
over. He thought about the question.

  "It started a long time ago," Adam answered after a while.
"They had a plan—Ray Kedro had a plan—that didn't work. As I
say, it's a long story."

  "Yeah. Well, not all of 'em thought that way."

  Adam looked at him.

  "I mean your girl Merit, among others."
  "If you think that she—"

  "At ease! Calm down. Nobody wants to hang her. Unless some
evidence comes up that I don't know about yet. It's no crime to
have had your chromosomes manipulated. I merely remarked
that she seems like a nice kid."

  Adam let out a long sigh. "One part of the long story I'll tell
you now. Ray Kedro told me that I was one of them too. Maybe
he was lying; maybe not. I don't think he was, about that."

   Brazil thought that over with raised eyebrows. Then he
shrugged. "Well, I can stand it if you can. I expect it'll be a long
time before Raymond Kedro can tell us a straight story now,
assuming that he wants to. The medics have him in a deep
freeze. Do you know what shape he was in when they took him
out of that scout?"

   "I know what shape he was in when we left the planet," said
Adam. / can stand it if you can, Brazil had said. To hell with it.
I'm a man whether or not I came out of Doc Nowell's lab. I am
what I am.

   And another voice, remembered but already fading: You have
a small idea of what being human means.

  "I assume I'm not under arrest for anything?" he asked.
"Unauthorized exploration, maybe?"

  Boris shrugged. "We asked your help in the situation, if you
remember. I assume you were doing what you could to help.
We've got enough prisoners, what do we need with one more?"

  "And Merit?"

  "I told you, no. Be reasonable, what would we charge her with?
Teasing the geryons? Unless something new shows up when we
get your stories in detail. Hey, now, about that scoutship—"

   "Later." Adam relaxed, closing his eyes in peaceful weariness.
He opened them again to see Brazil wheeling away. Adam called
after him: "Hey. When we're both in one piece again, I just may
be calling on you. To look for a job."

   Boris nodded, his long craggy face solemn, and turned away
again. He wheeled a little distance, suddenly roared with
laughter, and turned back. "I don't know—look what we started
the last time we worked together."

   Adam groped with his good hand for something suitable to
throw, but could find nothing. Never mind. He began to doze off,
smiling. He could hear Boris's muttering, receding into the
distance: "The sleeping beauty sleepeth again, and where in all
the realm can be found a maiden of such courage as to—oh. Beg
your pardon, ma'am."

   Then there followed a silence. It took no exercise of parapsych
talent for Adam to feel her approaching his bed. The aura of her
mind was subtle and sweet as fine perfume. He opened his eyes
and stretched out his good left arm.

                        THE END