whole populations through the Converter. You know that this is so.'
'Yes,” said the Vorn. “I remember. I know.'
'Then you'll help us? You'll lead us to others of your kind?'
The Vorn hovered for what seemed to Harlow an anxious eternity, the pallid fires coiling around him, his mind closed in so that neither Harlow nor Dundonald could read it.
Then the Vorn said, “Come.'
He rose and darted away from the cluster, and Harlow followed with Dundonald, and the starstream of the Milky Way whipped by like smoke and was gone, and there was blackness like the night before creation and emptiness beyond the power of the mind to know.
Gradually, as his new and untried senses adjusted, Harlow began to be aware of little flecks of brightness floating in the black nothing, and he understood that these were galaxies. So small, he thought, so terribly far apart, these wandering companies of stars banded together like pilgrims for their tremendous journey. Here and there it seemed that several galaxies had joined in a cluster, traveling all together from dark beginning to darker ending, but even these seemed lost and lonely, their hosts of bright companions dwarfed to single sparks in that incredible vastness, like sequins scattered thinly on a black robe.
The thought-voice of the Vorn reached him, a throb with hunger and excitement.
'In all this time, we have never reached the end—'
The hands of the ape, thought Harlow, and the eyes of man. They had never been filled and they never would be, and this was good. He looked at the distant galaxies with the same hunger and excitement he had felt in the Vorn. What was man for, what was intelligence for, if not to learn? To see, to know, to explore, to range over creations to its uttermost boundaries, always learning, until you and the universe ran down together and found the ultimate answer to the greatest mystery of all.
No wonder the Vorn had no interest in going back. With something of a shock, Harlow realized that he himself was rapidly losing it.
Dundonald laughed, the silent laughter of the mind, edged with sadness. “Cling hard to your purpose, Harlow. Otherwise we too will be Vorn.'
The pace quickened. Or perhaps that was only an illusion. They fled at unthinkable speeds, crosscutting time, their bodiless beings making nothing of space and the limitations of matter. They plunged toward a fleck of brightness and it grew, spreading misty spiral arms, and the mists separated into stars, and a galaxy was there all blazing bright and turning like a great wheel. They swept through its billions of suns as a breeze through grains of sand, and the Vorn called, and others answered. There was swift talk back and forth, and Harlow knew that some of the minds broke contact and withdrew again into their privacy, but others did not and now their little company was larger.
They burst free of the spiral nebula. The Vorn scattered away and were gone, to speed the hunt and spread it wider. Harlow, Dundonald and their guide raced on.
There was no time. There was no distance. Like a drunken angel, Harlow plunged and reeled among the island universes, dizzy with the wheeling of stars beyond counting, dazed with the dark immensities between, exalted, humbled, afraid and yet in a very real sense, for the first time, not afraid at all. Several times he strayed, forgetting everything, and Dundonald called him back. And then there was a long last swooping plunge, and a galaxy, and a flickering darkness that was somehow familiar, and Harlow was in a bay on the coast of a great black nebula, and there was a green star burning like a baleful lamp—
Home-star of the Vorn. And from across the universe the Vorn were Gathering.
They danced against the black cloud-cliffs like fireflies on a summer night, and there were very many of them. They coalesced in a bright cloud and went streaming down toward the planet of the green star in a comet-like rush, carrying Harlow with them, and at the last moment he cried out in sudden terror and regret, “No — no—'
But there was a pillar of fire in the night and they streamed toward it, filling the air with their eerie brightness. They brushed the upturned faces of Taggart's men as they passed, and Harlow saw the faces go white and staring with panic.
Then they all vanished in a blur as Harlow spun high, high into the air and flung himself into the shaking glorious pillar. Moth into flame. And his wings were shorn and crumpled and the glory died, and the lightness, and the freedom, as he fell inside that pillar of force. For as he fell, the subtle pattern of its forces was transforming, rearranging, his electrons and atoms back into solidity. He stumbled out of the pillar, and he was a man, he was Mark Harlow again, moving heavily on cement and not knowing why.
He was not alone. Dundonald was beside him — the old fleshly solid Dundonald — and all around them there were others. Tall men whose lean, spare flesh seemed even now to have a certain glow, almost a transparency, as though the long ages in another form had wrought some permanent, subtle change. Their eyes were strange, too — as remote and brilliant as the stars they had followed across the endless void. There was one taller, sterner, more commanding than the rest, and he seemed to be the leader, as perhaps he had been.
'Heavy, slow, mortal,” muttered Dundonald beside him. “Why did we have to come back?'
Dim memory, struggling to return, warned Harlow of danger. He cringed in the expectation of bullets tearing into his now-vulnerable solid body. But there were no shots, and the whole plaza held a confusion of outcries that expressed only fear.
Suddenly he realized that he could not see the plaza. It was obscured in a bright fog, a mad whirling coruscation through which the tall Vorn men moved with calm certainty. Harlow and Dundonald faltered, confused, and then they realized that not all the Vorn had come through the Converter.
By hundreds, by thousands, they had settled upon the plaza in a glowing cloud that blinded and terrified the men who were there on guard, and the others who had run out at the first cry of alarm. They carried weapons, but they could not see to shoot them. Bright mists clotted around them, and the tall quiet men from the Converter moved among them quickly, with a frightening air of efficiency. They had come back a long way to do a certain thing, and they wanted it done and over without delay. The terrified Earthmen were disarmed, swept up, herded together, and held with their own weapons in the hands of the human Vorn.
Dundonald caught Harlow's arm and pointed suddenly. “Taggart!'
He appeared through a thinning of the bright mist, with a heavy rifle in his hands and a cobra look of fury on his face. He leveled the rifle at the dim shadows of the human Vorn in the mist, where they herded the Earthmen. He was bound to hit some of his own men if he fired, but Harlow sensed that he did not care. Harlow shouted a warning and ran forward.
Taggart heard him and wheeled. He smiled. “This was your idea, wasn't it, Harlow? Well—” He brought the rifle to bear.
Harlow launched himself in a low dive for Taggart's knees.
He heard the rifle go off. He felt the impact as he hit Taggart, and a second jarring crash as Taggart fell backward and they both landed on the pavement. But there was no fight. Hands lifted him up, while other hands hoisted Taggart less gently to his feet.
The voice of a Vorn spoke inside his mind. “That was rash and needless. We were ready for him.'
Harlow turned and saw the tall leader beside him. He knew the man was speaking to him as he would have spoken before he returned through the Converter, and it dawned on Harlow that none of the re-created Vorn had spoken a word aloud, which was one reason for the weird silence in which all this had been done.
The Vorn leader smiled. “But it was brave, and we thank you. We are glad that we deflected the weapon in time.'
Harlow whispered, “So am I!” He wiped his forehead.
The tall men led Taggart away. And the bright mist began to lift as the Vorn withdrew a little.
The strange, silent battle was over. Taggart, Frayne and their crews were captive. Dundonald's and Harlow's crews had been released, and now the tall Vern men relinquished their weapons and their captives to the men of the Star Survey.
Yrra was running out across the plaza, calling his name.
Harlow ran to meet her, catching her in his arms. He kissed her, and overhead the glowing, dancing stars that were the Vorn hung in the deepening twilight of their ancient world, as though they were waiting.
He said to Dundonald, “Your ship can take word to the Survey. We'll need more ships here, more men to guard the Converter permanently—'
