engulfed it, seeming more solid now, more inert. Condensing on itself, the writhings slowing even as Dumarest watched, the aura deepening, solidifying as if mist were turning to water and water to ice. A subtle change accompanied by a diminution in the bell-like singing. Down the bulk of the thing, in a line no thicker than a hair, a shadow slowly began to form.
One which widened as he watched. Growing darker as Dumarest turned and ran back to the chamber and the glowing column of light.
'Chenault!' His voice echoed from the curving walls. 'Chenault! Mirza! Chenault!'
A flicker and the column was as before.
'Chenault! Can you hear me? Come out, damn you! Come out!' Dumarest stepped into the pool and headed toward the column. 'It's time, man! Hurry! Hurry, I say!'
The column flickered again as, within it, something moved. A patch of darkness bearing the silhouette of a man. One who stepped from the column to stare at Dumarest with wide, clear eyes.
A stranger.
One tall, strong, dark-haired. A man of about twenty-five years with smooth skin and a generous mouth.
Looking at Dumarest he said, 'Who are you?'
'Dumarest. Earl Dumarest. Chenault?'
'Yes.' The man smiled, pleased at being known. 'That's right. I'm Tama Chenault and my father owns the circus of Chen Wei. Where are we? What is this place?'
'The coordinates.' Dumarest held out his hand as if to receive the precious figures. 'Give me the coordinates.'
'What coordinates? I don't know what you're talking about.'
'The coordinates of Earth.' Dumarest stared at the blank, uncomprehending face. 'You swore you had them. You promised to give them to me. Damn you, Chenault! Keep your word or-'
'What word?' Chenault recoiled from what he saw in Dumarest's eyes, the knife lifted to hang poised before him. 'I swear I don't know what you're talking about. I've never seen you before and I've never heard of Earth. But I've something else-see?'
He turned to reach within the column, turning again as he straightened to display the bundle in his arms. One which kicked and gurgled and stared with bright, shining eyes.
A naked baby girl-the red blotch of a tattoo bright on one wrist.
* * *
Captain Lauter reached for the decanter, poured, handed a glass to Dumarest before lifting his own.
'A wonderful achievement, Earl. I drink to it. The journey must have been incredible.'
Dumarest looked at the glass; one mirrored to reflect the salon in bizarre configurations. His own face was that of a stranger; warped, distorted, the thin lines of newly dressed wounds lying like lace on the taut flesh.
'Without the casket we could make faster time.'
'But the perils?'
'I laid a trap for the shining thing; one of a huge amount of heavy metal together with Massak's body. As it absorbed the man it began to absorb the rest. I gambled on it being a reactive creature and the extra food triggered off its reproductive cycle. It became dormant as it condensed prior to splitting.'
'Like an amoeba.' Lauter nodded, understanding. 'Which means there are more than one now. But the rest? The spiders?'
'We ran through the place where Hilary and Vosper died. I had taken rods from the casket and they made good weapons. Chenault managed to protect the baby.'
While he had beaten off the swinging, gnashing, spined and feral insects. Looking at the lacerations on cheeks and neck the captain wondered how he had managed to save his eyes. The wounds on face and torso would heal but, inside, something would continue to bear the scars.
'And the rest?'
'We had suits-more than we needed. They yielded spare oxygen and other things. I rigged up a flame-thrower of sorts and used fire and smoke to get us to the surface.'
Where luck had been with them. It had been dark and the flat creatures hugging the spires somnolent from lack of sunlight. Even so something had caught up with them as they reached the raft and, in the mirrored surface of the glass Dumarest saw, in memory, the bulk of it, the sting, the tearing, pincer-like jaws. A predator of the night which had died beneath the hammering impact of bullets from the gun he had left.
Then to where Baglioni waited and back to the ship and help and sanity. To the drugs which had eased the pain of injected venom. To dressings and sleep and now to satisfy Lauter's curiosity.
'How's the baby?'
'Govinda's taking care of her.' Lauter refilled their glasses. 'It's Mirza, right enough, the tattoo leaves no doubt. But how? How?'
'The legend,' said Dumarest. 'Youth restored- well, she got what she wanted.'
'And so did Chenault. But she didn't want it in that way. She just wanted to be young and beautiful and get what she'd always wanted and never seemed to find. I guess you know what that was.'
Dumarest nodded, thinking of the conversation they'd had in the caverns, the way she had touched his hand. A gesture which had betrayed her as had so many other small things when the facade she had built for protection cracked to reveal the true person it had shielded.
'She'll find it,' he said. 'She'll grow and, this time, she may know better than to believe that to be pretty is to be beautiful. That comes from within. And love can recognize it. It is the person which is important not the shell. Once she learns that, her life will be happy.'
As Chenault's would be; Lauter would look after their interests. And Mirza was free of the Cyclan-they would never look for their prey in the form of a baby.
Lauter said, thoughtfully, 'What is it, Earl? That thing in the caverns. What the hell is it?'
'A machine.'
'What?'
'I think it has to be a machine. Mirza said the area was unnatural and I agree with her. No natural force could have created it. Something must have come from outside, a ship of some kind, out of control and crashing with tremendous velocity. The impact broke the crust and its own internal forces molded the magma into the shapes we see. A long time ago, now, of course. A millennium at least. Maybe more.'
An accident which had ruined a world. One which must have seared the surface with flame and molten stone, turning metals into vapors, destroying all intelligent life. Only the insects would have had a chance to survive and their mutated descendants dominated Ryzam.
'The drive must have remained functional if only in part.' Dumarest picked up his glass and drank and in the surface saw the lambent beauty of the glowing column. 'The drive,' he said. 'It has to be that. One working on a different principle from our own. The Erhaft field cocoons us against the restrictions imposed by the speed of light but the alien mechanism works in the distortion of time.'
'A guess, Earl?'
'We can do nothing but guess but the evidence supports it. Look at Mirza and Chenault. Both entered the column old and both came out young.'
'An intensification of the process which healed you.'
'No. I stayed in the pool. In fact I must have crawled almost out of it fairly soon. The energies loose in the mist reshaped me. Maybe they were designed to do exactly that; to isolate the DNA blueprint and to shape the body back into what that blueprint said it should be. Another guess but it's good enough. The column was something else.'
'Time reversal.' Lauter frowned, nodding. 'The tattoo on Mirza's wrist was recent; the flesh was still puffed. That makes her almost newborn. If Chenault hadn't picked her up-'
'She would have reverted to a blob of sperm. A zygote.'
'Then nothing.' Again the captain nodded. 'No wonder those who found it never came back.'
The column saw to that, luring them into its embrace, stripping away the unwanted years as it moved them back in time. Restoring the youth they craved-but as their bodies shed years of age so their brains shed the
