The Blood Red Game
by Michael MOORCOCK

PROLOGUE

Renark was a wanderer in the galaxy for two years - but he was not lonely. 
Renark could never be lonely, for the galaxy was his omnipresent friend and he 
was aware of its movements. Even the peculiar control exercised on it by forces, 
which he could not sense, was as comforting as its presence. He moved about in 
it and contained awareness of every atom of it in his long, thin-boned skull. He 
wandered purposely through the teeming galaxy for two swift years and then, when 
ready, journeyed out towards the Rim...

ONE

The three of them met, at last, in a terrible town called Migaa on the harsh, 
bright edge of a wilderness. Both town and planet were called Migaa and it was 
the Last Chance planet for the galaxy's fugitives.

Renark disembarked from his cruiser, uncomfortable under the glare of the 
diamond-bright sun. He threaded his way through the great looming shapes of a 
hundred other ships, his mind searching the town ahead for his two friends. His 
skilled brain probed the shapes of streets and buildings, people and objects 
until at last he had located them, half a mile away on the other side of the 
town.

He strode briskly from the spaceport and there were no Customs officers to stop 
him here. He kept his friends' forms firmly fixed in his mind as he hurried in 
their direction. They were agitated and he guessed they might be in trouble.

People stared at him as he passed a very tall, very gaunt man with deep-set 
black eyes in a long skull a brooding face in repose. But they didn't stare at 
his face - they thought him remarkable mainly because he wore no apparent 
weapon. Almost all the men and women who came to Migaa came hurriedly - but they 
also came armed.

Only Renark walked purposefully along the metal-paved streets, through the 
glinting steel buildings. The others moved aimlessly, wearing dark lenses to 
ward off the glare of the desert reflected in the steel and chrome of the 
buildings. He noted little transport on the streets, and what there was moved 
lazily. He thought the town had an exhausted air - yet at the same time it 
possessed an atmosphere of expectancy. It was a peculiar mood - and it smothered 
Migaa.

He noted also a shared quality in the faces of the men and women, a set 
expression, which tried vainly to disguise the hope lurking in their eyes. They 
seemed afraid of hoping, yet evidently could do nothing else. Migaa - or what 
Migaa offered - was their last chance. It was Renark's too, but for other, less 
selfish, reasons.

When he reached the building where he sensed his two friends were, it wasn't the 
tavern he'd expected. This was called The Drift Inn, like hundreds of other 
taverns throughout the galaxy, but this one's name had a special significance.

He walked in to find tumult.

A fight was going on. He recognised several, who could be either thieves or 
spacehands judging by the white, metal-studded plastileather overalls they wore. 
They were thick, brutal shouting men and they were attacking two others, not of 
their kind.

Renark recognised the pah". Paul Talfryn and young Asquiol of Pompeii, their 
backs against the far wall of the noisy, overcrowded public room. For a moment 
he felt the urge to leave them to it, confident that they would survive, but 
then he decided to help them. He wanted them to be as fit as possible for the 
forthcoming journey.

As he moved forward, a spacehand, using the whole of his metal-studded body as a 
weapon launched himself at Renark. The spacehand had obviously learned his 
fighting techniques aboard ship or on a low-gravity planet. Migaa wasn't a low-
grav world and the man's method of charging in an attempt to buffet Renark 
against the far wall didn't work. Renark skipped aside and the hand blundered 
past. Renark kicked against the base of the man's spine with a pointed boot. The 
spacehand collapsed backwards and Renark kicked nun sharply in the head knocking 
him out.

Swiftly Renark pushed towards his friends.

Talfryn looked almost panic-stricken as he warded off the blows of his 
attackers, but Asquiol - flamboyant, grinning and vicious - was enjoying 
himself. A set of knuckle-spikes gleamed on his right fist, and there was blood 
on them. One of Asquiol's opponents blundered back into Renark, clutching at a 
bleeding eye-socket.

'We're wasting time!' Renark shouted as the others saw him.

He moved into the crowd, pulling the tumbling spacemen aside with his large, 
ugly hands. Together, Talfryn and Asquiol punched their way towards him.

A growling giant swung a pocket-mace at Asquiol who ducked, crouched, then shot 
out his spike-covered fist deep into the spacehand's belly. The giant shrieked 
and the mace dropped from his hand as he fell to his knees.

The trio burst from the tavern and ran up a narrow side street until they saw 
the spacehands abandon the chase, shouting catcalls from behind them. They 
turned into an alley, running between the backs of the buildings, their boots 
ringing on the metal.

'Which way to the Salvation Inn?' Renark said.

'Thanks for breaking that up,' Asquiol grinned. 'I thought you Guide Sensers 
could tell where anything was. It's this way. Not far.'

Renark didn't bother to use his space sensing ability. The image of what he had 
done to the spacehand was still sharp in his mind. He didn't like violence.

Asquiol led them back on to a main way. As they walked, Talfryn turned to 
Renark, his expression embarrassed.

'Sorry about that,' he said. 'Those hands were looking for trouble. They picked 
on Asquiol because of his clothes. We had to fight. We managed to avoid a dozen 
others, but couldn't get out of this one. The whole damned town's the same - 
tense, nervous, impatient.'

'I'm afraid I encouraged them,' Asquiol said. 'Really, one can't have one's 
dress insulted by such a vulgar breed!' He collapsed his knuckle-spikes and put 
them away.

Lonely and time-begrimed for all his youth, Asquiol dressed with careful 
flamboyance. He wore a high-collared, quilted jacket of orange ny-fur and tight 
slacks of purple stuff, which fitted over his pointed, fibreglass boots. His 
face was pale and tapering, his black hair cut short in a fringe over his 
forehead. He carried a slender, anti-neutron beamer - an outlawed weapon.

Asquiol had once been a prince - independent Overlord of Pompeii, before the 
Galactic Lords enforced their powers and brought the planet into the Union.

Renark remembered that Asquiol had lost his title and estates for protecting 
him, and he was grateful.

He noticed that the younger man had lapsed into a brooding mood. It was his 
usual reaction and because of it many people thought him unbalanced, though 
Renark knew that Asquiol was the very opposite. His was a fine, delicate balance 
which only his will maintained.

Talfryn, lean-faced like his two friends, sensitive and bearded, was an 
unlicensed explorer and therefore a criminal. He was dressed conservatively - 
sleeveless jerkin of unstained hide, blue shirt and black trousers. He carried a 
heavy power-gun. He looked curiously at Renark, but since he said nothing Renark 
remained silent.

Then he smiled. His thin, grim lips quirked upwards and he straightened his 
back, turning his long head and looking hard at Talfryn.

Talfryn seemed disturbed by the look, and felt obliged to speak, so he said: 
'When do we leave? I'm impatient to get started.'

Renark did not respond for a moment, and just kept looking.

Talfryn said: 'I can't wait.'

'I'm not sure yet,' Renark said.

As they reached the tall, many-windowed structure of the Salvation Inn, on the 
edge of town, Talfryn said to Renark: 'You told us we were wasting time back 
there. How much time have we, roughly?'

'Maximum, thirty-six hours,' the Guide Senser replied.

Asquiol looked up, startled out of his mood. He seemed troubled. 'Is that all?'

'That's all - probably less. I can feel it coming closer to this continuum all 
the time, but it's difficult to keep a fix on it always. It takes most of my 
energy.'

They entered the wide, high-roofed public hall of the Salvation Inn. Asquiol 
looked around him, seeking someone in the crowd, but was disappointed. The huge 
windows, which stretched up one high wall lighted several tiered galleries and 
looked out on to the bright black and white carbon desert of the planet.

They pushed through the crowd of men and women of many types. There were richly 
clad men; ragged men; men who drank heavily and men who sipped at a single 
drink; vociferous men and quiet men. Here, as in the rest of the town, there was 
an air of tired, tense expectancy - an atmosphere, which had lasted, this era, 
for thirty-seven years. All the residents glanced often at the big scanner 
screens suspended in the middle of the hall.

The screens would come to life only on particular occasions - when what they 
awaited entered the area of space on which they were always focused. When that 
happened - if it happened - there would be a rush for the spaceport and Migaa 
would be deserted again. Some people had been waiting in Migaa for over thirty 
years; others had died before their chance came.

The three climbed a narrow, winding stair until they reached a gallery occupied 
by a table and three chairs. They sat down.

'I had this reserved,' Asquiol said as he craned his neck to look down into the 
public hall.

Renark looked at him quizzically. 'I'm having the ship checked and re-checked,' 
he said. 'It's got to be ready very soon. The Snifter could materialise well 
before the maximum thirty-six hours I mentioned. Though it shouldn't be here for 
another twelve hours - judging by the rate it's been moving towards us since I 
contacted it twenty days ago.'

Renark paused, staring out across the terrible desert, screwing his eyes against 
the glare, which penetrated even the polaroid windows.

'We've got to be ready,' he said. 'I can't tell how long it will remain in this 
continuum. There's also the possibility that it will go through the continuum at 
speed and we won't have a chance to get there before it travels on.'

'So we could have come to Migaa for nothing,' Talfryn shrugged. 'Well, my tune's 
my own.'

'Mine isn't,' Renark said - but he didn't expand on that remark.

He was the only man in the entire galaxy capable of knowing when the Shifter 
System would materialise. Others who came to Migaa took the chance that the 
bizarre, continuum-travelling system would appear in the space-time during their 
own life, but it was a gamble. This was the only reason Migaa existed, built on 
the nearest halfway, habitable planet to where the Shifter would materialise. So 
the outlawed and the damned, the searching and the hunted came to Migaa when 
there was nowhere else to go. And they waited.

Renark knew he did not need to wait, for he was a Guide Senser with a peculiar 
instinct, developed to the level of a science. He could locate, given only the 
vaguest direction and description, anything in the galaxy, whether it was a 
planet or a lost penny.

Needing no maps or co-ordinates, he could lead a person anywhere they wanted to 
go. He was a human direction­finder, and because of this he knew the Shifter was 
coming closer, for he had trained himself to see past his own space and out into 
other dimensions lying beyond, where there seemed to be hazy ghosts of planets - 
and suns almost, but not quite - like his own.

He had trained himself to see them, to prove a theory concerning the nature of 
the weird Shifter System which had been known to materialise - just suddenly 
appear in space and then vanish again without trace - only five times since 
mankind had reached the rim.

Little else was generally known about it.

The few explorers and scientists who had managed to reach the Shifter before it 
vanished again had not returned. It was impossible to say how long it would stay 
at any one time. The mystery system seemed to have a wildly erratic orbit, and 
Renark's theory that it moved on a course different from the rest of the 
universe - a kind of sideways movement - had been postulated years before when, 
as Warden of the Rim Worlds, he had been given the responsibility of sensing it 
- as he sensed the world and suns within his own continuum.

The time of the Shifter's stay varied between a few hours and a few days. It was 
never certain when it would appear or disappear. The desperate men who came to 
Migaa were optimists, hoping against hope that they would have the luck to be 
there when the Shifter arrived.

Though the Shifter received its title from Renark's own theory, it had several 
other names - Ghost System was a popular one - and certain religious-minded 
people ascribed some more dramatic significance to the system, declaiming that 
it had been cast from the universe for some sin its inhabitants had committed. 
These fanatics also had a name for the system - the Sundered Worlds.

And so a whole framework of myth had developed around the system, but very few 
dared investigate it for fear of being stranded. For the most part only 
criminals were willing to take the risk.

Renark stared down at the seething public hall. The Galactic Union's government 
machinery was near perfect, its institutions difficult to abuse. This meant they 
could allow a greater degree of personal freedom for their citizens. But, 
because the government worked so well, criminals were hard put to escape the 
Union's laws. Migaa was their only hope. From Migaa they had the chance of 
escaping right out of the universe - unless the Galactic Police - the Geepees - 
made one of their sudden swoops on the town. For the most part the Geepees were 
content to leave well alone, but sometimes they hunted a criminal when he 
possessed some particular item or piece of information which they wanted. Then, 
if he eluded them long enough, they would come to Migaa looking for him.

Renark knew the Gee-lords sought him, that Lord Mordan, Captain in Chief of the 
Galactic Police, had his men scouring the galaxy for him. He wondered how long 
it would be before Mordan thought of Migaa.

Asquiol put his head in his hands and stared at Renark.

'Isn't it time we had your reasons for this trip, Renark?' He turned his head 
and searched among the crowd below. 'What made you quit your position as Rim 
Warden? Why wouldn't you tell the Gee-lords what you learned from that strange 
spaceship which landed on Golund three years ago? And why the passion to visit 
the Shifter?'

'I don't want to answer yet,' Renark told him. 'In fairness I should, but if I 
did it would give rise to further questions I can't possibly answer yet. All I 
can tell you right now is what you've guessed - I've been waiting three years to 
get to the Shifter, ever since I learned something of great importance from the 
crew of that spaceship on Golund. What they told me indirectly caused me to 
resign as Warden. As for the answers I don't have - I hope the Shifter will give 
me them.'

'We're your friends, Renark.' Talryn said, 'and we're willing to go with you for 
that reason alone. But if you don't find the answers you want out there, will 
you answer the original questions?'

'There'll be nothing to lose if I do,' Renark agreed. 'But if you decide you 
don't want to come, then say so now. It's dangerous, we know that much. We might 
perish before we even reach the Shifter, and once there we may never be able to 
return.'

Both men moved uncomfortably but said nothing.

Renark continued: 'I owe you both debts of friendship. You, Paul, helped me in 
my research on variable time flows and were responsible for finally 
crystallizing my theory. Asquiol saved me from the attentions of that police 
patrol on Pompeii, sheltered me for six months and, when the Gee-lords found 
out, was forced, under the terms of his agreement, to give up his birthright. 
You have both made big sacrifices on my behalf.'

'I'm curious enough, anyway, to explore the Ghost System,' smiled Talfryn, 'and 
Asquiol has nothing to keep him here unless it's his new-found attraction for 
Willow Kovacs.'

Willow owned the Salvation Inn. She was reputed to be beautiful.

Asquiol appeared displeased, but he only shrugged and smiled faintly. 'You're 
right, Talfryn - if tactless. But don't worry, I'll still go when the time 
comes.'

'Good.' said Renark.

A woman came up the narrow stair leading to the gallery.

She moved in full knowledge of her slim beauty and her lips were curved in a 
soft smile. She was wearing the spoils of her conquests - her emerald-coloured 
dress was covered with jewels mined on a thousand planets. They flashed 
brightly, challenging the very brilliance of the desert. Her hands, heavy with 
rings, held a tray of hot food.

As she reached the table, Asquiol looked up at her and took the tray, making 
sure he touched her hands as he did so.

'Thanks,' she said. 'And hello - you must be the famous Warden Renark."

'Ex-Warden,' he said. 'And you're the young woman who has so disturbed our proud 
friend here.'

She didn't reply to that.

'Eat well, gentlemen,' she said, then returned down the staircase. 'We'll meet 
later, Asquiol,' she called over her shoulder as she made her way across the 
crowded floor of the great tavern.

Renark felt slightly troubled by this new intrusion. He hadn't been prepared for 
it. Although his loyalty to both his friends was great, he wanted Asquiol on the 
trip much more than he wanted Talfryn.

Asquiol was young, reckless, inclined to vindictive acts of cruelty at times; he 
was arrogant and selfish and yet he had a core of integrated strength which was 
hard to equate with his outward appearance.

But a woman. A woman could either complement that strength or destroy it. And 
Renark wasn't sure about Willow Kovacs.

Philosophically, and for the moment, Renark accepted the situation and turned 
his mind to the problem in hand.

'I think we should give the ship another check,' he suggested when they had 
eaten. 'Shall we go out to the pads now?'

Talfryn agreed, but Asquiol said: 'I'll stay here. I'll either join you out 
there or see you when you return. How long will you be?'

'I've no idea,' Renark said, rising. 'But stay here so that we can contact you 
if necessary.'

Asquiol nodded. 'Don't worry - I wasn't thinking of leaving the inn.'

Renark restrained an urge to tell Asquiol to be, wary, but the Guide Senser 
respected his friend - it was up to the Prince of Pompeii to conduct his own 
affairs without advice.

Renark and Talfryn walked down the stairs, pushed their way through the throng 
and made for the door.

Outside there was a buzz of excited conversation. The two men caught some of it 
as they walked along the metal-paved streets.

'It seems there's a rumour that the Geepees are on their way in,' Talfryn said 
worriedly.

Renark's face was grim. 'Let's hope they don't get here before the Shifter.'

Talfryn glanced at him. 'Are they after you?'

'They've been after me for three years. Oh, it's not for any crime. But the Gee-
lords came to the conclusion that I might know something of use to them and have 
been trying to get hold of me.'

'And do you know something of use to them?'

'I know something,' Renark nodded, 'but it's in their interest and mine that 
they don't find out about it.'

'That's part of your secret?'

Tart of the secret,' Renark agreed. 'Don't worry - if we reach the Shifter, I'll 
let you know it, for better or worse.'

He let his mind reach out into the void beyond the Rim. It was out there, coming 
closer. He could sense it. His mind trembled. He felt physically sick.

It was so wrong - wrong!

Implacably, the impossible system was shifting in. Would it stay long enough for 
them to get to it? And could they reach it? If only he knew a little more about 
it. It was a big gamble he was taking and there was just a shin chance of it 
paying off.

Only he knew what was at stake. That knowledge was a burden he had had to 
strengthen himself to bear. Most men could not have done so.

As he walked along, glancing at the wretches who had so hopefully come to Migaa, 
he wondered if it was worth the attempt after all. But he shrugged to himself. 
You had to accept that it was worth it, he told himself.

There were none there who might have been properly described as extra-
terrestrials. One of the discoveries Man had made when settling the galaxy was 
that he represented the only highly-developed, intelligent life-form. There were 
other types of animal life, but Earth, throughout the galaxy, had been the only 
planet to bear a beast that could reason and invent. This was an accepted thing 
amongst most people, but philosophers still wondered and marvelled and there 
were many theories to explain the fact.

Two years previously Renark had suddenly resigned from his position as Warden of 
the Rim Worlds. It had been an important position and his resignation had given 
rise to speculation and gossip. The visit of an alien spaceship, supposedly an 
intergalactic craft, had not been admitted by the Galactic Lords. When pressed 
for information they had replied ambiguously. Only Renark had seen the aliens, 
spent much time with them.

He had given no explanation to the Gee-lords and even now they still sought him 
out, trying to persuade him to take over a job which he had done responsibly and 
imaginatively. Space-sensers were rare, rarer even than other psi-talents - and 
a Guide Senser of Renark's stature was that much rarer. There were only a few 
G.S. men in the entire galaxy and their talents were in demand. For the most 
part they acted as pilots and guides on difficult runs through hyper-space, 
keeping, as it were, an anchor to the mainland and giving ships exact directions 
how, where and when to enter normal space. They were also employed on mapping 
the galaxy and any changes which occurred in it. They were invaluable to a 
complicated, galaxy-travelling civilisation.

So the Gee-lords had begged Renark to remain Warden of the Rim even if he would 
not tell them who the visitors to Golund had been. But he had refused, and two 
years had been spent in collecting a special knowledge of what little 
information was known about the Shifter. In the end they had resorted to sending 
the Geepees after him, but with the help of Talfryn and Asquiol he had so far 
evaded them. He prayed they wouldn't come to Migaa before the Shifter 
materialised.

Renark had fitted his ship with the best equipment and instruments available.

This equipment, in his eyes, included the dynamic, if erratic, Asquiol and the 
easy-going Paul Talfryn. Both had helped him in the past because they admired 
him. He, in turn, responded to the sense of loyalty for them that he felt - and 
knew he could work best with these two men.

Several hundred ships were clustered in the spaceport. Many had been there for 
years, but all of them were kept in constant readiness for the time when the 
Shifter might be sighted.

Certain ships had been there for a century or more, their original owners having 
died, disappointed and frustrated, never having achieved their goal.

Renark's great spacer was a converted Police Cruiser which he had bought cheaply 
- and illegally - rebuilt and re-equipped. It could be ready for take-off in 
half a minute. It was also heavily armed. It was against the law to own a police 
ship and also to own an armed private vessel. The Union owned and leased all 
commercial craft.

The spacer required no crew. It was fully automatic and had room for thirty 
passengers. Already, since landing, Renark had been pestered by people offering 
huge sums to guarantee them passage to the Shifter, but he had refused. Renark 
had little sympathy for most of those who gathered in Migaa. They would have 
received more mercy from the enlightened Legal Code, of which the Union was 
justly proud, than from Renark of the Rim.

Although Migaa itself was thick with criminals of all kinds, there were few in 
relation to the huge human population of the galaxy. For nearly two centuries 
the galaxy had been completely at peace, although the price of peace had, in the 
past, been a rigid and authoritarian rule which had, in the last century, thawed 
into the liberal government which now had been elected to serve the galaxy.

Renark had no hatred for the Union which pestered him. He had served it loyally 
until he had acquired that certain knowledge which he had withheld from the 
Galactic Lords. They had asked many times for the information he possessed, but 
he had refused; and he was cautious, also, never to let his whereabouts be 
known.

He glanced up into the blazing white sky as if expecting to see a Geese patrol 
falling down upon them.

Slowly, the two men walked across the pad towards the cruiser.

Mechanics were at work on Renark's ship. They had long since completed their 
initial check and found the ship completely spaceworthy. But Renark had not been 
satisfied. Now they checked again. Renark and Talfryn entered the elevator and 
it took them into the centre of the ship, to the control cabin.

Talfryn looked admiringly around the well-equipped cabin. He had the scientist's 
eye that could appreciate the ingenuity, the skill, the energy, the pure passion 
which had gone into its construction.

Once, a year before, Renark had said in a talkative moment: Take note of these 
instruments, Talfryn - they represent man's salvation. They represent the power 
of the mind to supersede the limitations of its environment, the power of every 
individual man to control, for the first time, his own destiny.'

Renark hadn't been referring to his own particular instruments and Talfryn knew 
that.

Now, Talfryn thought, the mystique attached to science had made it at once a 
monster and a salvation. People believed it capable of anything, because they 
had no idea any more what it was. And they tended to think the worst of it.

More men like Renark were needed - men who could not take the simple workings of 
a turbine for granted, yet, at the same time, could take the whole realm of 
science for granted.

Just then another thought occurred to Talfryn - a thought more immediately 
applicable to their present situation. He said:

'How do we know that our drive - or any of our other instruments - will work in 
the Shifter, Renark?' He paused, looking around him at the tall, heaped banks of 
instruments. 'If, as you think might be possible, different laws of space and 
time apply, then we may find ourselves completely stranded in the Shifter's area 
of space - cut adrift without control over the ship.'

'I admit we don't know whether our instruments will work out there,' Renark 
agreed, 'but I'm prepared to risk the fact that we may share certain laws with 
the Shifter. Maybe I'll be able to tell when it's closer, but my judgment won't 
be infallible.'

As a space senser, Renark needed no equipment to heighten his powers, but he did 
need to concentrate, and he therefore used an energy-charger, a machine which 
replaced natural, nervous and mental energy as it was expended and could, if 
used wisely, give a man an extra boost if he needed it especially. It was 
equipment normally only issued to hospitals.

Now, as Talfryn studied the recordings which had been made of the Shifter and 
became increasingly puzzled, Renark got into a comfortably padded chair and 
attached electrodes to his forehead, his chest and other parts of his body. He 
held a stylus and a plastic writing block on the small ledge in front of him.

Calmly, he switched on the machine.

TWO

Renark concentrated.

He could feel the presence of the galaxy, spreading Inwards from his own point 
in space; layer upon layer of it, time upon time.

He was aware of the galaxy as a whole and at the same time felt the presence of 
each individual atom in its structure - each atom, each planet, each star, nova 
and nebula. Thorough space, where matter was of minimum density, little cores of 
denser matter moved. Spaceships.

Faintly, beyond the limits of his own galaxy, he sensed the lesser density of 
intergalactic space, and beyond that he picked up faraway impressions of other 
galaxies.

There was nothing unpleasant happening out there - something he already knew 
about. Something he was pledged to alter.

Then he adjusted his mind so that, instead of sensing the components of the 
galaxy, he sensed it as a whole. He widened his reception to take in a small 
area beyond the galaxy and immediately the entire structure of time and space, 
as he knew it, was flawed.

There was something there that was alien - something that did not fit. It was as 
if a body had moved through that small area and had torn a hole in the very 
fabric of the universe. His mind and body trembled as he sought to adjust, as 
previously, to his new, unnatural factor. It was a binary star with eleven 
planets equidistantly encircling it.

It did not exist. Not in relation to the universe Renark knew. He could make no 
close assessment of its components - as yet. It was wrong! Renark controlled his 
mind against the thought and concentrated on judging the system's progress. It 
was, in relation to itself, travelling through space in the same manner as 
ordinary stars and planets travelled. But it also travelled through a series of 
dimensions of which Renark had no experience whatsoever. And its course, its 
orbits through the dimensions was bringing it closer to Renark's own continuum.

He opened his eyes, gasping.

Quickly, he jotted down an equation; closed his eyes and re-adjusted his mind.

It continued towards them. It shifted through myriad alien dimensions, moving 
through a whole series of continua, progressing imperturbably onwards in an 
orbit as constant as the orbits of its planets about its stars. Soon now it 
would be passing through Renark's continua.

But how long would it stay there? Renark could not tell without knowing a little 
of the universes which lay beyond his own - and of these he had much to find 
out. His future plans depended on it.

In less than twenty minutes, Renark was finished. He looked over Talfryn's 
shoulder at the records.

'She's coming closer,' he said. 'Between twelve to fifteen hours and shell be 
here. That's if my calculations are right. I think they are. As far as I can 
tell, she's travelling at a regular rate. I can't explain why the periods spent 
in this continuum have varied so much, though, if her speed is as constant as it 
seems to be.'

'Well, you've narrowed it, anyway.' Talfryn's body seemed to tense.

'Yes.' Renark moved about the control room reading gauges.

'And you're certain it won't miss this space-time altogether?'

'That's possible - but unlikely.'

Renark stared at a bank of gauges for a moment and then he moved towards a 
chrome and velvet chair which had a whole bank of levers and switches in front 
of it, a laser-screen above it. This was the gunnery control panel.

Again he began to move uneasily about the great cabin. Again he volunteered a 
suggestion.

'We don't know all the directions in which our own universe moves,' he said. 'It 
may also, for all we know, have a "sideways" movement through the dimensions at 
an angle different from the Shifter. This would explain to some extent any 
inconsistency in the length of time the system stays in our space-time 
continuum.'

Talfryn shook his head. 'I've never been able to grasp any of those theories 
about the system. I don't even understand your ability to sense its approach. I 
know that, with training, space sensers can locate planets and even smaller 
bodies in normal space-time, but I wasn't aware that they could sense things 
outside, beyond, in different dimensions - wherever it is.'

'Normally they can't,' Renark said, 'but many who have probed the perimeter of 
space outside the galaxy have mentioned that they have sensed something else, 
something not in keeping with any recognised natural laws. Others have had the 
illusion of sensing suns and worlds within the galaxy - where suns and worlds 
just can't be! This has given rise to the theory of the "multi-verse", the 
multi­dimensional universe containing dozens of different universes, separated 
from each other by unknown dimensions...'

He paused. How could he explain in calm, logical words the sense of apartness, 
of alienness, he had received? How could he describe that shock, that experience 
which contradicted all he accepted with every sense he possessed, something that 
struck at the id, the ego, the emotions - everything?

He opened his mouth, trying to find words. But the words did not exist. The 
nearest way of expressing what he felt was to give vent to a shout of horror, 
agony - triumph. He didn't feel inclined to try.

So he shut his mouth and continued to pace the cabin, running his ugly hand over 
the firing arm of the big anti-neutron gun which had never been used. It was a 
savage weapon and he hoped there would never be need to use it.

Nuclear weapons of any sort made him uncomfortable. His strange sixth sense was 
as aware of the disruption of atoms as it was of their presence in natural 
state. It was an experience close to agony to sense the disruptive blast of 
atomic weapons. The anti-neutron cannon, beaming particles of anti-matter, was 
an even more terrible experience for him.

Once, as a child, he had been close to the area of a multi-megaton bomb 
explosion and his whole mind had blanked out under the strain of the experience. 
It had taken doctors a year to pull him back to sanity. Now he was stronger, 
better co-ordinated - but it was still not pleasant to be in a space flight.

Also, he loathed violence, considering it was the easy way out and, like many 
easy ways out, not a way out at all but only continuation of a vicious circle. 
So whenever possible he avoided it.

However, he was prepared, in this case, to use it - if it meant using it against 
anything in the Shifter which attempted to stop him in his avowed objective.

Renark had geared himself to drive towards one aim, and one only. Already he was 
driving towards it and nothing - nobody - would stop him. He was dedicated, he 
was fanatical - but he was going to get results if that was possible. If it 
wasn't possible, then he'd die trying to make it possible.

Soon, now - very soon - the Shifter would enter their area of space. He was 
going there. The Shifter offered the only chance in the universe of supplying 
him with the information he needed.

He glanced back at Talfryn, who was still studying the records.

'Any clearer?' he asked.

Talfryn shook his head and grinned.

'I can just understand how the Shifter orbits through dimensions hitherto 
unknown to us, in the same way as we orbit through time and space, but the 
implications are too big for me. I'm bewildered. I'm no physicist.'

'Neither am I,' Renark pointed out. 'If I were I might not be so affected by the 
Shifter. For instance, there's something peculiar about any system comprised of 
a G-type binary star and eleven planets all equidistant from it - something 
almost artificial. If it is artificial - how did it happen?'

'Maybe it's the other way about,' Talfryn suggested vaguely. 'Maybe the planets 
all being the same distance away from the parent suns has something to do with 
the peculiar nature of the system. If they area natural freak, could this have 
caused the Shifter's orbit?'

Renark nodded. He thought for a moment before he said:

'If you take for granted that Time is cyclic in accordance with the other known 
laws of the universe - although, as you well know, my own experiments seem to 
prove that there is more than one particular time flow operating in our own 
universe - if you take that for granted, however, we can describe the rest by 
means of circles.'

He walked to the chair where he had left his stylus and pad, picked them up and 
moved over the chart table.

'The Shifter orbits this way' - he drew a circle - 'whereas we progress this 
way.' He drew a half-circle cutting horizontally through the first circle.

'Imagine that we have a finite number of space-time continua each with some 
mutually shared laws.' He drew a number of other half-circles below and above 
the first. They're all, like us, travelling this way. There is no contact 
between us but we exist side by side without being aware of each other's 
presence, all revolving in different sets of dimensions.'

Talfryn nodded.

'Imagine that the normal continua, as we understand the word normal, are 
orbiting horizontally, as it were. Then imagine that the Shifter is orbiting 
vertically. Therefore, instead of going its way without ever touching other 
alternate universes, its course takes it through them.'

'But wouldn't it take millions of years to complete a cycle like that?'

'Not necessarily. We know it doesn't, because we can't use temporal and spatial 
values and apply them to something as different as the Shifter. It has rules of 
its own which seem erratic to us but are probably as ordered in relation to 
itself as ours are to us.'

'You've got to take quite a bit for granted,' Talfryn sighed.

'Our scientists have been doing extensive research into the "multiverse" theory. 
They're pretty convinced.'

'Life and the universe,' said Talfryn, seating himself in a chair, 'are getting 
too complicated.'

Renark laughed shortly. 'One thing's clear, Talfryn - there 'are going to be a 
lot of mysteries solved and a lot of new ones started when we reach the Shifter. 
No one has ever returned from it.'

He glanced up suddenly. A light was blinking on the control panel.

'That's the intercom,' he said. 'Might be Asquiol or one of the engineers. Could 
you deal with it, Paul?'

Talfryn walked over and picked up the instrument He flipped a switch but no 
picture appeared on the screen. He listened briefly and then turned back to 
regard Renark.

'Asquiol's here - and he's brought that girl with him.'

'What?' Renark for a moment lost his equilibrium. 'Why?'

'That's the other thing - that's why they came here so fast. The Geepees have 
arrived - they're looking for you!'

Renark pursed his lips. He should have been ready for a police raid but he had 
been so busy explaining the Shifter to Talfryn that he hadn't been on the look 
out for them.

Asquiol and Willow Kovacs stepped out of the elevator.

Asquiol said nervously: 'Sorry about this, Renark - but these are my terms.'

Renark shrugged. 'Terms?' He leant over the control panel adjusting dials. 
'What's happening out there?'

'The Geepees are scouring Migaa asking if you're there. I got out as fast as I 
could. They'd be likely to recognise me and connect me with you.'

'Good.'

'You're willing to have Willow along on the trip?'

'You've told her the risks?'

'Yes.'

Renark sighed. 'I thought this might happen - knowing you. But I want you with 
us - and even if she's included in your conditions, I'm willing to concede to 
them.'

Renark forced away his irritation. There was no room for petty emotions in his 
plans. Only he knew what hung on his reaching the Shifter and discovering its 
nature and its cause.

Matters of personalities could not be considered. Action, not argument, was 
required of him now.

He had to pray that the Geepees wouldn't discover him before the Shifter 
materialised. They'd have to sit tight and wait it out. With any luck the 
Geepees wouldn't make a search of the ships on the pads until after they had 
scoured the town.

Renark beamed a message to the engineers, telling them to clear away their 
equipment and leave the ship in readiness for take-off.

Then he sat in his chair and waited.

An hour passed.

Willow seemed uncomfortable, sitting there in her immaculate sheath dress, 
listening to the men talking and going over the equations Renark had made, the 
records of the Shifter, theories which had been put forward.

Renark said: 'Rumour has it that this planet has a large human colony. I think 
we should head for that - number eight by my reckoning. You can see I've marked 
it.'

He glanced at Willow, who appeared pensive - not used to being ignored, 
evidently.

She moved nervously on her seat, looking about her disinterestedly. Normally 
there seemed to be nothing that could break her usual self-contained attitude - 
an attitude that had been necessary in a town like Migaa. But here, for the 
first time, she was in the company of men even more self-contained than she was. 
And it obviously disquieted her.

At last Asquiol saw her discomfort and said half apologetically: 'Anything 
troubling you?'

She smiled without amusement, obviously piqued: 'A woman's place is in the 
galley,' she said. 'Where is it?'

If she had intended to throw Asquiol off balance she had not succeeded.

'You might as well,' he said. 'I guess I'll be quite busy from now on. I expect 
we'll want something to eat soon.' He pointed to a door, then bent again over 
the charts.

Shrugging, she left the control room.

'Willow had always been curious about the Ghost System, living as she had in its 
shadow all her life. But she had never seen it. For some reason it had allowed 
her to dominate all the many men in her life, for they had seemed to have a 
hunger which she could not satisfy - though they had sought in her that 
satisfaction and had, therefore, put themselves in her power, thinking she had a 
secret she did not, in fact, possess.

Now she was going to the Shifter ... on Asquiol's instigation. She was glad. 
These men, all three, offered her something she was unused to. A strength of 
character, perhaps, that she had never found in all the others who had come to 
Migaa.

Renark, Talfryn and particularly Asquiol offered her calm, controlled strength - 
a peculiar mixture of detachment and passion. She busied herself preparing the 
food, finding a well-stocked larder - for Renark enjoyed food.

Talfryn looked up from the charts, glanced at the scanner screen. He swore and 
moved towards the controls.

'Something's gone wrong with the laser. I'll try and...'

'Don't touch those controls!'

Renark's brain seemed to swell within his skull, excitement pulsing through him, 
his body pounding. He paused for a second, frowned, controlled himself and then 
said calmly:

'It's coming, Talfryn.'

He sent his mind out, probing. He felt the sudden presence of the alien system 
grow as it merged into his own space-time - a whole system plunging towards them 
out of the hazy twilight of the universe, rupturing time and space on its rogue 
orbit. Elation flooded through him as he ran towards the laser screen.

The other two stood close behind him.

He watched as visible lines of energy swept across the area of space where his 
calculations indicated the Shifter would appear.

Space seemed to peel back on itself as great, blossoming splashes of colour 
poured through as if from the broken sides of a vat, merging with the darkness 
of space and making it iridescent so that sections shone like brass and others 
like silver, gold or rubies, the whole thing changing, changing constantly, 
erupting, flickering, vanishing, reappearing.

Then, faintly at first, as if through rolling, multi-coloured clouds, the 
Shifter itself began to materialise, growing clearer and clearer, coming into 
sharper focus.

And then it was hanging there, as solid as anything else in the universe, the 
clouds which had heralded its approach fading away. A new system had joined the 
galaxy.

But for how long, Renark wondered, would the eleven planets hang, equidistant, 
around the blazing blue binary star?'

He rushed back to the control panel, pressed a single stud activating the ship's 
automatic circuits.

The ship lifted. It shrieked away from the spaceport, away from the Geepee 
vessels, and within minutes was in deep space straining towards the shifter.

Moving to a single-minded, prearranged pattern, Renark acted like a zombie, his 
eyes fixed on the weird system ahead, his body one with the streaking ship which 
leapt the space between the edge of the galaxy and the mystery worlds.

Willow came out, startled, saw the screen and began to tremble.

Asquiol looked at her, but she glanced away and hurried back to the galley.

Renark seated himself in the control chair, his arms outstretched over the 
complicated control board, checking every slight tendency for the ship to veer 
away from the Shifter.

At this distance the planets seemed, apart from their ordered positions around 
the suns, to be no different from any other system in the galaxy.

Yet they glowed like carefully set diamonds around the sapphire suns. The ship 
sped closer and Renark could observe the rotation of the planets around the twin 
star. They seemed to be moving very slowly. Yet the closer they came the faster 
the planets seemed to move.

The other two had taken their places. The ship's drive, buried in the core of 
the ship, could be heard now, humming with the strain.

Renark shouted: 'Talfryn, keep all communication equipment on Receive. Asquiol, 
don't use those guns at random - wait until I order you to, if it's necessary.'

He turned in his seat for a moment, stared at Asquiol. 'And don't, on any 
account, use the anti-neutron cannon.'

Asquiol grimaced.

Talfryn flipped switches.

Willow reappeared, bewildered by the suddenness of events. She was frustrated, 
wanting something to do. The men worked, with concentration and efficiency, to 
their prearranged plan. Again Asquiol was oblivious of her presence.

The planets came closer. There was something peculiar about several of them, 
particularly one at nadir-south-east of the binary.

As the Shifter got larger on the screen, the communications panel began to 
squeal and moan.

'We're picking up its static, anyway,' Talfryn commented.

'They must be panicking on Migaa,' Asquiol grinned. 'The quicker we move the 
less chance we've got of getting caught up with the mob when they come out.'

'They'll be fighting the Geepees right now,' Renark said. 'They won't even let a 
fleet of battle-wagons stop them reaching the Shifter after waiting so long.'

'That'll delay both sides for a while,' Asquiol said.

'Let's hope the delay will be a long one.' Renark stared at his screen. 'What's 
ahead of us to starboard, Talfryn? Looks like a small fleet of some sort.'

Talfryn moved dials. 'You're right - spaceships of a kind I don't recognise. 
We'd better head for the nearest planet and try to escape them. The way they're 
coming up, they don't look friendly.'

The twin star was very close and bright now, blacking out the planets on 
Renark's laser screen.

Asquiol broke the energy seals on the guns with the key Renark handed him.

About ten of the weird ships came jolting closer, the metal of their hulls 
giving off a peculiar, yellowish glint. They pulsed through space and there was 
something menacing in their approach. Then they veered away, describing a long 
curve, and began to circle the area through which Renark's cruiser would have to 
pass.

Then, with a jerk which seemed to tug at their nerves and muscles and threaten 
to turn their bodies inside out, they entered alien space. They were in the 
Shifter's territory now - that was why the other ships had come no further, but 
awaited them. Their senses blanked momentarily, they felt dizzy, sick. Renark, 
feeling his senses going, sent out a desperate tendril of mental energy, 
anchoring himself to the Shifter ahead. Also he felt the presence of the darting 
alien ships. The metal of their construction was unfamiliar to him.

Then, suddenly, his whole mind seemed to explode, as the fabric of space was 
ripped apart.

He gasped with the agony, forced his eyes open. He looked at the screen, and the 
planets, no longer whirling so rapidly around the binary, were moving at a more 
leisurely pace.

An inhuman growl rumbled through the control room. Talfryn worked the receiver, 
trying to pick up a picture, but couldn't. The growl came again but the language 
was unrecognisable. The leading vessel of the yellow fleet moved.

It seemed to turn over on itself, described a couple of somersaults, and then 
sent a Coiling blast of energy before the humans' ship.

Renark blocked his mind and tensed his body. 'Screens!' he yelled.

But Asquiol had already raised them.

The ship shuddered and the screens proved effective against the alien weapons - 
but only just Asquiol aimed the energy-laden guns on the leading ship.

'The anti-neutron cannon would dispose of them quickly enough,' he said 
wistfully.

'And probably the system as well,' Talfryn added as Asquiol's rapid shots bit 
into the alien ship, and it exploded to form, almost immediately, nothing more 
than a ball of ragged metal.

Now the other ships came on in formation. But Asquiol bent over his guns and 
grimly pressed his fingers down on all studs. The ship took the enemy 
retaliation, but shuddered horribly. His own fire damaged two, which then 
spiralled away from their comrades.

Then the whole fleet sailed up in the strange, somersaulting motion and fired 
together.

'We can't take this attack!' Talfryn screamed.

Asquiol's eyes were intent on the enemy craft. He sent another great blast of 
energy slamming through space as the force of the joint attack hit the cruiser.

The ship shook, shuddered, groaned and came to a dead stop. Lazily it began to 
spiral through space while more of the alien ships came flooding up from the 
nearest planet. Asquiol did what he could to stop them, but with the ship out of 
control it was difficult to aim.

Renark was fighting the controls.

'We took it,' he shouted, 'but it's thrown our circuits crazy. Talfryn, get down 
there and see what you can do with the Master Co-ordinator!'

Talfryn scuttled from his seat and entered the elevator, dragging a space suit 
with him.

Asquiol, eyes narrowed, aimed his guns carefully, cursing.

He cut down several more, but these ships didn't seem to care whether they were 
destroyed or not. Momentarily Asquiol wondered if they had living crews aboard.

Something was wrong with the quality of the void. It did not have its normal 
sharpness. Rivers of colour, very faint, seemed to run through, and shapes 
seemed to move just beyond the limit of his vision. It was tantalising, it was 
maddening...

Willow, pale and tense, clung to a bulkhead, her eyes fixed on the big laser 
screen. Space was alive with boiling energy. It swirled and coiled and lashed 
through the disturbed vacuum. To her, it was as if the binary had suddenly gone 
nova, for she could not see through the multi-coloured patterns of force which 
obscured everything but the yellow, darting shapes of the enemy ships.

Slowly the patterns faded, but the alien vessels came on, Renark realised that 
the hideous nature of the void was not created by the force released in the 
battle. It was something else. Something much more ominous.

Asquiol kept up a rapid continuous fire. The screens took the brunt of the 
energy, but suddenly the ship was agonisingly hot.

Renark spoke into his mike.

'Talfryn, are you down there now?'

Talfryn's worried voice groaned back to him. 'I'm doing what I can. With any 
luck I should have fixed up most of the masters in five minutes.'

'Do it sooner,' Renark ordered, 'or you'll be dead.'

What were these aliens? Why were they so savagely attacking a ship when they 
hadn't even bothered to discover whether it was friend or enemy?

They came on with implacable ferocity.

Asquiol's lean face ran with sweat. Willow was on the floor now, her eyes wide, 
still fixed on the screens.

'Get into a suit, Willow,' he shouted. 'Get into a suit!'

She staggered up and walked unsteadily towards the locker from which she had 
seen Talfryn take a suit. Slowly she opened it, hissing with pain as the metal 
burned her hand, struggled to release a suit and clamber into it, its fabric 
automatically adjusting to the shape of her body.

Renark pulled on heavy gauntlets. The controls were now too hot for him to 
manipulate with bare hands.

Again and again the alien craft somersaulted and sent charges of energy towards 
the ship.

Asquiol felt his skin blister as he returned the fire and had

the satisfaction of seeing another three alien ships collapse into scrap.

Then Renark felt the ship responding again to the controls. Talfryn had fixed 
the Master Co-ordinator. He sent the ship veering away from the alien vessels.

Talfryn came rushing from the elevator, tearing off his helmet. He flung himself 
into his seat.

'Christ!' he shouted. 'More of them!'

Another fleet, larger than the one that had already attacked them, was coursing 
in to join the fight. As it got nearer, Talfryn noticed that the ships were not 
of the same design as the first fleet. In fact not one of these ships was of 
identical design. The weirdly assorted fleet fanned out - to engage not their 
ship but the enemy fleet!

Pale rays landed out and twined around the enemy craft, which vanished.

'By God, they're on our side!' Asquiol cried joyously as Renark eased his ship 
away from the area of the fight.

Suddenly a clear voice came over the speakers. It began giving directions. 
Talfryn moved the dials. 'I can't find the source,' he said. The voice, speaking 
their own language, although a slightly archaic version, began to repeat the 
directions in exactly the same tone as before - velocity, trajectory and so 
forth.

The ship was beginning to cool. The people inside relaxed somewhat.

'Don't bother finding the source,' Renark said. 'It sounds like a recording, 
anyway - an automatic instruction to visitors. We'll do as it says.'

Following the directions they found themselves shooting towards an ochre planet 
- small, ominous. The ships which had aided them now surrounded them, a motley 
assortment, but fast enough to stay with Renark's speedy cruiser.

When they were on course, a new voice broke into the taped instruction recital.

'Welcome to Entropium. We saw that you were in trouble and sent help. Forgive us 
for not doing so earlier, but you were then beyond our boundaries. You put up a 
pretty good fight.'

'Thanks,' Asquiol said softly, 'but we could have done with that help sooner.' 
Except in rare instances, Asquiol was not a grateful young man.

'That was out of the question,' the voice said lightly. 'But you're all right 
now, barring accidents...'

They sped down into the glowing red shroud of the planet.

'... barring accidents ...'

Again and again they went through the same action, unable to do anything, 
trapped into it, as if they were on a piece of film being run many times through 
a projector.

Every time they appeared to reach the planet's surface they found themselves 
heading through the red mist again.

Then they were in the mist and motionless, the voice speaking amusedly:

'Don't worry, this will probably last a short while.'

Exhausted as he was, Renark had to use his special space sense to get some kind 
of grip on the situation. But it was virtually impossible. One moment he felt 
the presence of the red planet, the next it was gone and there was nothing in 
its place.

Several times they repeated their action of dropping down towards the surface 
until, quite suddenly, they were flashing through the fog and emerged into 
daylight - pinkish daylight - observing the jagged face of a sombre-coloured 
planet which, in its wild texture, was like a surrealist landscape painted by an 
insane and degenerate artist.

Willow lay on the floor in her space suit, her eyes closed, and even the men 
fought to control their minds and emotions as they jarred and shuddered at the 
sight of the alien planet. It was unlike any other they had ever seen, unlike 
any planet in the galaxy they knew.

Why?

It wasn't simply the quality of the light, the texture of the surface. It was 
something that made them uncomfortable in their bones and their brain.

It seemed unsafe, insecure, as if about to collapse beneath them, to break up 
like a rotten melon.

'Follow the scarlet vessel,' said the voice on the intercom.

Then Asquiol, Willow and Talfryn had vanished and only Renark was in the ship 
moving down once again into the red fog of the planet.

Where were they?

Desperately he quested around him with his mind, but the madness of disordered 
space and time was all about him - a whirlpool of wrongness. Talfryn reappeared.

Renark said: 'Where were you - what happened?' Then Willow reappeared, and 
Asquiol reappeared.

And suddenly they were back over the surface of the planet again.

'Follow that scarlet vessel,' the voice instructed.

This time they noted a sardonic quality. Asquiol smiled, sensing that out there 
was a fellow spirit, as malicious as himself.

Willow had been seriously affected by the phenomenon, particularly when she had 
found herself momentarily alone in the ship. How many ships had there been in 
those few moments?

The scarlet vessel was at the point of the phalanx of slim, round, squat or 
square spaceships surrounding them. It broke away from the main fleet and headed 
across the planet in a south-westerly direction. Renark turned his own ship 
after it. The scarlet vessel slowed and Renark adjusted his speed. There was a 
break and for a few seconds the ship travelled backwards then lurched and was 
moving forwards again after the scarlet ship. Ahead of them now they could make 
out the towers of a city.

The whole situation was taking on the aspect of a confused nightmare. Whether it 
was illusion or some physical distortion of reality, Renark simply couldn't 
tell.

Even the outline of the city ahead did not remain constant but wavered and 
changed.

Perhaps, Renark guessed, these hallucinations or whatever they were, were the 
effect of adjusting to the different laws which applied to the Shifter system. 
Their senses had been thrown out of gear by the change and were having to adapt.

He hoped, for the sake of his mission, that he could adapt.

'Entropium,' said the voice on the laser.

The scarlet craft arched upwards until it was vertical over the planet, and 
began to shudder downwards on an invisible repulsion field. Renark followed its 
example.

Cautiously, he nursed the ship towards the ground, still not sure that the 
planet would not suddenly disappear from around them and they would be once 
again in the thick of battle with the alien ships. The experiences of the past 
half-hour had shattered his nerves, almost sapped his confidence. 'They landed 
on a mile-square field which was bare but for a collection of small buildings at 
its far end.

'What now?' Willow said.

'We disembark - we got here comparatively safely and we were aided. They'd be 
unlikely to go to all the trouble they did if they wished us harm. Also I'm 
curious to find but about the people of "Entropium".' Renark pushed his big 
frame into a space suit and the others followed his example.

'What happened back there?' Talfryn said a trifle shakily.

'I should imagine we experienced some sort of spacetime slip. We know nothing of 
this system to speak of. We must be prepared for anything and everything - we 
can't even be certain that actions we make here will have the results and 
implications they would have in normal space-time. We could, for instance, walk 
forward and discover that we were one step backwards, could jump and find 
ourselves buried in rock. Be careful, though - I doubt if anything as drastic as 
that will happen here, particularly since human beings seem to inhabit the world 
and have built a city here. But we must go warily.'

THREE

The scarlet spacecraft was the only other ship on what was obviously a landing 
field. They wondered where the rest of the fleet had gone. As they cautiously 
disembarked, they saw that the crew of the scarlet ship were doing the same. 
Some of the figures were human.

And, for the first time, they were seeing alien and obviously intelligent life 
forms.

Renark checked his wrist gauge. 'Looks as if we don't need suits,' he said, 'but 
it's just as well to be careful.'

He was tense as he walked across the charred ground towards the other group. He 
studied the aliens mingled with the human beings.

There were two sextupeds with four arms each and completely square heads 
containing a row of tiny eyes and beneath them a small mouth; several hopping 
creatures similar to kangaroos but obviously reptilian; a long-legged creature 
who towered over the others with a body proportionately smaller, a round body 
supporting long, swinging arm tentacles and a round head.

The leader of the six human beings was young, smiling, fair and dressed in a 
style which had been out of fashion in the galaxy for two hundred years - a 
loose blue shirt, baggy trousers tucked into green gaiters, and with mauve pumps 
on his feet. Over the shirt was a pleated coat fanning out from his waist and 
dropping to his calves. His weapons included an unfamiliar pistol and a rifle 
slung over his shoulder. He swaggered.

'Move high, you load,' he said in a peculiar accent. 'How strong goes galaxy - 
same?'

'It's changed,' replied Renark, recognising in the youth's archaic slang a 
patois once used by the old CMG - the Criminal Musician's Guild which, two 
hundred years before, had been composed of men outlawed because they refused to 
play the specific kinds of music deemed 'healthy' by the music censors.

But, two hundred years ago, the Shifter had been unheard of and Migaa not 
settled. Renark was curious. He could understand that two centuries hadn't 
passed as far as the young man was concerned, the flow of time being different 
here. Yet there was something wrong.

'You're after me, aren't you?' the young man said. 'I blew the long note around 
two-twenty W.W. Three. You?'

'This is now four hundred and fifty-nine years after World War Three on Earth,' 
Renark said. 'We use a new reckoning, though. How did you get here? Mankind had 
only just reached the Rim when you were around.'

'Accident, com. We were on the run - chased by Geepy ships - ran straight here. 
Found strange mixture, man - I inform you - and everyone from future. You're the 
farthest into the future I've met Kol Manage is my name. Let's go.'

'Go where?'

'Entropium.' He pointed at the city. 'Come on, it's a long blow.'

The city could be seen about two miles away, scarring the skyline with a 
peculiar assortment of massive structures, some horribly ugly. But at least its 
outline now seemed firm and definite.

'Haven't you got ground transport?' Talfryn asked.

'Sometimes, com - not today. We scrap it all. Too square...'

'Why was that?'

'It palled, you know - we build something different sometime.'

Renark fumed inwardly. This casual attitude was aggravating when he needed 
clear, definite answers to the questions concerning him.

There was little time to lose. Now they were here he wanted to get started on 
his investigations. Yet the careless attitude of the Entropites threatened to 
slow him down, even though they didn't deliberately try to curtail him.

'Who runs the planet?' he asked Kol Manage as the group began to straggle 
towards the city.

'We all do. I guess you'd call Ragner Olesson boss. That's where we're going now 
- he wants to see you. He likes to see all newcomers.'

'Can't we get there faster? I'm in a hurry.'

'Well, stop hurrying, man - you've come to the end of the track. Ease up - 
there's nowhere to hurry to.'

'What do you mean?' Renark's tense mouth was grim.

'What do you think? You didn't like it there - you'll have to like it here. 
Simple.' And Kol Manage refused to answer any further questions.

They reached the suburbs of the city and were watched incuriously by some of the 
inhabitants, human and unhuman.

The population and the buildings comprised a disordered rabble which Renark 
found distasteful.

They walked through dirty streets which didn't seem to lead anywhere and it was 
nearly dark before they got to a square skyscraper, alive with light in its many 
windows.

The peculiar apathetic atmosphere of the city was as strong here as anywhere, 
but Renark hoped that at least some answers to his questions would be 
forthcoming. The atmosphere, he noted, was similar to Migaa's - only ten times 
worse.

The youth's companions dispersed but Manage led Renark and the others into the 
skyscraper and up a couple of nights of grubby stairs. They came to a door and 
Manage pushed it open.

The four people stayed uncertainly in the entrance to the big chamber, which was 
an untidy combination of control room and living quarters. Manage walked across 
it.

Two men looked up coolly at his approach. Both were middle-aged. One was rugged 
and handsome.

Renark glanced in distaste at the place. Computers and other equipment lined one 
wall of the room. The floor was littered with carpets of clashing designs, 
papers, clothing and various objects - a couple of rifles, a flower vase, cups, 
files and books. Tables, chairs and couches were placed here and there in 
apparent disorder. The two men sat on a long couch near the largest computer. A 
door behind them opened onto another room.

'Enter,' said the handsome man casually to the four. 'We watched you come in - 
you made the quickest start I've ever seen. The rest shouldn't be here for a 
little while yet.'

'They're probably having trouble with a police patrol,' Renark said, entering 
with a degree of caution.

'I'm Ragner Olesson,' said the big man. He looked hard at Renark, obviously 
seeing something unfamiliar in the Guide Senser's stern expression - perhaps, 
erroneously, sensing a rival to his leadership.

'Renark,' said the ex-warden, 'these are my friends.' He didn't introduce them.

'Well, Mister Renark, all you need to know is this. Don't try to change things 
here. We like it as it is. You can do what you want in Entropium, anything you 
want at all - but don't interfere with us.'

Renark frowned, feeling himself growing increasingly angry. This wasn't the 
reception he'd expected, and casualness and disorder of the kind he saw was 
annoying in his present frame of mind. His whole being was geared to one thing, 
one object.

He said 'Are you the boss of Entropium?'

'If you like. But I don't push anyone around as long as they keep to themselves 
any ideas they've got of taking over or changing things radically. Get it?'

'Now, listen,' said Renark. 'I'm looking for information, that's all. Maybe you 
can help me.'

The man laughed, then sneered. He got up and swaggered closer to Renark, seeming 
a trifle agitated, however, as if Renark's statement was unprecedented.

'What kind of information, mister? We've got plenty of space to move around 
here, so go and look for it somewhere else. I don't like being disturbed. If you 
try to make troubles you can get off the planet' - he smiled sardonically - 'or 
get killed. Your choice.'

Controlling himself, Renark said calmly: 'So what's expected of us now?'

'Look, you do what you like - so long as you don't bother anyone. Right now 
you're bothering me.'

'Aren't you interested in why we're here? You helped us fight off the fleet that 
attacked us. Why did you do that?'

'You're here like everyone else, who comes, because you don't like it where you 
came from. Right? We sent our fleet to help you because the more of us there are 
and the more ships we've got, the less chance the Thron - it was their ships 
that attacked you - have of invading us. Simple.'

'I'm here,' said Renark impatiently, 'to discover the nature of this system - 
what makes it work. I'm not a criminal on the run and I'm not just a casual 
explorer. The very future of humanity may well hang on what I discover or fail 
to discover here. Is that clear?'

Olesson's companion got up. He was an intelligent looking man with a tired face. 
His whole attitude was one of weariness and boredom.

'I'm Klein - I used to be a scientist of sorts. You won't find out anything 
about the Shifter, my friend. There's no line of enquiry you can follow that 
leads anywhere. Every fact you uncover is a contradiction of anything you've 
learned previously.'

Renark's voice was savage. 'I'm going to force the truth out of this system, 
Mister Klein.' - His companions moved uncomfortably and Asquiol's slender right 
hand rested on the butt of his anti-neutron beamer. They were well aware that 
they were outnumbered here. They didn't feel Renark's anxiety and were therefore 
less ready to alienate their hosts.

But Klein smiled slightly, showing no annoyance.

'There have been many who've tried - and all failed. The concept is too alien 
for us to grasp, don't you understand? It isn't a question of your capacity for 
reasoning or anything else. Why not just accept the fact that you're safe from 
the cares of the universe - the multiverse. Find yourself a niche and settle 
down. You can be quite comfortable here - nobody expects anything of you.'

'There must be some questions you can answer to give me a clue, a starting 
point?'

'Harry,' Olesson said impatiently, 'forget these bums, will you? Let them do 
what they like so long as they stop worrying us. Let them make their 
"investigations". They won't get anywhere.'

'I'm easy,' Klein said to Renark, ignoring his companion. 'But there's not much 
I can tell you. What do you want to know?'

'For a start, tell me something about the Shifter as you know it from living on 
it.'

Klein shrugged and sighed. 'We pick up all kinds of intelligent life forms as we 
travel. Usually fugitives, sometimes explorers. They've settled on planets - if 
you can call it settled - that suit them best. Once on a planet, only a fool 
leaves it.'

'Why?'

'Because if the planets are wild, then space outside is wilder. A trip outside 
the atmosphere sends anyone quite mad. Why do you think nobody leaves the 
planets? Only the Thron are insane enough already to do it. You've seen it at 
its best - when it's been calmer. That's why we had to wait so long before 
sending out help - not many people dare to risk travelling in space most of the 
time. It's usually worse near the perimeter, too. You were lucky to get help at 
all.'

'What's wrong with it?'

'Nobody knows - but most of the time space out there is filled with chaos. 
Things appear and disappear, time becomes meaningless, the mind breaks...'

'But it wasn't too bad most of the time while we were coming here.'

'Sure. The Thron had something to do with that, I guess. They seem to know a bit 
more about controlling whatever it is.'

'Then, if that's so, there must be some means of discovering the real nature of 
the Shifter.'

'No. I reckon the Thron have just been lucky.'

Klein stared with curiosity at Renark.

'What exactly do you want to know - and why?'

'That's my business.'

'You've got a bigger reason than mere curiosity. You said so. You tell me and 
maybe I'll decide to go on. If not, I don't want to bother. I want to see what 
you're leading up to.'

'You can tell us now, Renark, surely,' urged Talfryn.

The ex Warden sighed.

'All right. About two years ago I made contact with the crew of an intergalactic 
spaceship. Though it had come from another galaxy, it wasn't so very different 
from ours - and the crew was human. This in itself was astonishing. They had not 
knowledge of our history, just as we had none about theirs. They landed on 
Gouland, a backwater planet under my jurisdiction. I went out to meet them. We 
learned one another's language and we talked. One of the things they told me was 
that, in their galaxy, human beings were the only intelligent life-form.'

'Just like ours,' Klein nodded.

'And, I suspect, just like any other galaxy in our particular universe. Tell me, 
Klein, where do the aliens we've seen come from?'

'Different space-time-continua. Every STC seems to have only one dominant, 
intelligent life form. I can't explain it.'

'It must mean something. That's what I suspected, anyway. A phenomenon natural 
to every STC universe. But what isn't happening, I hope, in every STC, is what 
is happening in our particular universe.'

'Happening?' Talfryn spoke.

'The visitors from the other galaxy came to warn us. Their news was so terrible 
that I had to keep it to myself. To have released it would have been to start 
galaxy-wide panic.'

'What the hell is happening?' Even Olesson became interested.

"The end of the universe,' Renark said.

'What!' Talfryn gasped.

'The end of the universe - so far as humanity's concerned, at any rate.'

'And the Gee-lords don't know?' Asquiol said. 'You didn't tell them - why?'

'Because I was counting on the Shifter to offer a clue that might save us.'

'Not just the end of a galaxy,' Klein said softly, 'but an entire universe. Our 
universe. How do you know, Renark?'

'The visitors gave me proof - my own space-sensing ability did the rest. I'm 
convinced. The universe has ceased to expand.'

'That's a problem?' Olesson said.

'Oh, yes - because, not only has it ceased expanding, it is now contracting. All 
matter is falling back to its source. All the galaxies are rapidly drawing 
together - and at a far greater speed than they expanded. And the speed 
increases as all matter is drawn back to the hub of our universe! Soon all the 
galaxies will exist as a single mote of matter in the vastness of space. Then 
even that mote may vanish, leaving - vacuum. So far this inward movement is 
restricted to the galaxies, but, soon, when they all come together, it will 
involve the stars, the planets - everything.'

'This is theory,' Klein spoke softly.

'Fact,' said Renark. 'My visitors' experiments are conclusive. They have tested 
the theory in their laboratories and found that when the matter has contracted 
as much as it can - and it forms a pellet of astounding density - it just 
disappears. They believe that when it reaches the final stage it enters other 
dimensions as a photon, possibly in some greater universe - the one encompassing 
the multiverse, itself, perhaps.'

'So it disappears - like the shifter?'

'That's right.'

'I still don't know why you came here,' Klein said. 'Because it's safe? We are 
safe, aren't we?'

'I came here,' said Renark, more calmly now, 'in the hope of discovering a means 
of travelling into another universe.'

'You think because the Shifter travels through the multi-verse that you can find 
out how it works and build some kind of machine that will do the same - is that 
it?' Klein seemed interested, even enthusiastic.

'That's it. If I can discover the Shifter's secret, I may be able to return to 
our universe. As a Guide Senser I could probably find it - and warn them of 
what's happening and offer them a means of escaping into a universe which isn't 
undergoing this change.'

Olesson put in: 'Whatever happens, we're all right eh?'

Renark nodded. 'Yes. But that doesn't appeal much to me.'

The others didn't reply. Although horrified, they also seemed relieved.

Renark sensed this. 'You're still with me?' he said to his friends.

'We've nothing to lose,' Talfryn said uncomfortably.

'Nothing,' agreed Asquiol.

The equipment beside them squealed. Olesson moved ponderously towards it, tuned 
in the receiver, got sound and a picture. 'Yes.'

The face on the screen said: 'More visitors, Ragnar - a big load from Migaa are 
coming in now.'

'The usual routine,' said Olesson, shutting off the receiver.

FOUR

Renark and his companions watched the screens as the shoals of craft from Migaa 
entered the Shifter's area of space.

Then the Thron ships came slashing upwards from their planet - like sharks. 
There was an insane, inexplicable anger in their ferocity.

From other directions a large, motley force of Entropium warships helped the 
Migaan craft dispose of the outnumbered Thron vessels. The fight was much 
shorter than Renark's.

'They're just in time,' commented Olesson, watching the screen. 'The system's 
due to begin transition again pretty soon. Better wave your universe goodbye, 
Renark. You won't be seeing it again for some time if at all.' He grinned 
callously.

Ignoring the big man, Renark turned to his friends.

'We'll have to split up. There must be people here who aren't just criminals - 
people who've made some attempt to explore or analyse the system. They can help 
us. Move about the city - ask questions.'

There was a peculiar note in Klein's voice. 'Go to see Mary the Maze, Renark. I 
can't guarantee she'll help, but she'll serve as a warning to you. She was an 
anthropologist, I hear. She explored as much of the Shifter as she was able. But 
go and see where her curiosity got her, Renark.'

'Where is she?'

'I'm not sure - but everyone knows her on Northside. You'll find her soon enough 
if you ask.'

'Okay, I will.' He said to the others: 'You take other parts of the city. Don't 
ignore any piece of information, speculation or rumour - it could all be useful. 
We've got to work fast!' 'But fast,' sneered Olesson as they left.

Walking out of the untidy building, they saw the bright arrows of fire searing 
down on the landing-field two miles away. They split up.

Renark had chosen the worst possible time to look for anyone.

As he went from hotel to hotel, from bar to bar on the north side of Entropium, 
the men and women from Migaa began to pour exuberantly in.

They got drunk quickly and the whole city came alive and excited. Not only human 
beings celebrated the new 'shipment's' arrival. Aliens of many kinds joined in 
with their own forms of merry-making.

Once, a creature like a giant cross between a slug and a caterpillar addressed 
him in high-pitched Terran, but he ignored it and moved on, searching, asking 
questions, getting incoherent or facetious replies.

And then the nightmare really began.

Quite suddenly Renark felt nausea flood through him, felt his vision blur and 
sent out a mind-probe which took in the whole of the system and part of the 
galaxy beyond it. His mind just refused to accept some of the information it 
received - he couldn't take it in.

The galaxy seemed distant, and yet retained the same point in space in relation 
to the Shifter.

Then the whole planet seemed suddenly engulfed by a weird, greyish mist. The 
darkness gave way to it.

For an instant, Renark thought he saw the buildings of the city begin to fade 
again. He felt weightless and had to cling to the side of a house. The house 
seemed solid enough, but its components moved beneath his hands and his own body 
seemed diffused, lacking its normal density. As his mind swirled, he returned it 
to the comforting reality of the galaxy, as he habitually did in tunes of 
stress. But the galaxy was no longer real.

It seemed ghostly, he was losing touch with it. He very nearly panicked, but 
controlled himself desperately.

Then he understood what was happening.

They were leaving the galaxy - leaving the universe Renark loved, that he was 
prepared to die for. He had an unreasoning sense of betrayal - as if the galaxy 
were leaving him rather than the reverse. He breathed heavily. He felt like a 
drowning man and sought for something to grab - physically and mentally. But 
there was nothing. Nothing constant. Nothing that did not change as he sensed or 
saw it.

The grey city seemed to tilt at an angle and he even felt himself sliding. He 
staggered on down the crazily angled couch ripped from some ship and evidently 
used as a bed by the mad woman.

'Mary?' he said to the muttering wreck. 'Mary?'

She stared at him and the look in her eyes repelled him.

'Adam? Ah, no. Come in, Castor, but leave Pollux outside. Or is it Ruben Kave, 
Hero of Space, come to visit me?' Her mouth broadened, the lips curving upwards. 
She made a vague, graceful gesture with her hand. 'Do sit down,' she said.

There was nowhere to sit He remained standing, disturbed, nonplussed.

'I'm Renark,' he said. 'I want information. It's important - can you help me?'

'Help...?' The voice was at first detached. Her fingers moved constantly over 
the keyboard. 'Help...?' Her face twisted. Then she screamed.

'Help!'

He took a step forward.

The hands moved more swiftly, agitatedly over the board.

'Help!' She began to emit a kind of soft scream.

'Mary,' he said urgently. He could not touch the smooth shoulders. He leant over 
the drooling woman. 'It's all right They say you've explored the Shifter - is 
that true?'

'True? What's true, what's false?'

'What was it like, Mary? What did this to you?'

A groan, masculine and desperate, came from the woman. She stood up and walked 
unsteadily towards the couch, lay down on it, gripping the sides.

'What's the Shifter, Mary? What is it?' His face felt tight, as tight as his 
rigidly controlled emotions.

'Chaos...' she mumbled, 'madness - super-sanity - warmth. Oh, warmth... But I 
couldn't take it, no human being could - there's no anchor, nothing to 
recognise, nothing to cling to. It's a whirlpool of possibilities crowding 
around you, tossing you in-all directions, tearing at you. I'm falling, I'm 
flying, I'm expanding, I'm contracting, I'm singing, I'm dumb - my body's gone, 
I can't reach it!'

Her eyes stared. Suddenly she looked at him with some sort of intelligence.

'Renark you said your name was?'

'Yes.' He was steeling himself to do something he didn't want to do.

'I saw you once, perhaps - there. Here. There.' She dropped her head back and 
lay on the couch mumbling.

He sensed the chaos of the Shifter brawling about in the back of his mind. He 
thought he knew how it could have turned her mad - felt some sympathy with what 
she was talking about.

He turned all his attention to her, using his sensing ability to sort her out 
into her composite atoms, concentrated on her sensory nerves and her brain 
structure in an effort to get some clue to the effect which the Shifter had had 
on her.

But there was little physically wrong, although it was obvious that the quantity 
of adrenalin flooding her system was abnormally high and that this, perhaps, was 
the reason for her almost constant movement.

But her mind wasn't open to Renark. He was not a tele-path and was almost glad 
at that moment that he couldn't see into her wrenched-apart mind. Neither was he 
tele-kinetic, but nonetheless he hated even this form of intrusion as he studied 
her muscle responses, her nervous system, in an effort to find some clue how to 
pull her together long enough to get some answers to his questions.

He felt her move.

'Asquiol!' she said. 'Isn't that a name - something to do with you? Aren't you 
dead?'

How could she possibly know of Asquiol?

'Yes. Asquiol's the name of my friend. But I'm alive...'

He half cursed the introduction of this new element of mystery in an already 
difficult situation.

'What about Asquiol?'

But there was no response from the mad woman, who had now resumed her vacant 
staring at the ceiling.

He tried another tack.

'Mary - where did you go? What did you discover?'

'The ragged planet,' she muttered. 'I go there - went there - last - the lattice 
planet. Stay away.'

Now he wanted to shake the information out of her but he had to coax.

'Why?' he said more gently. 'Why, Mary?'

'Doesn't travel with the Shifter - not all of it, some of it - exist in other 
dimensions, travelling independently? The Hole is there - the dwellers lurk in 
the Hole. They know everything - they mean no harm, but they are dangerous. They 
know the truth, and the truth is too much!'



What truth?'

'I forget - I couldn't hold it. They told it to me. It wasn't fair.' She stared 
at him again and once more intelligence was in her eyes. 'Don't believe in 
justice, Renark - don't for an instant take its existence for granted. It 
doesn't exist. You learn that in the gaps, you can make it - but it breaks down 
in the real universe. You find that in the gaps.'

'Gaps? What are they?' He wondered at the peculiar accent she put on the word.

'The ragged planet's gaps' She sighed and fidgeted on the couch. 'That's where I 
finally forgot - where every theory, every scrap of information gathered on the 
other planets was meaningless. And I forgot - but it did me no good. I was 
curious... I'm not now, but I want rest, peace, and I can't have it. It goes on. 
They know, though - they know, and their hate has kept them sane...'

'Who are "they", Mary?'

'The Thron - the horrible Thron. And the Shaarn know, too, but they are weak - 
they couldn't help me. The beasts. Don't let them push you into the... untime... 
the un-space. Their weapons are cruel. They do not kill.'

'Thank you, Mary,' Renark said, at a loss to help her. 'I will go to Thron.'

She rose from the couch, screaming: 'I said not, spiral, magenta, irri-bird, 
night. Not, sight of droan - not: Oh, no...'

She began sobbing and Renark left the room.

He walked down the corridor, brooding, dissatisfied with the little he had 
learned, but with a definite plan of action now. He must go to Thron and 
discover the truth of Mary's statement.

Whatever happened, the Thron would be of more help - assuming they could be 
encouraged to help - than the decadent inhabitants of Entropium, who refused to 
know anything. Though he could half sympathise with anyone who didn't wonder or 
question. The boiling chaos of the Shifter as it moved through the dimensions of 
the multiverse was enough to disturb anyone.

He walked out of the hotel and found, to his relief, that the planet seemed to 
have quietened down and was presumably in normal space again, but in an alien 
universe.

Ah he walked swiftly towards the building, he allowed his mind to put out 
tendrils and was relieved when he sensed, beyond the insane perimeter of the 
Shifter, the solid, ordered planets and suns of a wide, spiral galaxy like his 
own in general components, although here and there he came across organic and 
chemical formations which he did not recognise.

When he got back to the control room in the skyscraper, Klein said: 'Half the 
new Migaa-load are dead. As usual, they panicked and caused trouble while we 
were in transit, so we cleaned them up. The rest are settling down or running 
back to the launching pads... How did you get on with Mary?'

'She said that the Thron knew about the Shifter's nature - or that's what I 
believe she said.'

Asquiol and Willow, both pale, walked in. He nodded to them.

'Were the Thron the race who initially attacked us?' he asked Klein.

Far away he heard ships blasting off. Klein cursed. 'They were warned. That's 
another lot on their way to death.'

'What do you mean?'

'Every time there are newcomers who try to use the Shifter as a transport from 
their own universe to another, we warn them that once they're here they're 
stuck. But they try. Maybe one or two make it - I don't know. But I think not. 
Something stops you leaving the Shifter once you're here.'

'It's impossible to get off?' Willow said worriedly.

Renark glanced at Willow. It was funny, he thought, how crisis took different 
people in different ways. Willow sounded as if she was going to break down. 
Asquiol evidently hadn't noticed it. He was curious to see how Talfryn would 
look and act when he came back.

Klein was talking. That's right, honey. It's harder to get out than in. You 
don't exist entirely in the space-time matrix of the universe which the Shifter 
is currently in. We kind of overflow into other dimensions. So when you try to 
leave, you hit the dimensions at a slight angle and - whoof! You break apart. 
Some of you goes one way, some of you goes another. No, you can't get out.'

'Renark - you have more problems,' Asquiol said, fiddling with his gloves.

'And more coming, from what I've learned,' Renark said tiredly. 'What did you 
find out?'

'Not much of anything definite. The eleven planets are called a variety of names 
by a variety of human and non-human people. There are a million theories about 
the Shifter's nature, mainly based on folklore and superstition. They say the 
Thron were here first and might be native to the system. This could explain some 
of their resentment of alien ships entering.'

'Anything else?'

'There's some race called, colloquially, the "jelly-smellies", who are supposed 
to know the history of the multiverse. There's a planet called Ragged Ruth which 
is supposed to be the epitome of Hell in this hellish system.'

'That seems to confirm what Mary told me,' he nodded.

Talfryn came in. His body was loose, worn out. He sat down on the couch.

Renark paused for a moment.

'There are questions which we've got to answer. And we can't take our time 
getting those answers.

'Why does the Shifter follow this orbit? How does it do it? If we can discover 
the principle, there may be a chance of adapting it to build ships to evacuate 
our galaxy. The logic - if that's the word - is abhorrent to us, but it must be 
mastered. Are all the universes contracting at the same time, I wonder?'

He asked this last question almost hesitantly, bringing it into the open for the 
first time.

'If so, there is virtually no chance of evacuation. On the other hand, what we 
discover may enable us to...'

Klein laughed: 'To stop a universe in its natural course of decay or 
reorganisation? No, Renark!'

'Yes, Klein - if that has to be done!'

'What the hell are we all talking about?' Talfryn said tiredly from the couch. 
'We're only three men - against the natural universe. Not to mention the 
unnatural universe - this terrible place.'

He shook his head. 'Frankly, the little information I've picked up makes me feel 
helpless, useless, ineffectual in the face of what's happening. I feel ready to 
give up, not to fight against something that is, judging by all the facts, an 
immense and inescapable movement of the forces of nature which must logically 
result in the end of the human race - of all organic life both in our universe, 
and in others. The human race has had its day - we might as well face it. If you 
can answer that, Renark, I'd be grateful...'

Suddenly, Renark didn't want Talfryn with him any more.

'I doubt if I could give you an answer which would satisfy you,' he said sadly. 
'You're fatalistic. And a fatalist, if you'll forgive me, is also a 
misanthropist.

'The quality which humanity has, unlike any other form of life in our universe, 
is its power to control nature. It is the mark of homo sapiens that he has, for 
millennia, refused to let his environment control him to any real extent. He has 
adapted to it, adapted it, conquered it. This imminent disaster facing the race 
is on a larger scale - but the rule still applies. In this case we may be forced 
to leave our environment and start to work adapting to, and controlling, a new 
one. If Man can do that, he will have proved forever his right and his reason 
for existence!'

Talfryn, taken aback by the force of Renark's reply, couldn't answer. He shook 
his head again and remained broodingly silent. Renark had sensed the man's 
weakness like a mechanic senses that a piece of equipment, driven beyond its 
inherent endurance, is due to fail.

So he said: 'Then you'd better stay here.'

Talfryn nodded. 'I've failed you, Renark. But, honestly, it's too big - far too 
big. Some of us can be optimistic for just so long. But facts must be faced.'

'Facts can be altered,' Renark said, turning away.

'You're giving up?' Asquiol blinked. 'Why?'

'I'm a creature of circumstance,' said Talfryn with a bitter half-smile. He got 
up and left the room.

Asquiol turned to Renark.

'Why has he done that? Is there something I don't know about?'

'Let's hope so,' Renark said quietly.

He watched his friend who, disturbed and disorientated, turned to look for a 
long moment at Willow.

Her eyes began to fill with tears.

'I couldn't face it,' she said. 'Not any more - not after what we just went 
through...'

'You've stopped loving me, is that it?'

'Oh, no, Asquiol - I'll always love you. You ... you could stay here with me.'

Asquiol looked sharply at Renark.

'We go to Thron,' he said.

'If you wish to come.'

'Look after yourself, Willow,' said Asquiol. 'I may return - who knows?' And he 
walked away from her.

He and Renark left the room, left the building and the city and made for the 
pads, for their black ship, bound for horror and perhaps death.

'He was a fool,' said Willow calmly to Klein. 'There are many who refuse their 
responsibilities. Fooling themselves they search for a 'higher ideal.' He was a 
fool.'

'What are responsibilities?' said Klein laconically. 'He knows. Responsibility, 
my dear, is another word for self-survival.'

She looked at Klein uncomprehendingly.

'I wish he had stayed,' she said.

FIVE

Renark flung over the ship's master-switch, bringing the whole complicated 
vessel to life.

He could not be satisfied with thoughts and theories now. He wanted decisive and 
constant action - dynamic action which would bring him to a source that would 
answer the questions crowding his mind.

As he charted his course to Thron, he remembered something and turned to Asquiol 
sitting moodily in the gunnery seat, staring at his instruments.

'Did you ever know of Mary the Maze before you came here?' he asked.

Silently Asquiol shook his head.

Renark shrugged. He felt badly for his friend, but couldn't afford to let his 
personal emotions influence his chosen course of action.

From what he had gathered, fewer laws than ever applied in the interplanetary 
space of the Shifter than on the planets themselves. Therefore he was going to 
have difficulty in simply navigating the comparatively small area of space 
between them and Thron.

He said without turning, 'Once in space I must not be disturbed, and am relying 
on you to perform all necessary functions other than the actual piloting of the 
spaceship. I have to anchor my mind to Thron, and must steer the ship through 
altering dimensions as well as space and time. Therefor, in the event of attack 
you must be ready, must meet it as best you can. But I will not be able to 
afford to know. Do you understand?'

'Let's get started, for God's sake,' he said impatiently.

'And don't be too ready with those anti-neutron cannon,' he said as he pressed 
the take-off button.

The ship throbbed spacewards.

And then they hit horror!

Chaos

It had no business to exist. It defied every instinctively accepted law that 
Renark knew.

Turmoil

It was fantastically beautiful. But, as far as he was concerned, it had to be 
ignored, mastered or destroyed, because it was wrong, evil - unlawful.

Agony

The ship coursed through the myriad, multi-dimensional currents that swirled and 
whirled and howled about it, that rent the sanity of the two brave men who 
battered at it, cursed it and, in controlling themselves, managed somehow to 
stave off the worst effects.

Terror

They had no business to exist here. They knew it, but they refused to 
compromise. They made the disorder of the tiny universe bend to their courage, 
to their strength and the wills, creating a pocket of order in the screaming 
wrongness of unchained creation.

Temptation

They had nothing but their pitiful knowledge that they were human beings - 
intelligent, reasoning beings capable of transcending the limits which the 
universe had striven to set upon them. They refused; they fought, they used 
their minds as they had never used them, found reserves of reason where none had 
previously been.

And, at last, because they were forced to, they used every resource of the human 
mind which had lain dormant since man had created 'human nature' as an excuse to 
let his animal nature order his life.

Now they rejected this and Renark steered the ship through the malevolent 
currents of the unnatural area of space and howled his challenge to it. And the 
three words 'I am human!' became his mental war-cry as he used his skill to 
control the metal vessel plunging on the random spatial and temporal currents 
and forcing its way through blazing horror towards the angry world of Thron.

All about him, Renark was aware of other dimensions which seemed to lie in wait 
for his ship, to trap it, to stop it from ever reaching its goal. But he avoided 
them and concentrated all his powers on keeping a course for Thron.

Four hours the two men fought against insanity, fought the craziness that had 
turned Mary the Maze into an idiot.

Then, at last, Thron appeared on the laser. Weak, trembling but exuberant, 
Renark coasted the spaceship into Thron's atmosphere and, although the brooding 
planet offered new dangers of a more tangible kind, it was with relief and hope 
that he arrived there.

They could not speak to one another just then. But both were conscious of the 
welding companionship which had come about during their journey.

They had been fused together, these two men, by mutually shared horror and 
victory.

Breathing deeply, Renark dropped the ship down and began a cautious 
reconnaissance of the planet.

Apart from one domed city at the Northern Pole, it appeared deserted. There were 
cities, certainly, but uninhabited. They picked up no signals, their scanners 
observed no obvious signs of life. Where were the ferocious Thron? Surely not 
all at the small city on the Northern Pole?

'The hell with it,' Renark said. 'Let's go right in and see what happens. I've 
staked everything so far on one throw, and haven't, as yet, lost by it. Are you 
willing?'

'I thought I was supposed to be reckless,' Asquiol smiled. 'Good. We can land in 
that big square we saw in the largest city.'

Renark nodded agreement, adjusted the controls of the ship and flew in over the 
big city. He brought it flaming down on the hard, rocky substance of the city 
square.

They landed to find only silence.

'Shall we disembark?' Asquiol asked.

'Yes. There's a locker over there, beside you. Open it, will you?'

Asquiol swung the door back and raised his eyebrows. There was a small armoury 
of handguns in the locker. Renark had never been known to carry or use any 
weapon designed to kill.

'Give me the anti-neutron beamer you see there,' Renark said.

Asquiol didn't question Renark but took the bolstered gun from the place and 
handed it over. Renark looked at it strangely.

'Desperate measures,' he said softly. 'I have little sympathy at the moment with 
the Thron, although they may have justifiable reasons for their seemingly 
unreasoning belligerence. But our mission transcends my moral code, much as I 
hate to admit such a thing possible, and our lives are, as far as the human race 
is concerned, important.'

'Let's go,' said Asquiol.

Renark sighed. They suited up and took the elevator to the airlock.

Although bizarre and obviously created by alien intelligence, Renark and Asquiol 
could work out the function of most of the buildings and machines they observed 
as they padded through the deserted streets of the apparently deserted city.

But they couldn't explain why the city was deserted, where the inhabitants had 
gone. Obviously they had not been gone for any length of time, for there were no 
signs of erosion or encroaching nature.

With his mind, Renark quested around, searching the buildings for life, but he 
could only sense peculiar disturbances in the temporal and spatial layers 
spreading out beyond the Shifter continuum.

Life hovered out there like a ghost, sometimes apparently close, sometimes 
further away. It was weird.

They toured the city and were just returning to the square where the ship reared 
when something happened.

'God, I feel sick...' Asquiol said, screwing up his eyes.

Renark felt the same. He had momentary double vision. He saw faint shadows 
flickering at the edge of the structures about them, shadows of the same shape, 
size and appearance as the more solid buildings and machines. These shadows 
seemed to merge with the material structures - and all at once the city was 
alive, inhabited.

The place was suddenly full of doglike, six-legged beings using four legs for 
motion and two as hands.

The Thron!

Shocked, they pulled their pistols from their holsters and backed towards the 
ship as the Thron saw the humans in their midst.

All was consternation.

Thron soldiers levelled weirdly curled tubes at the two men, levelled them - and 
fired. The humans were flung to the ground as their suit-screens absorbed or 
repelled the worst of the charges.

'Shoot back or we've had it!' Renark yelled.

They raised themselves on their bellies and fired their own dreadful weapons.

Beams of dancing anti-matter went spreading towards the Thron troops, met them, 
made contact and seethed into their bodies.

Those bodies imploded, crushing inwards and turning to minuscule specks of 
shattered matter before vanishing entirely. The backlash shivered against the 
humans' protective suits. And the beams waltzed on, fading slightly as they 
progressed, entered one group after another, destroying wherever they touched, 
whether organic or inanimate matter, until their power faded. Only a few Thron 
were left in the immediate area.

'They don't seem ready to talk,' Asquiol said sardonically over the suit radio. 
'What now, Renark?'

'Back to the ship, for the meantime.'

Inside the control cabin their communications equipment was making all sorts of 
noises. Asquiol attempted to tune it in and eventually succeeded in getting a 
regular series of high-frequency signals which he could not quite interpret as 
being coded signals or actual speech. He brought the pitch down lower and 
realised with astonishment that he was listening to stilted Terran. Renark was 
busy keeping the scanners trained on the Thron, who were coming out into the 
open around the square again. But he listened.

'Beware the Thron... Beware the Thron... Beware the Thron

Whether it was a warning or a threat, he couldn't tell. Asquiol said, careful to 
adjust his outgoing signal to the frequency involved: 'Who are you? I am 
receiving you.'

'We are enemies of the Thron. We are the Shaarn, whose ancestors consigned the 
Thron to this existence. But they have machines which you are not equipped 
against - forces which will hurl you out of this system altogether and into 
Limbo. Take off immediately and head for the Northern Pole. We saw you pass over 
us but have not, until now, been able to discover your means of communication 
and the form it takes. We apologise.'

'How can we trust them?' Asquiol asked.

'The frying pan or the fire - it makes no difference,' Renark replied. 'I'm 
lifting off. Tell them we're coming.'

Asquiol relayed the message.

'You must hurry,' the Shaarn spokesman said, 'for we are small and have few 
defensive devices against the Thron. You must reach our city before they do, 
since we will have but a short time to spare to let you in and close our barrier 
again.'

'Have it ready - we're coming,' said Asquiol.

The ship soared upwards again, levelled off and headed at high speed for the 
polar region.

They made it in under a minute. They saw the dome flicker and fade, entered its 
confines as it closed over them again, and came down gently on a small landing 
field within the city. It was more a town, with few buildings taller than three 
stories, encompassing a small area compared with the expanse of the Thron 
cities. Overhead they observed the Thron ships come rushing over the polar city 
and were half blinded by the bolts of energy which sprayed the force-dome above 
them.

They stayed where they were and waited to be contacted.

Eventually the communications equipment spoke: 'I am pleased that we were 
successful. There is no point in waiting until the Throns have expended their 
rage. The force-shield will hold off their most ferocious attacks. We are 
sending out a vehicle for your assistance. Please take it to the city when you 
are ready to do so.'

A few moments later a small air-carriage, open-topped and made of thin, golden 
metal, floated up to the ship and hovered by its airlock.

'Well, let's see if these Shaarn are friendly or not,' said Renark.

They descended to the airlock, passed through it and entered the little airboat 
which turned on its axis and returned to the city at a more leisurely speed.

Renark felt fairly confident, from what Mary the Maze had said, that these 
people would be friendly.

They entered the city proper and the airboat cruised downwards, landing gently 
outside the entrance to a small, un-ornamented, unpretentious building.

Two figures came out. They were dog-like, having six appendages. Asquiol gasped 
and instinctively reached for his pistol in an unthinking response. Then he saw 
that these creatures, so like the Thron, were unarmed and he calmed himself.

The Shaarn, like the Thron, were extremely pleasing to the human eye - perhaps 
because they looked so alike to friendly dogs.

The two figures, with peaceful gestures, beckoned Renark and Asquiol to leave 
the airboat. They did so. They passed through a series of simply furnished rooms 
containing no recognisable equipment, and out into a courtyard which, like the 
city, was covered with an iridescent force-dome.

Here was a laser transceiver not unlike their own. One of the Shaarn went up to 
it and spoke into the transmitter. It took them several moments, to tune into 
the humans' suit wavelengths and, for an instant, before they adjusted their own 
controls, they were blasted with the high-pitched noises they had heard before.

Then the Shaarn spokesman said: 'We regret, sincerely, that our welcome could 
not have extended to the whole planet, but as you will have realised, we control 
little of it. I am Naro Nuis and this is my wife Zeni Ouis. You are Renark Jon 
and Asquiol of Pompeii, I believe.'

'That's so, but how did you know?' Renark replied.

'We were forced - and you must forgive us - to intrude on your minds in order to 
discover the means to build the communications equipment. We are telepaths, I am 
afraid...'

'Then why the need for the laser?'

'We had no idea how you would take telepathic interference in your minds, and it 
is against our code to intrude except in the direst emergencies.'

'I should have thought that's just what we were in,' Asquiol said somewhat 
rudely.

'I see,' said Renark. 'Well, as far as I am concerned, telepathic communication 
would be preferable. We have telepaths among our own race.'

'So be it,' Naro Nuis said.

'You have obviously some important reason for braving the dangers of Thron,' 
said a voice in Renark's skull, 'but' we avoided investigating it. Perhaps we 
can help?'

'Thank you,' Renark said. 'Firstly, I am curious to learn why the Throns are so 
belligerent; secondly, whether it is true that your race was the first to come 
to this system. Much hangs on what I learn from you.' He told the Shaarn how his 
race faced annihilation.

The alien appeared to deliberate. At length he 'pathed:

'Would you object if we intruded still further on your minds for a while by 
means of a telepathic link? By this method you will see something of the history 
of the Shaarn and will discover how this system originally took this somewhat 
unusual orbit through the multi-dimensional universe.'

'What do you say, Renark?' Asquiol's voice came over the suit-phone.

'I think the suggestion is excellent.'

They were led into a semi-darkened room where food and drink were served to 
them. They felt relaxed for the first time in ages.

This place is simply to aid your receptivity to what we are about to do.'

'And what is that?'

'We are going to reconstruct for you the history of the war between the Shaarn 
and the Thron. The history began many millennia ago, when our ancestors were 
completing their explorations of our own space-time galaxy...'

At Naro Nuis' request they blanked their minds, and the history began...

SIX

They were the golden children of the galaxy. The Shaarn - the searchers, the 
wanderers, the enquirers. They were the magnificent bringers of gifts, bestowers 
of wisdom, dealers of justice. In their great star-travelling ships they brought 
the concept of mercy and law to the planets of their galaxy and formed order out 
of chaos, cut justice from the stuff of chance.

The Shaarn hurled their ships inwards to the Hub, outwards towards the Rim.

Proud, wise and merciful, self-confident and self-critical, they spread their 
sons to inhabit planets in many different systems. The laughing darlings of an 
ancient culture, they poured outwards, always searching.

The Shaarn ships sang and hurtled through the bewildering regions of hyperspace, 
avoiding war, recognising privacy, but bringing their wisdom and knowledge to 
anyone requesting it. They had come, also to accept that all intelligent races 
took the same form as themselves.

The mighty Shaarn were cynics and idealists, innocent and ancient - and their 
ships coursed further towards the worlds of the Rim.

The starship Vondel, captained by Roas Rui, burst into normal space half a 
light-year from a binary star the Shaarn called Yito. Around Yito circled eleven 
worlds, each following a wider orbit than the next - eleven mysteries which Roas 
Rui and his crew of scientists' and sorcerers regarded with excitement and 
curiosity. Eleven balls of chemicals and vegetation, organic and inorganic life. 
Would they find intelligence? New concepts, new knowledge? Roas Rui hoped that 
they would.

The Shaarn, in their early days of space-travel, had known fear when 
encountering foreign cultures, but those times were gone. In their power and 
their confidence, they were unable to conceive of a race greater than their own, 
a technology more highly developed. On some worlds near the Rim they had come 
across traces of a star-roving people, but the traces were incredibly ancient 
and pointed to a long-dead race - their ancestors, perhaps - who had travelled 
the stars and then degenerated. Thus, it was not with fear that Roas Rui 
regarded the fourth world nearest Yito when his ship, its reactor idling, went 
into orbit around it.

Roas Rui reared himself effortlessly on to his four bind limbs in order to see 
better the purple-clouded world which now filled the viewing-screen. His shaggy, 
dog-like head craned towards the screen and his mouth curved downwards in an 
expression of pure pleasure. He turned his head and showed his long, slim teeth 
to emphasise his delight.

'It's a huge planet, Medwov Dei,' he released to his lieutenant who stood by the 
screen control board, manoeuvring dials in order to bring the world into closed 
perspective.

Medwov Dei thought, without moving his head, 'The gravity is almost identical to 
that of Shaarn.'

Rui thought. 'Noui Nas was right in his hunch again. He always picks the planet 
which most closely approximates Shaarn in gravity and atmosphere. He's one of 
the best sorcerers we have in the Division.'

Medwov made a clicking sound with his mouth to indicate agreement. He was very 
big, the largest member of the crew and every inch of five feet high. He was 
dedicated to the Exploratory Division, even more than the other members. With 
regard to his work, he was a fanatic, probably due to the fact that, because of 
his immense size, he had little success with the female Shaarn. At least he, 
personally, blamed his height, but it was well known that, as a young cadet, he 
had once killed a domestic beast in anger. Naturally, this had led to his near-
ostracism and had precluded his ever rising above the rank of Lieutenant. Medwov 
inhaled wetly and continued to work at the control panel, deliberately blocking 
his mind to any but the most urgent thoughts which might emanate from his 
commander.

Almost childishly, Roas Rui laughed the high-pitched whine of the Shaarn. His 
excitement mounted as he directed his. two pilots to prepare for descent on to 
the planet's surface.

'Prepare defence screens.' He sent out the traditional commands as a matter of 
course. Some of his orders were obeyed by the control operators before he even 
thought of them. 'Switch to gravity-resisters.' Machines moaned delicately 
throughout the huge bulk of the starship. 'Descend to two thousand feet.'

The Vondel plunged through the atmosphere of the new planet and hovered two 
thousand feet above its surface. Now the screens showed a vast landscape of 
forest land comprised predominantly of waving indigo fronds which stretched 
like, a sea in all directions, broken occasionally by clumps of taller 
vegetation coloured in varying shades of blue. It was beautiful. Roas Rui's long 
body shook with emotion as he beheld it. To the Shaarn all new planets were 
beautiful.

'Begin testing,' he said.

The computers began their intricate job of classifying all the components of the 
planet. At the same time, the sorcerers began to put themselves swiftly into 
trance-state, seeking to discover intelligent life of any kind, whether natural 
or supernatural, and also its attitude or potential attitude to the Exploratory 
Division.

The findings of computers and sorcerers were relayed instantly to Roas Rui, 
himself now in semi-trance. Both parts of his brain received the information and 
assembled it into an ever-increasing, detailed picture of the newly discovered 
planet.

Woui Nas:

I have found a mind. Bewildered. Uncertain. Passive. More minds. As before. New! 
Mind. High intelligence. Anger. Controlled. Urge to destroy very strong: 
directed at (possible) Rulers or Representatives. New! Mind. Low IQ. Misery. 
Bewildered. Passive. New! Something bad. Very bad. Evil here, but am finding 
resistance to probes.

Pause...

Power. Evil. Great resistance to probes. Am formed to fight or retreat. Require 
orders!

Pause...

Repeat. Require orders!

Roas Rui beamed a message to the controllers to continue recording the data and 
concentrated all his attention on making a full link with Woui Nas, who had 
'pathed the urgent request.

'I am with you now, Woui Nas. Can you bring me in?'

'Unprecedented reaction, captain. Please absorb.'

Roas Rui could sense the frightened amazement of Woui Nas as he submerged 
himself in the other's mind and allowed the old sorcerer to guide him outwards 
towards the source of the emanations. Almost instantaneously, he felt the aura 
of disgusting malevolence, coupled with an intelligence more powerful than his 
own. Roas Rui was one of the most intelligent members of his race - his capacity 
for absorbing and relating knowledge was tremendous - but he had found more than 
his match in the mind which now sensed the presence of his own.

Roas Rui, under the direction of Woui Nas, probed further into the mind which he 
had contacted. He probed while his senses shrieked with danger and urged him to 
retreat.

Suddenly his brain throbbed as a thought came savagely from the contacted 
entity: 'Get out! We intend to destroy you, intruders'

There was no attempt to ask questions of the explorers. No tinge of curiosity. 
An order - and a statement.

Roas Rui and Woui Nas retreated from the malevolence and separated minds.

'What now?' Woui Nas asked from his cabin, a quarter of a mile away from the 
control room where Roas Rui sat shaking.

'Incredible,' the captain said. 'Quite unprecedented, as you remarked. There is 
a force here to equal the Shaarn - even to better it. But the evil!'

'I must admit that, as we neared the planet, I sensed it,' Woui Nas informed the 
captain. 'But it was difficult then to define it. These entities are capable of 
blocking off our most powerful probes.'

'Our ancestors would have been far more careful when making a new planet-fall,' 
Ross Rui said grimly. 'We are becoming too complacent, Brother Sorcerer.'

'Were,' Woui Nas remarked dryly. 'Perhaps this is the kind of shock our people 
need.'

'Possibly,' Roas Rui agreed. 'But now we are in danger of turning our immediate 
peril into a philosophical problem. Since this contact is unprecedented, and 
since the regulations state categorically that we should obey any culture which 
demands that we leave its environs, I would suggest to you that a group makes 
contact immediately with Headquarters on Shaarn and asks for instructions.'

'And meanwhile?' Woui Nas enquired.

'I do not wish to be destroyed. And neither, I think, do any other members of 
the ship's complement.' He beamed a quick order to his pilots. 'We are returning 
to Shaarn. This is an emergency.' He knew that his pilots would need no further 
orders.

Swiftly, the Vondel climbed into deep space and merged into hyperspace.

So the initial contact between the Shaarn and the Thron was made.

Another millennia of ignorance of each other's existence, the exploratory team 
which had come to a Thron-dominated world brought the two mighty cultures into 
contact at last It was inevitable.

And the war between Shaarn and Thron was also inevitable.

It was not a war like most wars. It did not hinge on economics. It only 
partially hinged on conflicting ideologies. It was simply that the Thron refused 
to tolerate the presence in the galaxy of another intelligent race, physically 
like themselves and almost as powerful.

They intended to destroy the Shaarn. To obliterate completely all traces of 
their civilisation. The Thron had not concentrated so much on the building of 
starships, but it did not take them long to build ships which almost equalled 
those of the Shaarn.

Thron controlled an Empire comprising twenty-six systems. The Thron themselves 
were comparatively few in number - but they had total dominance over their 
subject planets.

The Federation of Shaarn comprised some fifty systems and three hundred planets 
upon which intelligent races, like themselves, existed. When Shaarn informed 
them of the impending war, one hundred and sixty-two of those planets elected to 
join with the Shaarn. The rest claimed neutrality.

The war progressed. It was vicious and dreadful. And a month after it had begun 
the first planet was destroyed by the Thron - a neutral planet. And all life was 
destroyed with the planet.

Realising the danger was great, but unable to consider an alternative to 
continuing the struggle, the Shaarn directed their scientists to devise a means 
of stopping the war so that no more destruction of life should take place.

The scientists devised a means of removing the Thron from the galaxy, even from 
the very universe - a means, if it worked as they hoped, of forever exiling that 
malevolent and evil people.

They discovered the continuum-warp device which, they believed, would be capable 
of hurling the eleven Thron home-worlds out of their continuum and into another. 
This would efficiently halt the Thron's insensate aims of ruling the galaxy.

Soa squadron of ships, each armed with the device, reached the Thron home system 
of Yito and directed their beams on to the planets and their sun.

At first they succeeded only in shifting the planets through space, altering the 
position around the binary, resulting in the equidistant position they now 
occupied. The Thron retaliated and the Shaarn hurled the Thron warships 
effectively into another space-time continuum. Returning their attention to the 
system, they blasted it with warp rays time after time and, quite suddenly, it 
was gone - vanished from the Shaarn's space-time into another. The war was over.

But, as it happened, the Shaarn had not been entirely successful in their plan 
since the system kept right on travelling through the dimensions, eventually 
establishing an orbit which it still followed. Not only this, but most of the 
Shaarn ships were caught up in the vortex they had created and were drawn, by 
means of the force they had themselves released, after the Shifter.

They attempted, desperately, to return to their own space-time but, for some 
reason, it was now blocked, not only to them but to the Shifter itself. The 
system could never pass through the Shaarn's space-time again.

The Thron,' demoralised and bewildered, did not offer a threat of immediate 
counter-attack for they were busily consolidating on their fortress world, 
abandoning their slaves to any fate that came.

The Shaarn were able to land their ships, establishing a small, well-protected 
city at the Northern Pole of a planet they called Glanii. Here they remained for 
ages, vainly attempting to devise a means of returning to their own system.

Later the Thron, too, came to Glanii, where they could be nearer their hated 
enemies.

The Thron eventually learned what had happened to them and also began work on 
the problem. They invented a machine which could fling them and all their 
artifacts through the multi-dimensional space-time streams to their home 
continuum and exact vengeance on the Shaarn. So far they had not been 
unsuccessful.

This explained why Renark and Asquiol had found the planet apparently deserted 
of Thron, who at the time of their arrival had been attempting another jump 
through the dimensions.

The war between the Thron and the representatives of the Shaarn had become 
stalemate, both races concentrating most of their energies on attempts to return 
to their home continuum. So it had been for millennia, with the Thron, resenting 
further encroachments on their sundered territory, attempting to destroy any 
newcomers who came, like vultures, opportunistically to the Snifter system.

And that, to the date of Renark's coming, was briefly the history of the 
Sundered Worlds...

Renark was in a calmer frame of mind when the experience was over. At last he 
was no longer working in the dark - he had definite, conclusive facts to relate 
to his questions and was confident that the Shaarn would supply him with further 
useful information.

Naro Nuis telepathed discreetly: 'I hope the history was of some use to you, 
Renark Jon.'

'Of great use - but I gather you are unable to supply me with any detailed 
information of the dimension-warping device.'

'Unfortunately, that is so. From what we can gather, the continua-warp, 
operating as it did by means of certain laws discovered in the Shaarn continuum, 
will not work in the same way from outside the continuum. I believe this was 
deliberately done by our scientists in order that the Thron would never be able 
to return.'

'I'm surprised that by this time you haven't joined forces with the Thron, since 
you seem to have a common aim.'

'Not so. In fact, this is our main point of contention these days. The Thron are 
determined to regain our original universe, whereas that is the last thing we 
want. We will be pleased to halt the progress of the Shifter in any continuum 
but our own, and this would destroy, for ever, their chance to continue the 
war.' The alien sighed - a surprisingly human sound. 'It may be that the 
Shifting mechanism is an irreversible process. In that case our efforts are 
hopeless. But we do not think so.'

Renark was bitterly disappointed. If the beings who engendered the Shift no 
longer understood how it operated, this was logically the end of the trail. But 
he would not admit to himself that there was nothing more he could do. That was 
unthinkable.

He rose to his feet, his mind working intensely, busily forming the recent 
knowledge into the kind of pattern best suited to his present needs. Well, there 
was time yet. He had to be optimistic - there was no turning back. He refused to 
accept any factors other than those he could use objectively. Somewhere in this 
system...

They left the chamber and made for the ship. On the way, Renark noticed signs of 
animated work in a large, low-slung building with open-hangar-type doors. It 
struck him as out of tune with the millennia-long deadlock of which he had just 
learned.

He remarked on this to Naro Nuis. The alien immediately responded with interest.

'That is the result of a long period of research. We are now building equipment 
with which we hope to halt the Shifter system.'

Renark stared in amazement. 'What? After the story of gloom you have just told 
us?'

'I told you our experiments continued,' Naro Nuis replied, puzzled. 'Soon we 
will begin ferrying the equipment into space, to take it as near to the suns as 
possible.'

'And yet you still claim to have no knowledge of the Shift principle!' Renark's 
excitement was mounting at the thought that the creature had been lying.

'That is so,' Naro Nuis told him. 'We have despaired of ever discovering the 
principle behind the phenomenon. But, with any luck, we think we might bring it 
to a stop, even though we don't understand it.'

He added: 'This is the culmination of a very long series of experiments. Very 
long. If we succeed, we shall not need to know, since the phenomenon will have 
vanished.'

Renark's sudden hope dissipated. 'And what are your chances of succeeding?'

Naro Nuis paused before answering. 'The expedition is fraught with dangers. Our 
long absence from space has lost us some of our skills in interplanetary 
flight.'

'What of the Thron? Do they know of your plans?'

'They have some inkling, of course. They will try to stop us. There will be a 
great battle.'

Renark continued the walk to his ship. 'When do you plan to lift this equipment 
off?'

'In half a revolution of the planet.'

He stopped abruptly. 'Then I must ask one favour.'

'What is that?"

'Delay your experiment. Give me time to find out what I must know.'

'We cannot.'

There was no arguing with the Shaarn. His tone was uncompromising.

Naro Nuis explained: 'How can we be sure that you will have even a chance of 
success in your endeavour? Every moment we delay means that our chances of 
stopping the Shifter and holding off the Thron are lessened.'

'But the future of my entire race depends upon me!'

"Does it? Have you not taken it upon yourself presumptuously to save your 
fellows? Perhaps the process you described is natural - perhaps the members of 
your race will accept that they are to perish along with their universe. As for 
us, there is no need to delay and we must act quickly. The Thron - when they are 
not attempting to jump through the dimensions - patrol the planet in their 
ships. As soon as we begin ferrying the equipment there will be a battle. We 
will have to work speedily and hold off the Thron at the same time.'

'I see,' Renark said bitterly.

Later, Asquiol said: 'But what if you did stop the Shifter? Supposing you 
stopped it in a universe like the one we have just left? You would be destroyed 
along with the rest.'

'That is true - but the chances of that happening are not very great. We must 
risk it.'

'Then you will not wait?'

'No,' Naro Nuis said again, regretfully. 'Your hopes of success are slim. Ours 
are better. You must understand our position. We have been trying to stop the 
Shifter for thousands of years. Would you call a halt to your progress on behalf 
of a race you never heard of - which, according to only two of its members, was 
in some kind of danger?'

'I might,' Renark said.

'Not after thousands of years,' said Asquiol. 'Not that long.'

Naro Nuis's thoughts came gently. 'You are welcome to stay with us if you wish.'

'Thanks,' Renark said harshly, 'but we don't have much time.'

'I think your efforts will be wasted,' the Shaarn pathed, 'but since you are so 
anxious to find help you might go to the world of the Ekiversh.'

'Ekiversh?'

"The Ekiversh are intelligent metazoa who have a fully-developed race-memory. 
They gave us some help in building the machine with which we intend to stop the 
Shifter. They have lived so long that their knowledge is very great. They are 
good-natured, friendly and, because of their structure and type, live on the 
only planet in the system which is not in some way torn by strife. The Thron 
could learn something from the Ekiversh but, in their arrogance, they would not 
deign to do so. We have not often visited them, for whenever we leave our city 
the wrath of the Thron is turned upon us. But we have made telepathic 
communication when certain favourable laws have applied, for short periods, in 
the system.'

'Can you point out their planet on my chart?'

'With pleasure.'

Naro Nuis accompanied them aboard their ship, looking around him with pleasure 
and curiosity.

'A bizarre craft,' he said.

'Not by our standards.' Renark produced the chart and the alien bent over it, 
studying the figures marked there. At last he pointed. 'There.'

'Thanks,' said Renark.

'Let's get started, shall we?' Asquiol drummed his fingers.

'The Thron will be awaiting you when you leave here,' Naro Nuis said. 'Are you 
sure you want to risk it?'

'What else could we do?' Renark was close to anger.

The alien turned away from him.

Asquiol shouted at Naro Nuis:

'Haven't you any idea what you will do if you stop the Shifter? You could strand 
us here with no means of saving our people - no means of going back, even if we 
did find the information we need. You can't begin your experiments yet!'

'We must.'

Renark put his hand on Asquiol's arm. 'We must get to Ekiversh as soon as 
possible and see what we can learn before the Shaarn succeed in stopping the 
Shifter in orbit.'

'Then I had better leave,' Naro Nuis said sadly.

With mixed emotions, Renark said goodbye to the alien, thanking him for his help 
but aware that this pleasant people were about to conduct an experiment which - 
if it was successful - would shatter his own hopes of learning enough from the 
Shifter to be able to return to his own universe and save humanity.

Renark sat in the control seat, tensed. Asquiol fidgeted in his own seat by the 
gunnery panel.

Suddenly the force-dome over the city flickered, flashed bright orange and 
boiled backwards, leaving a gap. Renark's finger smashed down on the firing 
switch. The ship trembled, screamed and lifted.

Then they were through the gap in the screen, whining up through the clouds 
towards the madness of the Shifter's space.

Thron ships spotted them instantly and came flashing in their direction.

Asquiol didn't wait for Renark's order this time. As they sped into deep space, 
he fired.

The Thron ships flickered 'away from the cold, searing stream of anti-neutrons 
which Asquiol, in his desperation, had dared again to employ, and which their 
instruments told them meant "instant disruption. Even so, some vessels were 
caught for an instant in the periphery of the deadly flow, and must have 
suffered for it. Anti-neutrons, possessing no electrical charge, could not be 
stopped by any energy screen.

Asquiol could almost see the Thron licking their wounds.

He had hoped that this first exchange would frighten the attackers badly enough 
to give Renark time to make a clean getaway. But the Thron had the advantage of 
being able to manoeuvre in Shifter space. Renark gritted his teeth as he piled 
on power and plunged into the billowy twistiness which this region presented to 
his mind. It was almost like piloting a boat through mad, storm-tossed seas.

But they were seas that intruded into the mind.

The Thron came after them, and Asquiol saw them somersault preparatory to 
firing. He hesitated, reluctant to use his weapon a second time. Then great 
slams of force hit them.

The ship skidded and bucked. 'Don't pussyfoot, Asquiol,' Renark roared 
uncharacteristically. 'Let them have it!'

Asquiol clung to the firming arm of the anti-neutron gun. Blindly, he turned up 
the density to maximum and sprayed space. Phantasmal green flares snowed, on the 
screen before him, where he scored hits.

Renark closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the piloting. The collapse of 
atomic structures on a large scale was not a pleasant experience for a space 
senser.

After that, the surviving Thron ships withdrew. There was silence in the cabin 
of Renark's ship for some time.

A few hours later Renark made a quick mental exploration. He found what he'd 
expected. The Shaarn had begun the first stages of the experiment. There was 
evidence of fierce fighting near the Thron planet, and somewhere sunward a 
sizeable installation was being set up.

He probed further. At present the Shaarn were unmolested, but not for long. A 
large fleet was assembled an hour's journey away, and would soon no doubt do 
much to impede the progress of the Shaarn's labours. In spite of the 
friendliness shown him by his hosts, Renark began to regret the Thron warships 
destroyed by Asquiol.

Soon, Renark felt he would be gaining a complete picture of the workings of the 
multiverse. There were other things he wished to know and he had a feeling that 
if he lived he would know them soon.

Once again they were experiencing the chaotic and bewildering currents of outer 
space. But this time there was little emotional reaction, for their self-
confidence was strong.

But Renark still had to fight to keep the ship on course in the stormy, lawless 
and random flowings of time and space, skimming the ship over them like a stone 
over water, through myriad sterechronia, through a thousand million twists of 
the spatial flow, to come finally to Ekiversh...

SEVEN

Immediately they landed on the peaceful oxygen planet, tiny, polite threads of 
thought touched their minds, asked questions.

Responding to the delicacy of the impressions, Renark and Asquiol made it clear 
that they wished to contact the Ekiversh as the Shaarn had suggested. They 
remained in the spaceship, pleased to see the light green chlorophyll-bearing 
plants which were not unlike Earth's.

At last there appeared outside the ship what at first appeared to be a heaving 
mass of semi-transparent jelly. Disgusted, Renark was repelled by the sight and 
Asquiol said:

'The jelly-smellies. Remember I told you they were some sort of legend on 
Entropium? Metazoa - ugh!'

A voice in Asquiol's head said humbly: 'We are deeply sorry that our physical 
appearance should not appeal. Perhaps this will be a better form.'

Then the whole mass reared up and slowly transformed itself into the shape of a 
giant man - a giant man comprised of hundreds of gelatinous metazoa.

Renark could not decide which form was least unattractive, but he blocked the 
idea out of his mind and said instead:

'We have come to converse with you on matters of philosophy and practical 
importance to us and our race. May we leave our ship? It would be good to 
breathe real air again.'

But the metazoan giant replied regretfully: 'It would be unwise, for though we 
absorb oxygen as you do, the waste gases we exhale are unpleasing to your sense 
of smell.'

'The "jelly-smellies,"' Renark said to Asquiol. 'That explains their name.'

'We were informed that you are equipped with race-memory, that in effect you are 
immortal,' Renark thought tentatively at the glutinous giant.

'That is so. Our great experience, as you may know, was to have witnessed, in 
the early days of our race, the dance of a galaxy.'

'Forgive me, but I don't understand the implications of that,' Renark said. 
'Could you perhaps explain what you mean?'

'It was believed,' said metazoa, 'that those whom we call the Doomed Folk had 
passed away in a distant galaxy in our original universe, and that galaxy - 
which had known great strife - was quiet again in readiness for the Great Turn 
which would be the beginning of a new cycle in its long life. We and other 
watchers in nearby galaxies saw it shift like a smoky monster, saw it curl and 
writhe and its suns and planets pour in ordered patterns around the Hub and out 
around the Rim, reforming their ranks in preparation.

'The Dance of the Stars was a sight to destroy all but the noblest of watchers, 
for the weaving patterns depicted the Two Truths Which Bear the Third, so that 
while the galaxy reformed itself to begin a fresh cycle through its particular 
Time and Space, it also cleansed its sister galaxies of petty spirits and those 
who thought ignoble thoughts.

'For millions of years, The Dance of the Galaxy progressed - ordered creation, a 
sight so pleasing to intelligent beings. It gave us much in the way of sensory 
experiences and also enabled us to develop our philosophy. Please do not ask us 
to explain it further, for the sight of a galaxy dancing can be defined in no 
terms possessed by either of us.

'When at last the Dance was over, the Hub began to spin, setting the pattern for 
the new Cycle. And slowly, from the hub outwards to the Rim, the suns and 
planets began to turn again in a course that would be unchanged for eons.

'So it began, and so - after time had passed - did its denizens begin to hammer 
out its marvellous history.

'They came, at length, to our galaxy and, because they were impatient of the 
philosophical conclusions we had drawn about the nature of the multiverse, set 
about destroying our ancient race. A few of us fled here, since we abhor 
violence or knowledge of violence.'

'You witnessed a galaxy re-order itself by its own volition!' Renark sensed at 
last that his most important question was close to being answered.

'Not, we feel, by its own volition. Our logic has led us, inescapably, to 
believe that there is a greater force at work - one which created the multiverse 
for its own purposes. This is not a metaphysical conclusion - we are 
materialists. But the facts are such that they point to the existence of beings 
who are, in the true sense, supernatural.'

'And the multiverse - what of that? Does it consist of an infinite number of 
layers, or...?'

'The multiverse is finite. Vast as it is, it has limitations. And beyond those 
limitations exist - other realities, perhaps.'

Renark was silent. All his life he had accepted the concept of infinity, but 
even his rapidly developing mind could not quite contain the new concept 
hovering at the edge of his consciousness.

'We believe,' said the metazoa gently, 'that life as we know it is in an 
undeveloped, crude state - that you and we represent perhaps the first stage in 
the creation of entities designed, at length, to transcend the limitations of 
the multi-verse. It has been our function, all of us, to have created some sort 
of order out of original chaos. There is no such thing, even now, as cause and 
effect - there is still only cause and coincidence; coincidence and effect. 
There is no such thing, and this, of course, is obvious to any intelligence. 
There is no such thing as free will - there is only limited choice. We are 
limited not only by our environment, but by our psychological condition, by our 
physical needs - everywhere we turn we are limited. The Ekiversh believe that, 
though this is true, we can conceive of a condition in which this is not so - 
and perhaps, in time, conceive that condition.'

'I agree, Renark nodded. 'It is possible to overcome all restrictions if the 
will is strong enough.'

'That may be so. You have certainly come through more than any other entity - 
and it has been your spirit which has been the only thing to keep your mind and 
body co-ordinated for so long. But, if you wish to continue your quest for as 
far as you can go in a finite universe, you have the worst experience to come.'

'What do you mean?'

'You must go to the lattice planet. There you will meet the dwellers in the 
Abyss of Reality. Perhaps you have heard of the place as the Hole.'

Yes, Renark had heard the name. He remembered where. Mary had told him about it.

'What exactly is this planet?'

'It does not move through the multiverse in the same way as the rest of the 
planets in this system, yet in a sense it exists in all of them. Pieces of it 
move in different dimensions, all shifting independently. Sometimes the planet 
may be fairly complete on random occasions. At other times the planet is full of 
... gaps... where parts of it have ceased to exist according to the dimensional 
laws operating in whichever continua the Shifter is in. It is believed that 
there exists somewhere in this planet a gateway through to a mythical race 
called The Originators.

'Since you have nowhere else to go, we would suggest that you risk a visit to 
this planet and attempt to find the gateway, if it exists.'

'Yes, we shall try,' said Renark softly. Then another thought came to him. 'Why 
isn't this planet, Ekiversh, subject to the same chaotic conditions existing 
elsewhere?' he asked.

'That is because, before we fled our home universe, we prepared for the 
conditions which we expected to meet, and we used our skill and knowledge to 
create a very special organism.'

The glutinous giant seemed to heave its shining body before the next thought 
came.

'We call it a Conservator. The conservator is simply an object, but an object of 
a peculiar kind which can only exist under a certain set of laws. In order to 
maintain its own existence, it conserves these laws for a distance around it. 
These laws, of course, are those under which we exist and under which you, for 
the most part, exist also. with a conservator in your ship, you will not 
experience your earlier difficulties in traversing interplanetary space and, 
also, you will be less likely to lose your way on the lattice planet which, 
incidentally, you know of as Roth, or Ragged Ruth.'

'I am grateful,' Renark said. 'The conservator will be of great assistance.' 
Then another thought occurred to him. 'You are aware of my reason for coming 
here - because the universe where I belong is contracting. Could not a number of 
these conservators be built in order to stop the course which my universe is 
taking?'

'Impossible. Your universe is not contravening any natural laws. The laws which 
apply to it are bringing about this change. You must discover why this is 
happening - for everything has a purpose - and discover what part your race is 
to play in this reorganisation.'

'Very well,' said Renark humbly.

Several of the metazoa detached themselves from the main body and disappeared in 
the direction of a line of hills, travelling rapidly. 'We go to fetch a 
conservator,' the pseudo-giant told him. '

Renark used the wait to explore his own state of mind. Strangely, without any 
great strain, he could now accept the enormity of the realisation which had been 
dawning in him ever since he first came to the Shifter. And he knew now, 
unquestioningly, that his whole journey, his trials and endeavours, had had, 
from the beginning, a definite purpose - there was logic in the multiverse. The 
Ekiversh had convinced him. And that purpose, he thought with dawning clarity, 
transcended his original one - transcended it and yet was part of it!

But there was much more, he felt, to undergo before this new need in him would 
be consummated. For now he was to undergo the worst part of the journey - to the 
planet that had sent Mary the Maze insane. Ruth - Ragged Ruth - the Lattice 
Planet.

The metazoa returned bearing a small globe of a dull ochre colouring. This they 
placed on the ground, near the airlock of the spaceship.

'We shall leave you now,' the metazoa telepathed, 'but let us wish you 
knowledge. You Renark and Asquiol are the messengers for the multiverse - you 
must represent us all if you succeed in reaching the Originators - presuming 
they exist. You go further towards reality than any other intelligent beings, 
apart from the dwellers of The Hole, have done before Asquiol got into a suit 
and went outside to collect the conservator. Renark watched him, his gaze 
unblinking, his thoughts distant, as he returned and placed the globe on the 
chart desk beside Renark.

Automatically, Renark prepared himself for take-off, thanked the metazoa and 
pressed the drive control.

Then they were plunging upwards, cutting a pathway of law through the tumbling 
insanity of interplanetary space.

But this time there was no need to fight it. The conservator acted just as the 
Ekiversh had predicted, setting up a field all about itself where its own laws 
operated. Relieved, they had time to talk.

Asquiol had been taken aback by all the events and information he had received. 
He said: 'Renark, I'm still bewildered. Why exactly are we going to Roth?'

Renark's mood was detached, his voice sounding far away even to his own ears.

'To save the human race. I am realising now that the means of salvation are of a 
subtler kind than I previously suspected. That is all.'

'But surely we have lost sight of the original purpose for this mission? More - 
we are living in a fantasy world. This talk of reality is nonsense!'

Renark was not prepared to argue, only to explain.

'The time has come for the dismantling of fantasies. That is already happening 
to our universe. Now that we have this one chance of survival we must finally 
rid ourselves of fantasies and seize that chance!

'For centuries our race has built on false assumptions. If you build a fantasy 
based on a false assumption and continue to build on such a fantasy, your whole 
existence becomes a lie which you implant in others who are too lazy or too busy 
to question its truth.

'In this manner you threaten the very existence of reality, because, by refusing 
to obey its laws, those laws engulf and destroy you. The human race has for too 
long been manufacturing convenient fantasies and calling them laws. For ages 
this was so. Take war, for instance, Politicians assume that something is true, 
assume that strife is inevitable, and by building on such false assumptions, lo 
and behold, they create further wars which they have, ostensibly, sought to 
prevent.

'We have, until now, accepted too many fantasies as being truths, too many 
truths as fantasies. And we have one last chance to discover the real nature of 
our existence. I am prepared to take it!'

'And I.' Asquiol spoke softly, but with conviction. He paused and then added 
with a faint half-smile: 'Though you must forgive me if I still do not fully 
comprehend your, argument.'

'You'll understand it soon enough if things go right.' Renark smiled broadly. 
Roth now loomed huge on the laser screens.

With a deliberate lack of reverence, Asquiol commented: 'It looks like a great 
maggoty cheese, doesn't it?'

In the places seeming like glowing sores, they could see right through the 
planet. In other places there were gaps which jarred the eyes, numbed the mind.

Although they could see vaguely the circular outline, the planet was gashed as 
though some monstrous worm had chewed at it like a caterpillar on a leaf.

Refusing to let the sight overawe him - though it threatened to - Renark brought 
his skill as a Guide Senser to bear. Deliberately, yet warily, he probed the 
mass of the weird planet. Where the gaps were, he sensed occasionally the 
existence of parts of the planet which should, by all the laws he knew, be in 
the same space-time. But they were not - they existed outside in many other 
levels of the multiverse.

He continued to probe and at last found what he was searching for - sentient 
life. A warmth filled him momentarily.

Had he found the dwellers? These beings appeared not wholly solid, seemed to 
exist on all layers of the multiverse!

Could it be possible? He wondered. Did these beings exist on all planes and thus 
experience the full knowledge of reality, unlike the denizens who only saw their 
own particular universe and only experienced a fraction of the multi-verse?

Though he could conceive the possibility, his mind could not imagine what these 
beings might be like, or what they saw. Perhaps he would find out?

He understood now why Mary the Maze played insanely with her lifeless keyboard 
in a tavern on Entropium.

Another thought came to him and he felt about with his mind and learned, with a 
sinking regret, that the Shaarn had succeeded in beating back the Thron. He 
could not tell definitely, but it seemed that the Shifter's motion through the 
multiversal levels was slowing down.

Hastily he re-located the dwellers. There Were not many and they were on a part 
of the planet he felt he could find - a part not having its whole existence in 
the area now occupied by the Shifter, but probably visible to the human eye. 
With the aid of the conservator he felt fairly certain of finding the mysterious 
Hole.

Speed was important, but so was caution. He did not wish to suffer an ironical 
end - perishing now that he was so close to his goal.

He brought the ship down over a gap in order to test the conservator's powers.

They were extremely strong. As he came closer, the planet seemed to form itself 
under him as the missing piece shifted into place like a section of a jigsaw 
puzzle. It worked.

Now Renark lifted the ship away again and saw the piece fade back, wrenched into 
its previous continuum. He could not afford to land his ship on such a dangerous 
location. So he moved on and came down slowly on a surface which, he hoped, 
would remain in this continuum until he was ready to return.

If he did return, he told himself. The ominous activity near the binary was 
increasing, perhaps, already, the Shifter had stopped!

Asquiol was silent. He clutched the conservator to him as he followed Renark put 
of the ship's airlock.

The planet seemed a formless mass of swirling gases and they received a distinct 
sense of weightlessness for a moment as they placed their feet on its unnatural 
surface.

Dominated by the dreamlike insecurity of the planet, striking, first, patches of 
weightlessness, and later patches where their feet seemed entrenched in dragging 
mud, they moved warily on, Renark in the lead.

Though it was dark, the planet seemed to possess its own luminous aura, so that 
they could see a fair distance around them. But there were places where, 
somehow, their vision could not penetrate - yet they could see beyond these 
places! Even when they walked on rocky ground, it seemed impermanent.

As they moved, the area immediately around them would sometimes alter as the 
conservator exerted its strange power.

But, as if to compensate for this, new gaps continued to form elsewhere.

Straggling to keep his objective clear, Renark felt ahead with his mind, awed by 
the remarkable fluxions taking place constantly.

The planet was perpetually shifting. It was impossible to tell which part of it 
would be in existence even for a few moments at a time. Sundered matter, as 
chaotic as the unformed stuff of the multiverse at the dawn of creation, 
wrenched, spread and flung itself about as if in agony.

But, remorselessly, Renark pushed onward, filled with a sense of purpose which 
dominated his whole being.

Stumbling on, drunk by their visions of chaos, they did not lose their objective 
for a moment.

Sometimes near, sometimes distant, the Hole became their lodestar, beckoning 
them with a promise of truth - or destruction!

EIGHT

At last, after more than a weary day, they stood above the Hole, and as rock 
unformed itself and became gas, Renark said hollowly:

'They are in there. This is where we'll find them, but I do not know what they 
are.'

Though their tiredness made them inactive, Renark felt that he had never been 
more conscious, more receptive to what he saw. But his reception was passive. He 
could only look at the shifting, shining, dark and myriad-coloured Hole as it 
throbbed with power and energy.

They stared down at it, filled with knowledge and emotion.

After several hours silence, Asquiol spoke.

'What now?' he said.

'This is the gateway of which we learned on Thron and Ekiversh,' said Renark. 'I 
can do nothing now but descend into it in the hope of achieving our aim.' Now 
the human race seemed remote, a fantasy, unreal - and yet important. More 
important than it had ever been before.

He moved towards the very brink of the Hole and lowered himself into its pulsing 
embrace.

Asquiol paused for a moment behind him and then followed. They ceased to climb 
down, for they were now floating, going neither up nor down, nor in any definite 
direction, but yet floating - somewhere. The conservator had ceased to work - 
unless it still worked and, in some way, these laws applied more rigorously to 
it than any it had previously conserved.

 Again they were on solid ground, on a small island in an ocean. They stepped 
forward and knew they were in the heart of a blazing sun; stepped back and were 
in the middle of a bleak mountain range. From the tops of the mountains an 
entity looked down and welcomed them.

They moved towards it and were suddenly in an artificial chamber which seemed, 
at first, to have dead, black walls. Then they realised they were looking out 
into a void - emptiness.

To their left a being appeared.

It seemed to be constantly fading and reappearing. like a badly-tuned laser set, 
Renark thought, desperately looking for something to cling to. He felt cut off 
entirely from anything he knew.

The being began to speak. It was not Terran he spoke. He conversed in a 
combination of sonic and thoughtwaves which struck responses in Renark's mind 
and body. He realised that these entities may have once been like himself, but 
had lost the power of direct speech when they gained the power to dwell on all 
levels of the multiverse.

He found he could communicate with the entity by modulating his own speech and 
thinking as far as possible in pictures.

'You wish (complicated geometric patterns) help...?'

'Yes (picture of universe contracting)...'

'You from (picture of a pregnant woman which changed quickly to a womb - an 
embryo, not quite human, appeared in it)...?'

Renark deliberated the meaning of this, but did not take long to realise what 
the entity was trying to say. Already he had half realised the significance.

Logic, based on the evidence he had seen and heard in the rest of the Shifter, 
was leading Renark towards an inescapable conclusion.

'Yes,' he said.

'You must wait.'

'For what?'

'Picture of a vast universe, multi-planed, turning about a central point. Until 
(picture of the Shifter moving through time, space and other dimensions towards 
the Hub).'

Renark realised what the picture meant. It could only mean one thing. He had 
only been shown it briefly, yet he understood clearly.

He had been shown the centre of the universe, the original place through which 
all the universal radii passed, from which all things had come. There were no 
alternate universes at the centre. When the Shifter passed through the centre - 
what...?

But what if the Shaarn succeeded in stopping the system's progress before it 
reached the Hub? He had to dismiss the idea. If the Shifter stopped too soon 
there would be no need for further speculation. No need for anything.

'What will happen there (misty picture of the multi-verse)?' he asked.

'Truth. You must wait here until (Hub with Shifter) then go (the binary star - 
the Shifter's star)...'

He had to wait in Limbo until the Shifter reached the Hub and then they must 
journey towards - no, into - the sun!

He transmitted a horrified picture of himself and Asquiol burning.

The being said: 'No,' and disappeared again.

When it reappeared, Renark said: 'Why?'

'You are expected.' The being faded, then vanished.

Since time did not exist here they couldn't tell how long they had waited. There 
were none of the usual bodily indications that time was passing.

Quite simply, they were in Limbo.

Every so often the being, or one like it, would reappear. Sometimes he would 
impart information regarding the Shifter's slow progress, sometimes he would 
just be there. Once a number of his kind appeared but vanished immediately.

Then, finally, the dweller appeared and a picture of the Shifter entering the 
area of the Multiversal Centre manifested itself in Renark's mind.

With relief and a bounding sense of anticipation, he prepared to experience - 
Truth.

Soon, whether he lived or died, remained sane or went insane, he would know. He 
and Asquiol would be the first of their race to know.

And this, they both realised, was all that mattered.

Then they went outwards.

They went towards the flaring, agonisingly brilliant suns.

They felt they had no physical form as they had known it, and yet could sense 
the stuff of their bodies clinging about them.

They poured their massless bodies into the fiery heat, the heart of the star, 
and eventually came to the Place of the Originators - not their natural habitat, 
but a compromise between Renark's and theirs.

They saw, without using their eyes, the Originators.

They could hear the Originators communicating, but there was no sound. All was 
colour, light and formlessness. Yet everything had a quality of bright 
existence, true reality.

'You are here,' said the Originators musingly, as one. 'We have been awaiting 
you and grown somewhat impatient. Your rate of development was not what we had 
hoped.'

On behalf of his race, in the knowledge of what the Originators meant, Renark 
said: 'I am sorry.'

'You were always a race to progress only when danger threatened.'

'Do we still exist?' Renark asked.

'Yes.'

'For how long?' Asquiol spoke for the first time.

The Originators did not answer his question directly. Instead, they said:

'You wish us to make changes. We expected this. That is why we speeded up the 
metamorphosis of your universe. You understand that although your universe is 
contracting, it will still exist as individual galaxies, suns and planets, 
matter of most kinds in different formations?'

'But the human race - what of that?'

'We should have let it die. Intelligent organic life cannot undergo the strains 
of the change. If you had not come to us, we should have let it die - 
regretfully. But our judgment was correct. We let you know of the coming 
catastrophe and you used all your resources of will and judgment to come here as 
we hoped you would.'

There was a pause, and then the Originators continued:

'Like all other races in the multiverse, yours is capable of existing on all 
levels. Not just one. But, because of these links you have with the rest of the 
levels, you would have perished, being not fully natural to just one level. None 
of the intelligent forms could survive such a catastrophe. We were responsible 
for placing them all in their present environment. Each plane of the multiverse 
serves as a separate seeding bed for a multitude of races, one of which may 
survive and succeed us. Your plane serves, in your terms, as a womb. You are our 
children - our hope. But if you fail to overcome the special limitations we set 
upon you, you, like us, shall die. But you shall die ... still-born.'

'Then what is to become of us?'

'We made the changes in your universe in order to accelerate your rate of 
development, so that representatives of your race would find a way to us. To the 
greatest extent you have succeeded, but you must return rapidly and inform your 
race of their need to develop more rapidly, more dynamically. We shall afford 
you the means, this time, of evacuating your universe. But we are growing old, 
and you, of all the intelligent races in the multiverse, are needed to take our 
place. You cannot do that until you are ready. Either you succeed in achieving 
your birthright, or, like us, perish in chaos and agony.

'You have proved to us that we were justified in selecting you, but you can 
overcome the boundaries we set around you. But hurry, we beg you - hurry...'

'What will happen if we succeed?'

'You will experience a stage of metamorphosis. Soon you will no longer need a 
universe of the kind you know now. Things are coming to an end. You have the 
choice of life - more than life or death!'

Renark accepted this. It was all he could do.

'And us - what is our function now?'

'To perform what you set out to do.'

There was a long, long pause.

Womb-warmth filled the two men and tune stopped for them as the Originators 
exuded sympathy and understanding. But glowing like hard reality beneath this, 
Renark sensed - his own oblivion? His own death? Something lay there in the 
future. Something ominous was in store for him.

'You are right, Renark,' said the Originators.

'I can't be right or wrong. I have no idea what my fate is.'

'But you sense, perhaps, our foreknowledge of your termination as a physical 
entity - perhaps your end as a conscious entity. It is hard to tell. Your spirit 
is a great one, Renark - a mighty spirit that is too great for the flesh that 
chains it. It must be allowed to spread, to permeate the multiverse!'

'So be it,' Renark said slowly.

Asquiol could neither understand nor believe what the Originators were saying. 
His form - golden, flashing red - bounced and flared before Renark as he said:

'Are you to die, Renark?'

'No! No!'

Renark's voice roared like a tower of flame. He addressed his friend. 'When I am 
gone you must lead our race. You must direct them towards their destiny - or 
perish with them. Do you understand?'

'I accept what you say, but without understanding. This experience is driving us 
to madness!'

The cool tones of the Originators swept inwards like flowing ice to catch their 
attention and silence them.

'Not yet, not yet. You must both retain something of your old forms and your old 
convictions. Your part is not played out yet. Now that you understand the nature 
of the multi-verse, it will not be difficult to supply you with material means 
for escaping your shrinking universe. We will give you knowledge of a machine to 
produce a warp effect and enable your people to travel to another, safer 
universe where they will undergo further tests. Our plans have not fully worked 
themselves out yet. There are others of your race involved - and you must meet 
and react and harden one another before you can fulfill the destiny we offer 
you. You, Asquiol, will be entrusted with this part of the mission.'

'Renark is the strongest,' Asquiol said quietly.

'Therefore Renark's spirit must be sacrificed as a gift to the rest of you. This 
is necessary.'

'How shall we accomplish this exodus to a new universe?' Renark asked hollowly.

'We will help. We shall instil in your fellow creatures a trust in the word of 
you both. It will necessarily be a temporary thing. Once you have left your 
universe, our workings must be of a subtler sort, and only the efforts of 
certain individuals will save you.'

'We shall be on our own?' Asquiol questioned.

'Virtually, yes.'

'What shall we find in this new universe?'

'We do not know, for it is likely that your jump will be a random one into any 
of the other multiversal planes. We cannot guarantee you a friendly reception. 
There are forces opposed to our purpose - meaner intellects who strive to 
prevent the evolution of our being.'

'Our being?' Asquiol's shape flickered and re-formed.

'Yours - ours - everyone's. We, the Originators, call ourselves Intelligent 
Optimists, since we see a purpose, of sorts, to existence. But there are 
pessimists in the universe. They prey upon us, seek to destroy us, since they 
themselves have given up hope of ever breaking the bonds which chain them to the 
half-real state in which they exist. They have their unknowing supporters among 
your own segment of the total race.'

'I understand.'

With those two words they became whole men. They saw, at last, the real universe 
- the myriad-planed universe comprising many, many dimensions so that there was 
no empty space at all, but a crowded, rich existence through which they had 
previously moved unknowing.

With an effort of his titanic will, Renark said urgently: 'One thing. What is 
your purpose? What is our ultimate purpose?'

To exist,' was the simple reply. 'You cannot have, as yet, real knowledge of 
what that means. Existence is the beginning and the end. Whatever significance 
you choose to put upon it is irrelevant. If we were to die before you were ready 
to take our place, then all our creation would die. The multi-verse would die. 
Chaos would flood over everything and a formless, mindless, fluctuating shroud 
would mark our passing.'

'We do not want that,' said Asquiol and Renark together.

'Neither do we. That is why you are here. Now - the information you will need.'

Their minds, it seemed, were taken by a gentle hand and sent along a certain 
course of logic until, at length, they had complete understanding of the 
principle involved in building dimension-travelling space-ships.

In what was, for them, normal space-time, it would have been virtually 
impossible to have formulated the principle in all its aspects. But now, 
dwelling in the whole multiverse, the logic seemed simple. They were confident 
that they could impart the information to their own race.

'Are you satisfied?' the Originators asked.

'Perfectly,' Renark said. 'We must hurry now, and return to our own universe. 
The exodus must begin as soon as possible.'

'Farewell, Renark. It is unlikely that when we meet again you will remember us. 
Farewell, Asquiol. When we meet again let us hope that you have succeeded in 
this matter.'

'Let us hope so,' Asquiol said gravely.

Then their beings were spreading backwards and streaming through the multiverse 
towards the ship which still lay on Roth.

NINE

The traveller stopped at the sagging filling station, the last human artifact 
before the long, grey road began again.

A huge, shapeless haversack bulged on his stooping back, but he walked along 
effortlessly, smiling in the depths of his lean, black face, his hair and beard 
wild about him.

Kaal Yinsen whistled to himself and took the road North. It was several 
centuries since the Earth had been populated by more than the few thousand 
people living here now, and this was the way he liked it. Kaal Yinsen had never 
had a dream in his life, and when this one came it came with force.

The road faded, the whole surface of the planet reared up, whirled and bellowed. 
Suddenly he knew he must head South again. This he did and was joined, on the 
way, by hundreds of families going in the same direction.

Bossan Glinqvist, Lord of Orion, sat in an office which was part of an isolated 
metal city, hanging in space close to the heart of the galaxy. He picked up the 
file on Drenner Mac­neer and began to leaf through it, not sure that his duties 
as Moderator in the Council of Galactic Lords were sufficiently satisfying to 
make him live a third of his adult life in so unnatural an environment. 
Macneer's case was a difficult one, requiring all Glinqvist's concentration and 
intelligence to judge.

The man had instigated a breach-of-code suit against the Council - accusing it 
of failing to represent the interests of a minority group of traders who, 
because of a change in a tariff agreement between Laming and Balesorn in the 
Clive System, had lost their initiative to survive by labour and were currently 
living off the citizen's grant on a remote outworld. It was a serious matter. 
Glinqvist looked up, frowning, and experienced a powerful hallucination.

Soon afterwards he was giving orders for the city to be set in motion - an 
unprecedented order - and directed toward the Kassim System.

These were but two examples of what was happening to every intelligent denizen 
of the galaxy.

Every human being, adult or child, was filled with the same compulsion to 
journey towards certain central planets where they gathered - and waited 
patiently.

On Earth, the few inhabitants of the planet felt that the very ground would give 
beneath the weight of so many newcomers. Normally, they would have been 
resentful of the appearance of outsiders on the recently healed globe, but now, 
with them, they waited.

And at last they were rewarded.

They saw its Vague outlines in the sky. On laser screens all over the planet 
they watched it land on a tendril of fire. A spaceship - a Police cruiser. It 
was scarred and battered. It looked old and scarcely spaceworthy.

There was silence everywhere as they watched the airlock open and two figures 
emerge.

Millions of pairs of eyes winced and failed to focus properly upon the figures. 
They strained to see all the figures, but it was impossible. The men who came 
out of the ship were like ghostly chameleons, their hazy bodies shifting with 
colour and energy and light.

The watchers seemed to see many images overlaid on the two they recognised as 
men, images which seemed to stretch out into other dimensions beyond their 
powers to see or to imagine.

These visitors were like angels. Their set faces glowed with knowledge; the 
matter of their bodies was iridescent; then-words, when they began to speak, 
throbbed in tempo with the pulse of the planet so that it was as if they heard 
an earthquake speak, or an ocean or a volcano, or even the sun itself giving 
voice!

Yet they understood that these messengers were human. But humans so altered that 
it was almost impossible to regard them as such.

They listened in awe to the words and, in part at least, they understood what 
they must do.

Renark and Asquiol delivered the ultimate message. They told of the threat 
inherent in the contracting universe. They told how this had come about and why. 
And then they told how the destruction of the race could be avoided.

They spoke clearly, in careful terms, looking out at their listeners from the 
depths of their faraway minds. No longer existing wholly in any one plane of the 
multiverse, they needed to concentrate in order to keep this single level in 
complete focus.

The myriad dimensions of the multiverse coursed in ever-changing beauty as they 
spoke. But this experience they could not as yet convey, for it was beyond 
speech. And the stuff of their bodies changed with the multiverse in 
scintillating harmony so that the watchers could not always see them as men. 
But, nonetheless, they listened.

They listened and learned that the multiverse contained many levels and that 
their universe was but one level - a fragment of the great whole. That it was 
finite, yet beyond the power of their minds to comprehend. They learned that 
this structure had been created by beings called the Originators. They learned 
that the Originators, sensing they would die, had created the multiverse as a 
seeding ground for a race to take their place. They learned that they, the 
embryonic children of the Originators, were to be given their last chance to 
take over. They were given a choice: Understand and overcome the pseudo-real 
boundaries of time and space as they understood them, therefore claiming their 
birthright - or perish!

Then Renark and Asquiol left the planet Earth, passing on to another and then 
another to impart their news.

Wherever they passed they left behind them awed silence, and each human being 
that heard them was left with a feeling of completeness such as he knew he had 
been searching for all his life.

Then the two multi-faceted messengers called technicians and scientists and 
philosophers to them and told these men what they must do.

Soon after, the vehicles, which had been fitted with the Intercontinua-
travelling device, swarmed in the depths of space beyond the Rim, ready to carry 
the human race into another universe.

At the head of the tremendous space-caravan the small, battered Police cruiser 
lay. In it, Renark and Asquiol took their final leave of one another.

Outside the cruiser, a small space-car awaited Renark.

The two beings - the New Men - looked at one another's shifting forms, stared 
about them to absorb the pulsating sight of the total multiverse, clasped hands, 
but said nothing. It was pre-ordained that this must happen.

Sorrowfully, Asquiol watched his friend board the space-car and vanish back 
towards the Hub of the galaxy.

Now he had to make ready the giant fleet. The Galactic Lords had sworn him full 
powers of leadership until such a time as he would no longer be needed. The 
efficient administration which had run the galaxy for many years was admirably 
suited to organising the vast fleet and they took Asquiol's orders and 
translated them into action.

'At precisely 1800 hours General Time, each ship will engage its I.T. drive.' 
Asquiol's lonely voice echoed across the void through which the fleet drifted.

Somewhere, out of sight of Asquiol or the human race, a small figure halted its 
space-car, climbed into a suit, clambered from the car and hung in space as it 
drifted away.

Now they could observe the galaxies rushing down upon one another. They came 
together and joined in one blazing symphony of light as the human race plunged 
through the dimensions to the safety of another universe where another 
intelligent life-form waited to receive it - perhaps in friendship, perhaps in 
resentment.

Then the contraction was swifter, sudden.

And Renark remained behind. Why, the race would never know - and even Renark was 
uncertain of his reasons. He only knew there had to be a sacrifice. Was it the 
ancient creed of his savage ancestors, translated into the terms of the 
Originators? Or did his action have some greater meaning? There would be no 
answer. There could be none.

Faster and faster, the universe contracted until all of it existed in an area 
that seemed little larger than Renark's hand. Still it shrank, as Renark watched 
it now as if from a distance. Then it vanished from his sight, though he could 
still sense it, was still aware of its rapidly decreasing size.

He knew that there was a point to which a thing can be reduced before it ceases 
to exist, and finally that point was reached. Now there was a gap, a real flaw 
in the fabric of the multiverse itself. His universe, the galaxy, the Earth, 
were no longer there - possibly absorbed into a larger universe beyond even 
Renark's marvellous senses. Perhaps, in this greater universe, his universe 
existed as a photon somewhere. Only Renark was left, his shifting, shimmering 
body moving in a void, the stuff of it beginning to dissipate and disappear.

'God!' he said as everything vanished.

His voice echoed and ached through the deserted gulf and Renark lived that 
moment forever.

TEN

In his deep sorrow, Asquiol was resolved to carry on Renark's work and bring to 
finality the Originators' plans for the human race.

The fleet was dropping, dropping, dropping through layer after layer of the 
multiverse in a barely controlled escape dive.

Soon he must give the order to slow down and halt on one level. He had no idea 
which to choose. Though he was aware of the multiverse, his vision, unlike 
Renark's, could not extend beyond its previous limits. He had no inkling of what 
to expect in the universe in which they would finally stop.

In the great multiverse they were merely a scattering of seeds - seeds that must 
survive many elements if they were to grow.

Finite, yet containing the stuff of infinity, the multiverse wheeled in its 
gigantic movement through space.

To those who could observe it from beyond its boundaries - the Originators - it 
appeared as a solid construction, dense and huge. Yet within it there were many 
things, many intelligences who did not realise that they dwelt in the multi-
verse, since each layer was separated from another by dimensions. Dimensions 
that were like leaves between the layers.

Here and there the mighty structure was flawed - by fragments which moved 
through the dimensions, through the leaves, passing many universes; by a vacuum 
existing where one small part had vanished. But, on the whole, the universes 
remained unknown to one another. They did not realise that they were part of a 
composite structure of fantastic complexity. They did not realise their purpose 
or the purpose for which the multiverse had been created.

Only the chosen knew - and of them only a few understood.

So, fleeing from their new non-existent galaxy, the human race began its great 
exodus into a new space-time-continuum - pierced the walls of the dimension-
barrier and came, at last, into a new universe.

By this action, Man had also entered a new period of his history.

But Asquiol of Pompeii was no longer a man. He had become many men and was 
therefore complete. Now there was no better leader for the human fleet; no 
better mentor to guide it. For Asquiol was the New man. Existing in a multitude 
of dimensions, his vision extended beyond the limitations of his fellows, and 
saw all that men could one day become - if they could make the effort.

Asquiol of Pompeii, captain of destiny, destroyer of boundaries, becalmed in 
detachment, opened his eyes from a sad reverie and observed the fleet he led.

His screen showed him the vast caravan of vessels. There were space-liners and 
battleships, launches and factory-ships, ships of all kinds and for all 
purposes, containing all the machinery of a complex society on the move. There 
were ships of many designs, some ornate, some plain, containing one part in 
common - the I.T. drive.

Asquiol deliberately ceased to wonder why Renark had elected to stay behind in 
the dying universe. But he still wished it had not happened. He missed the 
confidence which had come to him from Renark's presence, from Renark's will and 
spirit. But Renark and his will were in the past now. Asquiol had to find 
strength only from within himself - or perish.

And if he perished, ceased to be what he was, then the danger of the race itself 
perishing would be heightened considerably. Therefore, he reasoned, his survival 
and the survival of the race were linked.

Twenty-four hours of relative time had not passed since the fleet left the home 
universe. He decided that the next universe, irrespective of what it was, should 
be the one to remain in. Quickly he gave the order.

'De-activate I.T. drive at 1800 hours.' was, in a sense, that which separated 
one layer from another. When all the layers were experienced as a whole, there 
was no wasted vacuum, no dark nothingness. Here was everything at once, all 
possibilities, all experience.

He was suddenly forced to pull himself back from this individual experience. The 
special alarm over his laser-screen was shrilling urgently.

A face appeared on the screen. It was pouched and puffy, heavily jewelled like 
that of a bloodhound.

'Lord Mordan,' Asquiol said to the Galactic Lord who was Captain-in-chief of 
Police.

'Asquiol.' Even now Asquiol's power was virtually absolute, Mordan couldn't 
bring himself to call him "prince", for the Galactic Council had not had time to 
restore the now meaningless title. Mordan spoke heavily:

'Our Guide Sensers and Mind Sensers have come up with important information. We 
have located and contacted an intelligent species who appear to have noticed our 
entry into this space-time. They are evidently a star-travelling race.' 'How 
have they reacted to our entry?' 'We aren't sure - the sensers are finding it 
difficult to adjust to their minds...'

'Naturally, it will take time to understand a non-human species. Let me know if 
you have any further news.'

Mordan had been screwing up his eyes while looking at Asquiol's image. There 
appeared to be several images, in fact, each containing a different combination 
of colours, overlapping one another. It was as if Asquiol looked out at Mordan 
through a series of tinted, opaque masks covering his body and interleaving on 
either side. The image that Mordan took to be the original lay slightly to one 
side of the multiple image and, for him, in better focus than the rest. He 
evidently could not equate this image with what he remembered - the cynical, 
moody, vital young man whom he had divested of title and power years before. Now 
he saw a lean, saturnine man, the face that of a fallen archangel, stern with 
the weight of leadership, the eyes sharp yet staring into a distance containing 
little that Mordan felt he could observe. With his usual feeling of relief, 
Mordan switched out and relayed Asquiol's message to the senser team.

As he waited for further news, Asquiol didn't exert his mind by trying to 
contact the new species directly. That would come later. He decided to allow the 
sensers time to assemble as much general data as possible before he turned his 
full attention to the problem.

He kept in mind the Originators' warning that certain intelligences were quite 
likely to receive the human race with insensate hostility, but he hoped the 
universe they were in contained life that would welcome them and allow them to 
settle where they could. If the intelligences were hostile, the fleet was 
equipped to fight - and, in the last resort, run. He had already ordered the 
lifting of the ban on the anti-neutron cannon, and this devastating armament was 
virtually invincible. As far as he knew there was no known screen that could 
withstand it. The fleet was already alerted for battle. There was nothing to do 
at the moment but wait and see.

He returned his thoughts to problems of a different nature.

Landing on and settling new planets within this galaxy would only be a minor 
problem compared with the task of taking over from the Originators.

He thought of his race as a chicken in an egg. Within the shell it was alive, 
but aware of nothing beyond the shell, but with the act of breaking through the 
barrier of dimensions separating its universe from others, it had broken from 
its enclosing and stifling shell to some awareness of the multi-verse and the 
exact nature of things.

But a hatched chicken, thought Asquiol, may believe the breaking of the shell to 
be the ultimate action of its life - until the shell shattered and the whole 
world was visible in all its complexity. Then it discovered the farmyard and the 
countryside with all their many dangers. It discovered that it was only a chick 
and must learn and act to survive if it was to grow to adulthood.

And what, Asquiol considered ironically, was the eventual fate of the average 
chicken? He wondered how many other races had got this far in the ages of the 
multiverse's existence. Only one would survive, and now it had to be the human 
race, for if it did not attain its birthright before the Originators died, then 
none would take its place. The multiverse would disintegrate back into the 
chaotic forces from which the Originators had formed it.

Death and the stuff of death would engulf the cosmos. The tides of chance would 
roll over all existing things, and the multiverse, bereft of guidance and 
control, would collapse.

All intelligence, as the Originators and their creations understood it, would 
perish!

It was this knowledge that enabled him to keep his objective in the forefront. 
The race must not perish; it must survive and progress, must achieve the 
marvellous birthright that was its promised destiny. The race must replace the 
Originators while there was still a little time.

Was there sufficient time?

Asquiol didn't know. He had no way of knowing when the Originators would die. He 
had, in this case, to attempt to pack centuries of evolution into the shortest 
possible period. Whether, immediate danger averted, the race would allow him to 
continue with his mission he did not know. Now that the weird influence of the 
Originators had been removed, mankind could throw away its birthright, and 
consequently the life of all ordered creation, by one ill-judged or fear-
inspired decision.

Even now there were elements in the fleet who questioned his leadership, 
questioned his vision and his motives. It was easy to understand this 
questioning, suspicious impulse which was at once man's salvation and doom. 
Without it he ceased to reason; with it he often ceased to act. To use the 
impulse objectively was the answer. Asquiol knew. But how?

Without the usual warning, Mordan's face appeared on the laser. He stared into 
emptiness since he preferred not to have to see Asquiol's disturbing image.

'These intelligences are obviously preparing to attack us,' he said urgently.

So the worst had happened. In which case the threat must be met. 'What 
preparations are you making?' Asquiol said in a level voice.

'I have alerted our battle force and all essential craft are now protected by 
energy screens - administration ships, farm ships, factory ships. These I intend 
to reassemble at the centre of our formation since they are necessary for 
survival.

'Around these I will put all residential ships. The third section comprises all 
fighting craft, including privately owned vessels with worthwhile armament. The 
operation is working fairly smoothly, though there area few recalcitrants I'm 
having difficulty with. We are forming to totally enclose your ship so that you 
are properly protected.'

Asquiol drew a deep breath and said slowly: 'Thank you, Lord Mordan. That sounds 
most efficient.' To Mordan, his voice seemed to produce - like his image - 
intrinsic, faraway echoes that carried past Mordan and beyond him. 'How do you 
intend to deal with these recalcitrants?'

'I have conferred with the other members of the Galactic Council and we have 
come to a decision - subject to your approval.' 'That decision is?'

'We will have to use more direct powers of action - make emergency laws only to 
be declared null and void after the danger has passed.

'The example of history should deter you from such a decision. Powers of 
dictatorship, which you give me and yourselves, once assumed are liable to last 
beyond the circumstances for which they were devised. We have not employed 
coercion, force, or anything like it, for several centuries!'

'Asquiol - there is no time for debate!'

Asquiol made up his mind immediately. Survival, for the moment, was of primary 
importance. 'Very well. Take on these powers - force the recalcitrants to obey 
our orders, but be sure not to abuse the powers or we will find ourselves 
weakened rather than strengthened.'

'This we know. Thank you.'

Asquiol watched, his mood brooding and disquieted, as the fleet re-deployed into 
a great oval shape with his own battered ship in the centre, the nut in an 
inordinately thick shell.



ELEVEN

Adam Roffrey was a psychopath, a rebel without a cause, a hater of state and 
organisation.

Adam Roffrey morosely watched the ships re-forming about him, but remained where 
he was, refusing to answer the signal on his screen. His large head, made larger 
by the thick, black beard and hair covering it, had a dogged, insolent set. He 
was refusing to budge and he knew he was within his rights.

The flexible laws of the galaxy had been bent by him many times, for the rights 
of the citizen were varied and complex. He could not be forced to take part in a 
war; without his permission the authorities could not even contact him. 
Therefore, he sat tight, ignoring the urgent signal.

When Lord Mordan's bloodhound face appeared, unauthorised, on the laser-screen, 
Roffrey disguised his shock and smiled sardonically. He said lightly, as he 
always said things, whatever the gravity of the statement:

'It's a lost cause, Lord Mordan. We can't hope to win. We must be fantastically 
outnumbered. Asquiol's forcing the race to commit suicide. Are we voting?'

'No,' said Mordan, 'we're not. For the duration of the emergency all citizen's 
rights are liable to be waived if necessary. You have no choice but to comply 
with the decision of Asquiol and the Galactic Council. Asquiol knows what's 
best.'

'He doesn't know what's best for me. I'm the only lost cause I've ever backed, 
and that's the way it's staying!'

Lord Mordan regarded the black-bearded-giant grinning out of the laser screen 
and he frowned.

'Nobody leaves the fleet, Roffrey. For one thing, it's too dangerous, and for 
another we've got to keep it tight and organised if we're to survive!'

He said the last words to a blank screen. He whirled round in his control chair 
and shouted to a passing captain.

'Alert the perimeter guard. A ship may try to leave. Stop it!'

'How, Lord Mordan?'

'Force - if there is no other alternative,' said Mordan, shocking the captain, 
who had never received such an order in his whole career.

Adam Roffrey had been anti-social all his life.

His living had been made on the fringes of the law. He wasn't going to give in 
to the demands of society now. The chips were down for the fleet- that was his 
guess - and he had no reason for sticking around. He objected to the discipline 
required to fight complicated space-battles; he objected to the odds against the 
human race winning the battles; he objected to the fact that he was being 
personally involved. Personal involvement was not in his line.

So he broke the energy seals on his anti-neutron cannon and prepared to blast 
out. As he moved away from the rest of the fleet, several Geepee gunboats, 
alerted by Mordan, flitted towards him from nadir-north-west.

He rubbed his hairy chin, scratched his hairy forehead and reached out a hairy 
hand to his drive control. At full power he retreated, away from the oncoming 
ships, away from the fleet, into the unknown space of the unknown universe.

He was prepared to take such chances to avoid curtailment of his personal 
liberty.

But his ship, a peculiar vessel, at first sight an impossible old hulk, a space 
launch got up to look like a merchantman and fitted like a battle-wagon, could 
not hope to outdistance the Geepee craft in the long run. Already they were 
beginning to catch up.

Humming to himself, he debated his best course of action.

There was one sure method of evading immediate danger as well as the alien 
threat already visible as a huge fleet of spherical vessels, seen on his 
screens, approached the fleet from the depths of space.

But to take that way out, although he had considered it much earlier in another 
context, could be highly dangerous.

The odds were that, if he committed himself to it, he would never see another 
human being again.

The necessity to make a decision was increasing.

His ship, like all those in the great cosmic caravan, was fitted with the I.T. 
drive enabling him to travel through the dimensions. He had already taken the 
trouble to learn all he could about multi-dimensional space and certain things 
existing in it. He knew, suddenly, where he was going.

The idea had been in the back of his mind for years. Now he would be forced to 
go.

The Geepee ships were getting closer, their warning blaring on his communicator. 
He pressed a button of his chart-viewer, keeping a wary eye on the oncoming 
ships.

Though the Geepees were nearer, the two embattled fleets were far behind. He saw 
faint splashes of coloured light on his screen. He was tense and was surprised 
to note that he had a feeling half of relief, half of guilt that he had missed 
the battle. He wasn't a coward, but now he had something to do.

A quick glance at the slide of equations on the viewer and his hand was reaching 
for the crudely constructed controls of the I.T. drive. He pulled a lever, 
adjusted the controls, and quite suddenly the Geepee ships seemed to fade away. 
And fading into the place where they had been was a backdrop of great blazing 
suns that made his eyes ache.

Once again he experienced the unique sensation of falling through the layers of 
the multiverse.

Rapidly, as he operated the I.T. drive, the suns faded to be replaced by cold 
vacuum, which was replaced by an agitation of gases heaving about in an unformed 
state, scarlet and grey. He was phasing quickly through the layers, through 
universe after universe with only a slight feeling of nausea in his stomach and 
a fierce determination to reach his destination.

The Geepee ships hadn't followed him.

They had probably decided that their first priority was to aid the human fleet.

He travelled through space as well as time and the separating dimensions, and he 
was heading back in the direction where in his home universe, the edge of the 
galaxy had been. He had all the bearings he needed and, as he moved on one 
level, he moved through others at reckless speed.

He knew where he was going - but whether he would make it was a question he 
couldn't answer.

Asquiol of Pompeii watched the battle on his screens with a feeling akin to 
helplessness. Mordan was conducting the war, needing only basic orders from him.

Am I doing as much as I could? He wondered. Am I not accepting too complacently, 
what I have discovered?

It was easy for him to dominate the fleet, for his mind had become at once 
flexible and strong and his physical presence overawed his fellows. There was a 
part of him, too, which was not at ease, as if he were a jig-saw complete but 
for the last piece, and the section that would complete him was just - 
tantalisingly - out of reach.

Somewhere in the multiverse he felt the piece existed - perhaps another 
intelligence that he could share his thoughts and experiences with. He was 
almost certain it was out there, yet what it was and how he would find it he did 
not know. Without it, his picture of himself was incomplete. He felt that he 
functioned but could not progress. Had the Originators deliberately done this to 
him? Or had they made a mistake?

At first he had thought it was the loss of Renark which gave him the sense of 
incompleteness. But Renark's loss was still there, inside him, kept out of mind 
as much as possible. No, this was another lack. A lack of what, though?

He bent closer to observe the battle.

The fleet's formation was lost as yet another wave of attackers pounced out of 
space with weapons cutting lances of bright energy.

They were not impervious to anti-neutron cannon, but the two forces were fairly 
matched as far as technology went. There were more of the aliens and they had 
the double advantage of being in home territory and defending it. This was what 
primarily worried Asquiol.

But he could do nothing decisive at the moment. He would have to wait.

Again, while Mordan sweated to withstand and retaliate against this fresh 
attack, Asquiol let his mind and being drop through the layers of the multiverse 
and contact the alien commanders. If they would not accept peace terms, he 
strove to arrange a truce.

To his surprise, this suggestion seemed acceptable to them.

There was an alternative to open war - one which they would be delighted to 
negotiate.

That was?

The Game, they said. Play the game with us - winner takes all.

After he had got some inkling of the Game's nature, Asquiol deliberately 
momentarily. There were pros and cons...

Finally, he agreed and was soon watching the enemy ships retreating away into 
the void.

With some trepidation, he informed Mordan of his decision and awaited its 
outcome.

This new development in their struggle with the aliens disturbed Lord Mordan. 
War he could understand. This, at first, he could not. All psychologists, 
psychiatrists, physiologists and kindred professionals had been ordered to the 
huge factory ship which engineers were already converting.

From now on, according to Asquiol, the battle was to be fought from this single 
ship - and it had no armaments!

Asquiol was unapproachable as he conferred with the alien commanders in his own 
peculiar way. Every so often he would break off to issue strange orders.

Something about a game. Yet what kind of game, wondered Lord Mordan, required 
experts in psychology as its players? What was the complicated electronic 
equipment that technicians were installing in the great converted hold of the 
factory ship?

'This is our only chance of winning,' Asquiol had told him. 'A slim one - but if 
we learn how to play it properly, we have a chance.'

Mordan sighed. At least the truce had allowed them time to regroup and assess 
damage. The damage had been great. Two-thirds of the fleet had been destroyed. 
Farm ships and factory ships were working at full capacity to supply the fleet 
with necessities. But tight rationing had been introduced. The race was 
subsisting on survival rations. The initial joy of escape was replaced by gloomy 
desperation.

Adam Roffrey could see his destination.

He slammed the I.T. activator to the 'of' position and coasted towards the 
looming system ahead.

It hung in empty space, the outlines of its planets hazy, following a random 
progression around a magnificent binary sun.

The legendary system rose larger on his laser screen. The unnatural collection 
of worlds came closer.

The epic story of Renark and Asquiol on their quest to the Sundered Worlds was 
common lore among the human race these days. But the story - or, at least, part 
of it had had a special significance for Roffrey.

Renark and Asquiol had left two members of their party behind - Willow Kovacs 
and Paul Talfryn.

Roffrey knew their names. But dominant in his skull was another name-a woman's, 
the woman he had come to find.

If he did not find her this time, he told himself, then he would have to accept 
that she was dead. Then he would have to accept his own death also.

Such was the intensity of his obsession.

As he neared the Sundered Worlds he regarded them with curiosity. They had 
changed. The planets were spaced normally - not equidistantly, as he had 
thought. And, as far as he could tell, the system had stopped shifting.

Now he remembered part of the story which was fast becoming a myth among those 
who had fled their own galaxy. A dog-like race called the Shaarn had attempted 
to stop the system's course through the dimensions.

Evidently they'd succeeded.

His maps aided him to find Entropium and he cruised into the Shifter's area 
warily, for he knew enough to expect two kinds of danger - the Thron and the 
lawless nature of the Shifter itself.

Yet, wary as he was, it was impossible to observe either chaos or enemy as he 
swept down over Entropium, scanning the planet for the only city that had ever 
been built there.

He didn't find the city, either.

He found, instead, a place where a city had been. Now it was jagged rubble. He 
landed his ship on a scattered wasteland of twisted steel and smashed concrete.

Scanning the surrounding ruins, he saw shadowy shapes scuttling through the dark 
craters and between the shattered buildings. His experience told him nothing 
about the cause of this catastrophe.

At length, sick at heart, he climbed into space armour, strapped an anti-neutron 
pistol to his side, descended to the airlock and placed his booted feet on the 
planet's surface.

A bolt of energy flashed from a crater and spread itself over his force-screen. 
He staggered back to lean against one of his ship's landing fins, lugging the 
pistol from its holster.

He did not fire immediately for, like everyone else, he had a certain fear of 
the destructive effects of the a-n gun.

He saw an alien figure - a dazzling white skin like melted plastic covering a 
squat skeleton, long legs and short arms, but no head that he could see - appear 
over the edge of the crater, a long metal tube cradled in its arms and pointing 
at him. He fired.

The thing's wailing shriek resounded in his helmet. It absorbed the buzzing 
stream of anti-neutrons, collapsed, melted and vanished.

'Over here!'

Roffrey turned to see a human figure, all rags and filth, waving to him. He ran 
towards it.

Ina crater which had been turned into a crude fortress by the piles of wreckage 
surrounding its perimeter, Roffrey found a handful of wretches, the remnants of 
the human population of Entropium.

The man who had waved had a fleshless head and huge eyes. Dirty, scab-covered 
skin was drawn tight over his skull. He fingered his emaciated body and eyed 
Roffrey warily. He said:

'We're starving here. Have you got any supplies?'

'What happened?' Roffrey said, feeling sick.

There was desolation everywhere. These human beings had evidently banded 
together for protection against similar bands of aliens. Evidently, also, only 
the fittest survived.

The ragged man pointed at the rubble behind him. 'This? We don't know. It just 
hit us...'

'Why didn't you leave here?'

'No ships. Most of them were destroyed.'

Roffrey grimaced and said: 'Keep me covered while I return to my ship. I'll be 
back.'

A short time later he came stumbling back over the rubble with a box in his 
hands, his boots slipping and sliding on the uneven ground. They clustered 
around him greedily as he handed out vitapacks.

Something terrible had happened to the planet - perhaps to the whole system. He 
had to know what - and why.

Nowa woman separated herself from the group squatting over their food. The man 
with the fleshless head followed her.

She said to Roffrey: 'You must be from the home galaxy. How did you get here? - 
Did they... find how the Shifter worked?'

'You mean Renark and Asquiol?'

Roffrey looked hard at the woman, but he didn't know her. He noted that she had 
obviously been beautiful, probably still was under the filth and rags. 'They got 
through. They discovered more than they bargained for here - but they got 
through. Our whole universe doesn't exist any more. But the race - or the part 
which left - is still going. Maybe it's wiped out by now. I don't know.'

The man with the fleshless head put his arm around the woman. They looked like a 
pair of animated skeletons and the man's action enhanced the bizarre effect.

'He didn't want you then and he won't now,' he said to her.

Roffrey saw tension between them, but couldn't understand why.

She said: 'Shut up, Paul. Are Renark and Asquiol safe?'

Roffrey shook his head. 'Renark's dead. Asquiol's okay - he's leading the fleet. 
The Gee-lord gave him complete leadership during the emergency. They work under 
him now.'

'Local boy makes good,' said the male skeleton.

Roffrey felt he could name both of them now. He pointed at the man. 'Are you 
Paul Talfryn?"

Talfryn nodded. He cocked his head towards the woman. She dropped her eyes. 
"This is Willow Kovacs - my wife. We sort of got married... Asquiol's mentioned 
us, eh? I suppose he sent you back for us?'

'No.'

Willow Kovacs shuddered. Roffrey reflected that she didn't appear to like 
Talfryn very much; there was a kind of apathetic hatred in her eyes. Probably 
she regarded Talfryn merely as a protector, even if that. But it was no business 
of his.

'What happened to the rest of the human population?' Roffrey said, concentrating 
on his own affairs and trying to ignore the sickening feeling of disgust at the 
sight of such degeneration. 'Were they all killed?'

'Did you see anything when you came through the ruins?' Talfryn asked. 'Little, 
scuttling animal shapes, maybe?'

Roffrey had seen them. They had been repulsive, though he didn't know why.

Talfryn said: 'All those little creatures were intelligent once. For some 
reason, the Shifter stopped shifting. There was a long period of absolute 
madness before she seemed to settle down again. This happened - that happened.

'When the trouble started, the actual forms of human beings and aliens changed, 
devolving into these. Somebody said it was metabolic pressures combined with 
time-slips induced by the stop, but I didn't understand it. I'm no scientist - 
an astro-geographer. Unlicensed, you know...' He seemed to sink into an attitude 
of detachment and then looked up suddenly. 'The city just crumbled. It was 
horrifying. A lot of people went mad. I suppose Asquiol told you...'

'I've never met Asquiol,' Roffrey broke in. 'All my information is second-hand. 
I came particularly to find another person. A woman - she helped Renark with 
information. Mary the Maze - a mad woman. Know her?'

Talfryn pointed upwards to the streaked sky.

'Dead?' said Roffrey.

'Gone,' Talfryn said. 'When the city started breaking apart, she took one of the 
only ships and just spun off into space. She probably killed herself. She was 
like a zombie, and quite crazy. It was as if some outside pressure moved her. I 
heard she wanted to get to Roth. That was a crazy thing to want to do, in 
itself! She took one of the best ships, damn her. A nice one - Mark Seven 
Hauser.'

'She was heading for Roth? Isn't that the really strange planet?'

'As I said, she was crazy to go there. If she did get there.'

'You think there'd be a chance of her still being alive if she made it?'

'Maybe. Asquiol and Renark obviously survived.'

'Thanks for the information.' Roffrey turned away.

'Hey!' The skeleton suddenly became animated. 'You're not leaving us here! Take 
us with you - take us back to the fleet, for God's sake!'

Roffrey said: 'I'm not going back to the fleet. I'm going to Roth.'

'Then take us with you - anywhere's better than here!' Willow's voice was shrill 
and urgent.

Roffrey paused, deliberating. Then he said: 'Okay.'

As they neared the ship, something small and scaly scuttled across their path. 
It was like nothing Roffrey had seen before and he felt he never wanted to see 
it again. Entropium, when it flourished, had contained the seeds of corruption - 
and now corruption was dominant, a physical manifestation of a mental disease. 
It was an unhealthy place, with intelligent species scrabbling and fighting like 
animals to survive. It was rotten with the sickness that came from a state of 
mind as much as anything.

He was glad to reach the ship.

As Willow and Talfryn climbed into the airlock, he glanced back at the ruins, 
his face was rather grim. He helped them aboard and closed the lock.

Now he turned his thoughts to Mary the Maze.

TWELVE

Roffrey debated his next move, sitting hunched at the controls while he checked 
the astrochart before him. It didn't tally with the Shifter as it now was, but 
it would do. He could recognise descriptions of planets even though they had 
changed their location.

Willow and Talfryn were cleaning up. They were both beginning to look better. 
The ship itself was hardly tidy. It was not even very clean and there was a 
smell of the workshop about it - of oil, burnt rubber, dirty plastic and old 
leather. Roffrey liked it that way.

He scowled then. He didn't like company. I'm getting soft, he told himself.

Now he was going to Roth he began to feel nervous at what he might find there.

Talfryn said: 'We're ready!'

He activated the ship's normal drive and lifted off. He was tempted to burn the 
city to rubble as he passed, but he didn't. He got into space with a feeling of 
relief, heading in a series of flickering hops used for short journeys towards 
Roth, now hanging the farthest away from the parent binary, as if deliberately 
set apart from the rest of the system.

Roth, more than any other planet in the Shifter, defied the very logic of the 
cosmos and existed contrary to all laws. Roth - nicknamed Ragged Ruth, he 
remembered - still contained the impossible gaps. There, two men had become 
supersane. But Mary, poor Mary who had helped them - she had found only madness 
there.

Had she gone back to try and lay the ghost that was her insanity? Or had her 
motives been induced by madness? Perhaps he would find out.

The planet was big now. The screens showed nothing but the monstrous globe with 
its speckled aura, its shifting light-mist, its black blotches and, worst of 
all, the gaps. The gaps which were not so much seen as unseen. Something should 
be there but human eyes couldn't see it.

Roffrey flung the ship down through Roth's erratically tugging gravisphere, 
swinging down towards the unwelcoming surface which throbbed below like a sea of 
molten lava, changing and shifting like the seas of hell.

There seemed to be no consistent gravity. His instruments kept registering 
different findings. He fought to keep the descent as smooth as possible, 
concentrating on the operation, while Willow and Talfryn gasped and muttered, 
horrified by the vision.

He frowned, wondering what was familiar about the disturbing world. Then he 
remembered that the one time he had seen Renark and Asquiol they had possessed a 
similar quality, impossible to pin down, but as if their bodies had existed on 
different levels only just invisible to the human eye.

Yet this place was ominous. The men's images had been beautiful.

Ominous!

The word seethed around in his brain. Then, for one brief second, he passed 
through a warmth, a pleasure, a delight so exquisite yet so short-lived that it 
was as if he had lived and died in a moment.

He couldn't understand it. He had no time to try as the ship rocked in response 
to the weirdly unbalanced tug of Roth's gravity. He navigated with desperate 
skill, gliding low over the flame-mist boiling on the surface, trying without 
success to peer into the gaps, all his instruments operating on full power but 
few giving him any sensible readings, and lasers scanning the unstable surface.

Had Mary tried, perhaps like Renark, to find the Originators? Had something 
driven her back to the world that had turned her mad?

Then he spotted a ship on his screens, a ship surrounded by achingly disturbing 
light-mist. It was the Mark Seven Hauser. Mary's ship. And his energraph told 
him that the drive was active. That meant it had only recently landed or else 
was about to take off. He had to land fast!

He made planet-fall in a hurry, cursing the sudden grip of gravity for which he 
only just succeeded in compensating as he brought his ship close to the other 
vessel. His gauntleted fingers stabbed at buttons and he got into immediate 
contact with the Hauser on a tight laser beam.

'Anyone aboard?' There was no reply.

Both Willow and Talfryn were peering at the screen now, bending over his 
shoulder.

'This ship seems to have arrived only recently,' he said.

It meant nothing to them and he realised that it meant little to him, either. He 
was pinning his hopes on too thin a circumstance.

He operated the laser, scanning as best he could the surrounding territory. 
Strange images jumped upon the screen, fading as rapidly as they approached. 
Harsh, craggy, crazy Roth, with its sickness of rock and the horror of the 
misty, intangible, unnatural gaps.

That men could survive here was astounding. Yet evidently they could. Asquiol 
and Mary had been living evidence. But it was easy to see how they went mad, 
hard to understand how they kept sane. It was a gaping, raw, boiling, dreadful 
world, emanating, it seemed, stark malevolence and baleful anger in its constant 
and turbulent motion.

Mary could easily have disappeared into one of the gaps or perished in some 
nameless way. His lips tightened as he left the screen and opened the spacesuit 
locker.

'If I need help I'll call you in my suit-phone,' he said as he picked up his 
discarded helmet. 'If you need them - suits are here.' He went to the airlock's 
elevator. 'I'll keep my suit-phone receiver on. If you see anything - any trace 
of Mary - let me know. Have the scanners working full-time.'

'You're a fool to go out there!' Talfryn said heavily.

'You're a non-participant in this,' Roffrey said savagely as he clamped his 
faceplate. 'Don't interfere. If it's obvious that I'm dead, you've got the ship 
to do what you like with. I've got to see what's in the Hauser.'

Now he was in the outer lock. Now he was lowering his body from the ship into a 
pool of yellow liquid that suddenly changed to shiny rock as he stepped on to 
it. Something slid and itched beneath his feet.

His lips were dry, the skin of his face seemed cracked and brittle. His eyes 
kept focusing and unfocusing. But the most disturbing thing of all was the 
silence. All his instincts told him that the ghastly changes taking place on the 
surface should make noise. But they didn't. This heightened the dreamlike 
quality of his motion over the shifting surface.

Ina moment, his own ship could no longer be seen and he reached the Hauser, 
noting that the lock was wide open. Both locks were open when he got inside. Gas 
of some kind swirled through the ship. He went into the cabin and found traces 
of the pilot having been there recently. There were some figures scribbled on a 
pad beside the chart-viewer. The equations were incomprehensible - but they were 
in Mary's writing!

A quick search through the ship told him nothing more. Hastily he pulled himself 
through the cabin door and down the airlock shaft until he was again on the 
surface. He peered with difficulty through the shifting flame-mist. It was 
thoroughly unnerving. But he forced himself through it, blindly searching for a 
mad woman who could have gone anywhere.

Then two figures emerged out of the mist and, just as suddenly, merged back into 
it.

He was sure he recognised one of them. He called after them. They didn't reply. 
He began to follow but lost sight of them.

Then a piercing shout blasted into his suit-phone.

'Asquiol! Oh, Asquiol!'

He whirled around. It was the voice of Willow Kovacs. Was Asquiol looking for 
him? Had the fleet been defeated? If so, why had the two men ignored his shout?

'Asquiol! Come back! It's me, Willow!'

But Roffrey wanted to find Mary the Maze; he wasn't interested in Asquiol. He 
began to run, plunging through hallucinations, through shapes that formed 
silently around him as if to engulf him, through turquoise tunnels, up mauve 
mountains. In places, gravity was low and he bounded along; in others it became 
almost impossible to drag his bulk.

Now he entered another low gravity patch and bounded with bone-jarring 
suddenness into a heavy one. Painfully he lifted his booted feet, barely able to 
support his heavy body.

Then a voice - perhaps through his suit-phone, perhaps not. He recognised the 
voice. His heart leapt.

'It's warm, warm, warm... Where now? Here... but... Let me go back... Let me...'

It was Mary's voice.

For a moment he didn't respond to the shock. His mouth was dry, his features 
petrified. His body was frozen as he strained to hear the voice again.

'Mary - where are you?'

It was as if he were experiencing an awful dream where menace threatened but he 
was unable to escape, where every step seemed to take every ounce of energy and 
every scrap of time he possessed.

Again he croaked: 'Mary!'

But it was not for some minutes that heard the reply:

'Keep moving! Don't stop. Don't stop!'

He didn't know whether the words were addressed to him or not, but he thought it 
best to obey then.

He began to sway and fall down, but he kept moving. Then it was as if the whole 
planet were above him and he was like Atlas, slowly crumpling beneath its 
weight.

He screamed.

Then Willow's voice blasted through: 'Asquiol! Asquiol!'

What was happening? It was all too confusing. He couldn't grasp ... He felt 
faint. He looked up and saw several small figures scurrying across the planet he 
held with his hands. Then he was growing, growing, growing...

Again he screamed. A hollow, echoing roar in his ears.

His heart beat a frantic rhythm against his rib cage until his ears became 
filled with the noise. He panted and struggled, crawling up over the curved 
surface of the planet, hanging on to it as if by his fingernails.

He was a great giant, larger than the tiny planet - but at the same time he was 
a flea, crawling through syrup and cotton wool.

He laughed then in his madness.

He laughed and stopped abruptly, grasping for the threads of sanity and pulling 
them together. He was standing in a light gravity patch and things suddenly 
looked as normal as they could on Roth.

He glanced through a patch in the mist and saw Mary standing there. He ran 
towards her.

'Mary!'

'Asquiol!'

The woman was Willow Kovacs in a suit - Mary's old suit. He made as if to strike 
her down, but the look of disappointment on her face stopped him. He pushed past 
her, changed his mind, came back.

'Willow - Mary's here, I know...' Suddenly he realised the possible truth. 'My 
God, of course. Time's so twisted and warped we could be seeing anything that's 
happened at any time in the past - or the future!'

Another figure came stumbling out of the light-mist. It was Talfryn.

'I couldn't contact you from the ship. There's a woman there. She...'

'It's an illusion, man. Get back to the ship!'

'You come with me. It's no illusion. She entered the ship herself!'

'Lead the way back,' Roffrey said. Willow remained where she was, refusing to 
budge. At length they had to lift her, squirming, and carry her back. It was 
only three yards away.

The woman wore a space suit. She was lying on the floor of the cabin. Roffrey 
bent over her, lifting the faceplate.

'Mary,' he said, softly. 'Mary - thank God!'

The eyes opened, the big soft eyes that had once held intelligence. For a short 
time intelligence was there - a look of incredible awareness. Then it faded and 
she formed her lips to say something, but they twisted downwards into an idiot 
grin and she subsided into a blank-eyed daze.

He got up wearily, his body bowed. He made a gesture with his left hand. 
'Willow, help her out of the suit. We'll get her into a bunk.'

Willow looked at him with hatred: 'Asquiol's out there... You stopped me.'

Talfryn said: 'Even if he was he wouldn't want you. You keep pining for him, 
wishing you'd followed him earlier. Now it's too late. It's no good, Willow, 
you've lost him for ever!'

'Once he sees me he'll take me back. He loved me!'

Roffrey said impatiently to Talfryn: 'You'd better help me, then.'

Talfryn nodded. They began getting her out of the suit.

'Willow,' said Roffrey as they worked, 'Asquiol wasn't there - not now. You saw 
something that probably happened years ago. The other man was Renark - and 
Renark's dead? You understand?'

'I saw him. He heard me call him!'

'Maybe. I don't know. Don't worry Willow. We're going back to the fleet if we 
can - if it still exists. You'll see him then.'

Talfryn wrenched off a piece of space-armour from Mary's body with a savage 
movement. His teeth were clenched but he said nothing.

'You're going back to the fleet? But you said...' Willow was disconcerted. 
Roffrey noted a peculiar look, a mixture of eagerness and introspection.

'Mary needs treatment. The only place she'll get it is back there. So that's 
where I'm going. That should suit you.'

'It does,' she said. 'Yes, it does.'

He went over to the ports and closed their shutters so they couldn't see Roth's 
surface. It felt a little safer.

Talfryn said suddenly: 'I get it, Willow. You've made it plain. I won't be 
bothering you from now on.'

'You'd better not.' She turned on Roffrey: 'And that goes for you, too, for any 
man. I'm Asquiol's woman, as you'll see when we get back to the fleet!'

'Don't worry,' he grinned. 'You're not my type.'

She pushed back her lank hair, piqued. 'Thanks,' she said.

Roffrey smiled at Mary, who sat drooling and crooning in her bunk. He winked at 
her. 'You're my type, Mary,' he said genially.

'That's cruel,' Willow said sharply.

'That's my wife.' Roffrey smiled, and then Willow saw at least a trace of what 
the smiling eyes and grin hid.

She turned away.

'Let's get going,' said Roffrey briskly. Now that he had made up his mind, he 
wanted to waste no time returning to the fleet.

He couldn't guess how long Mary had been on Roth. Maybe only a few minutes of 
real time. Maybe a hundred years of Roth's time. He did not allow himself to 
dwell on this, just as he refused to consider the extent of her mental 
derangement. The psychiatrists in the fleet might soon be supplying him with all 
the information they possibly could. He was prepared to wait and see.

He went over to her. She shrank away from him, muttering and crooning, her big 
eyes wider than ever. Very gently he made her lie down in the bunk and strapped 
her into it with safety harness. It pained him that she didn't recognise him, 
but he was still smiling and humming a little tune to himself as he climbed into 
the pilot's seat, heaved back a lever, adjusted a couple of dials, flipped a 
series of switches and soon the drone of the drive was drowning his own humming.

Then, in a flicker, they were off into deep space and heading away from the 
Sundered Worlds into the depths of matterless void. It was such an easy lift-
off, Roffrey felt, that it was almost as if a friendly hand had given them a 
push from behind...

It was with a sense of inevitability that he began the descent through the 
dimension layers, heading back to the space-time in which he'd left the fleet of 
mankind.

Meanwhile, men's brains were jarred and jumbled as they strove to master the 
Game. Minds broke. Nerves snapped. But, while scarcely understanding what it was 
about, Lord Mordan forced his team to continue, convinced that humanity's chance 
of survival depended on winning...

Whistling sounds were the first impressions Roffrey received as he phased the 
ship out of the Shifter's space-time and into the next level.

Space around them suddenly became bright with stars, the not-quite-familiar 
whirl of a spiral galaxy searing outwards in a wild sprawl of suns. But the 
whistle was replaced by a dreadful moaning which pervaded the ship and made 
speech impossible.

Roffrey was intent on the new instruments. The little experience he had of the 
continuum-travelling device had shown him that the ship could easily slip back 
through the space-time layers and become totally lost.

The instruments hadn't been designed for wide travelling of this kind and 
Roffrey knew it, but each separate universe in the multiverse had its particular 
co-ordinates, and the instruments, crude as they were, could differentiate 
between them. Over the main laser screen Roffrey had a chart which would enable 
him to recognise the universe into which the human race had fled. But the 
journey could be dangerous, perhaps impossible.

And then the noise increased to become painful, no longer a monotone but a 
pulsating, nerve-racking whine. Roffrey phased into the next layer.

The galaxy ahead was a seething inferno of unformed matter, hazy, bright, full 
of archetypal colour - reds, whites, blacks, yellows - pouring about in slow 
disorder. This was a universe in a state of either birth or dissolution.

There was near-silence as Roffrey phased out of this continuum and into the 
next. His whistling, which he had been doing all the while, was light and 
cheerful. Then he heard Mary's groans and he stopped.

Now they were in the centre of a galaxy.

Massed stars lay in all directions. He stared at them in wonder, noticing how, 
with every phase, the matter, filling the space around them seemed to change its 
position as well as its nature.

Then the stars were gone and he was passing through a turbulent mass of dark gas 
which seemed to form into horrible half-recognisable shapes which sickened him 
so that he could no longer look but had to concentrate on his instruments.

What he read there depressed and shocked him!

He was off course.

He chewed at his moustache, debating what to do. He didn't mention it to the 
others. The co-ordinates corresponded to those on the chart above the screen.

As far as the ship's instruments were concerned, they were in the space-time 
occupied by Asquiol and the fleet I

Yet it was totally different from what he remembered. Gas swirled in it and he 
could not see the stars of the galaxy.

Had the fleet been completely wiped out?

There was no other explanation.

Then he cursed as the black gas suddenly became alive, a roaring and monstrous 
beast, many-tendrilled, dark blue, flame-eyed, malevolent. Willow and Talfryn 
gasped behind him as they saw it loom on the screen. Mary began shrieking, the 
sounds filled the cabin. The ship was heading straight towards the monster. But 
how could something like this exist in the near-vacuum of space?

Roffrey didn't have time for theories. He broke the energy seals of his anti-
neutron cannon as an acrid smell filled the cabin and the beast rapidly changed 
from deep blue to startling yellow.

The guns swung on the beast and Roffrey stabbed the firing buttons, then backed 
the ship away savagely.

The ship shuddered as the guns sent a deadly stream of anti-neutrons towards the 
monster. Meanwhile, the beast seemed, impossibly, to be absorbing the beams and 
new heads had grown on its shoulders - disgusting, half-human faces gibbering 
and yelling, and they could hear the cries! Roffrey felt and tasted bile in his 
throat.

Talfryn was now bending over him, staring at the screen.

'What is it?' he shouted above Mary's screams.

'How the hell should I know?' Roffrey said viciously. He righted the ship's 
backward velocity, stabbed the cannon buttons again. He heaved his big body 
round in the control

seat and said: 'Make yourself useful, Talfryn. See if the co-ordinates on that 
chart tally absolutely with those on this screen.'

The monster lurched through the dark mist towards the little launch, its heads 
drooling and grinning. There wasn't time to wonder what it was, how it existed.

Roffrey aimed at its main head. He" began to depress the firing button.

Then it had gone.

There were a few wisps of gas in the dark, sharp space of the galaxy Roffrey 
immediately recognised.

They were in the right galaxy!

But now a new danger threatened. Replacing the monster was a squadron of fast, 
spherical vessels - those he had glimpsed just before leaving the fleet. Were 
they the victors, cleaning up the last of the race. They were passing on the 
zenith-south flank of Roffrey's battered launch. He trailed the ship round on a 
tight swing so that he was now directly facing the oncoming alien ships.

The launch was responding well, but the cabin shook and rattled as he stood his 
vessel on a column of boiling black fire and glided away from the round ships, 
having shot a tremendous burst towards them. Something was disturbing him. He 
found it hard to concentrate properly. Talfryn was obviously having the same 
trouble. A quick look behind him showed Mary's gaping mouth as she screamed and 
screamed.

Talfryn clung instinctively to the handgrip and shouted: The co-ordinates tally 
perfectly.'

'That's news?' Roffrey said lightly.

Willow had joined Mary and was attempting to comfort her. Mary was rigid, 
staring ahead of her with fixed, glazed eyes. It was as if she could see 
something that was invisible to the others. Her screams rang on, a horrible 
ululation in the confined cabin.

Willow peered through the bad light at the two men half-silhouetted up ahead, 
the one in the control seat, the other standing over him, their dark clothes 
picked out against the spluttering brightness of the screens and instruments, 
their faces in shadow, their hands white on the controls.

The lighting was very dim as all power-sources were drained to provide the ship 
with maximum power.

She looked out of the nearest port. Space was blank - suddenly colourless. She 
looked back at the men and her vision was engulfed by a horrible disharmony of 
colour and noise, sense impressions of all kinds - obscene, primeval, terrible - 
throwing her mind into disorder so that she found it almost impossible to 
differentiate between her five senses.

Then, when she had completely lost her ability to tell whether she was smelling 
or hearing a colour, her head was filled with a single impression that combined 
as one thing to her sense: Smell, sight, touch, sound and taste were all there, 
but the combination produced a unified sense that all were blood red.

She thought she was dead.

Roffrey shouted and the sound hung alone for a moment before he saw it merge 
into the blood red disharmony. He felt madness approach and then recede - 
approach and recede, like a horrible tide, for with each sweep it came a little 
closer. His body vibrated with the tension, sending out clouds of blood red 
trailers through the cabin which he saw - no, he heard it, as the note of a 
muted trumpet. It horrified him, for now something else was creeping through, 
something coming up from his oldest memories, something of which he hadn't even 
been aware.

He was immersed in self-loathing, self-pity, suddenly knowing what a debased 
thing he was...

But there was something - he didn't know what - aiding him in spite of his 
confusion, aiding him to cling to his personal being, to sweat out the tumble of 
disordered impressions and terrible thoughts, and to hit back.

He hit back!

Mary was still quivering in Willow's arms - taut, tense, no longer screaming.

The waves began to peter out Willow struck, too. Struck back at whatever it was 
that was doing this to them.

The waves faded and, slowly, their senses were restored to normal.

Suddenly Mary's body relaxed. She had passed out. Talfryn was slumped on the 
floor and Roffrey was hunched in the control seat, growling.

He peered through the rapidly fading pulsations and saw with satisfaction that 
the anti-neutrons had done their job, though he hadn't been able to direct them 
properly, nor had he been fully conscious of directing them.

Some of the ships were making off, others were warped lumps of metal spinning 
aimlessly in the void. He began whistling to himself as he adjusted the 
controls. The whistling died as he said:

'You all right back there?'

Willow said: 'What do you think, superman? Mary and Paul have passed out. Mary 
took it worse than any of us - she seemed to bear the brunt of it. What was it, 
do you think?'

'I don't know. Maybe we'll get our answers soon.'

'Why?'

'I've sighted our fleet!'

'Thank God,' said Willow, and she began to tremble. She dared not anticipate her 
reunion with Asquiol.

Roffrey headed for the fleet - going back as fast as he'd left.

THIRTEEN

The fleet had been badly depleted since he left it. It was still big - a 
sprawling collection of ships, stretching mile upon mile in all directions and 
resembling nothing so much as a vast scrap-yard, guarded by the cruising Geepee 
battle-wagons like whales guarding a motley school of fish.

In the centre of the fleet, a little distance from Asquiol's battered cruiser 
(easily recognised by its slightly out-of-focus outline) was a huge factory ship 
with the letters 'G' emblazoned on its side. This puzzled Roffrey.

Then the Geepee patrol contacted him.

To his astonishment, he had the pleasure of being received almost cordially. 
They began to guide him into a position fairly close to the factory ship with 
the 'G' on its side.

While Roffrey was getting his ship into line, a man in the loose, unmilitary 
garb which was identical save for rank insignia with all other Geepee uniforms, 
appeared on the laser screen, his stern, bloodhound face puzzled. The large band 
on his left sleeve also bore a letter 'G'.

'Hello. Lord Mordan,' Roffrey said with cheerful defiance.

Willow wondered at the vitality and control which Roffrey must possess in order 
to seem suddenly so relaxed and untroubled.

Lord Mordan smiled ironically. 'Good morning. So you decided to return and help 
us after all. Where have you been?'

'I've been on a mercy trip rescuing survivors from the Shifter,' Roffrey said 
virtuously.

'I don't believe you,' Mordan said candidly. 'But I don't care - you've just 
done something nobody thought was possible. As soon as we assemble our data I'll 
be getting in touch with you again. We need all the help we can get in this 
business - even yours. We're up against it, Roffrey. We're damn near finished.' 
He broke off as if to pull himself together. 'Now, if you are carrying extra 
passengers, you'd better register them with the appropriate authorities.' He 
switched out.

'What did all that mean?' said Talfryn.

'I don't know,' Roffrey said, 'but we may find out soon. Mordan obviously knows 
something. The fleet's evidently suffered from attacks such as we experienced. 
Yet there seems to be more order now. The battle, or whatever it is, seems to 
have taken a different course.'

Willow Kovacs cradled Mary Roffrey's head in her arm and gently wiped a trickle 
of saliva from the mad woman's mouth. Her heart was beating swiftly and her 
stomach seemed contracted, her arms and legs weak. She was very frightened now 
at the prospect of reunion with Asquiol. Surely he had remained faithful to her.

Roffrey locked the ship's controls and came aft, staring down at the two women 
with a light smile on his sensuous, bearded mouth. He began stripping off his 
suit and the overalls beneath, revealing a plain quilted jacket of maroon 
plastileather and grubby white trousers tucked into soft leather knee-boots.

'How's Mary?'

'I don't know,' Willow said. 'She's obviously not sane... Yet there's a 
different quality about her insanity. Something I can't pin down.'

'A doctor maybe will help,' Roffrey said. He patted Willow's shoulder. 'Contact 
the admin ship will you, Talfryn? Send out a general call till you can get it.'

'Okay,' Talfryn said.

Worst of all, Roffrey thought as he stared down at his wife, had been the all-
pervading red - blood red. It had been unmistakable as blood red. Why had it 
affected him so badly? What had it done to Mary?

He scratched the back of his neck. He hadn't slept since he left the fleet. He 
was full of stimulants, but he felt the need for some natural sleep. Maybe 
later.

When Talfryn had contacted the Registration Ship, which had as its job the 
classification of all members of the fleet so that it would be easier to 
administer the survivors if they at last made planet-fall, they were told that 
an official would be sent over in a short while.

Roffrey said: 'We need a psychiatrist of some sort, quickly. Can you help?'

'Try a hospital ship - though it's unlikely you'll be lucky.'

He tried a hospital ship. The doctor in charge wasn't helpful.

'No, I'm afraid you won't get a psychiatrist for your wife. If you need medical 
treatment we'll put her on our list. We're overworked. It's impossible to deal 
with all the casualties...'

'But you've got to help her!' Roffrey bellowed.

The doctor didn't argue. He just switched out.

Roffrey, bewildered by this, swung round in his chair. Willow and Talfryn were 
discussing the earlier conflict with the alien ships.

'They must be hard pushed,' Roffrey cursed. 'But I'm going to get help for Mary 
even if it means going right to the top.'

'But what about those hallucinations we had back there?' Talfryn said. 'What 
caused them?'

'It's my guess we were experiencing the force of one of their weapons,' Roffrey 
replied. 'Maybe what happened to us on Roth made us more susceptible to 
hallucination.'

'A weapon - yes, it could be.'

The communicator buzzed. Talfryn went to it.

'Registration,' said a jaunty voice. 'Mind if I come aboard?'

He was a pale and perky midget with genial eyes and a very neat appearance. His 
gig clamped against Roffrey's airlock and he came bustling through with a case 
of papers under his arm.

'You would be Captain Adam Roffrey,' he lisped, staring up at the black-bearded 
giant.

Roffrey stared down at him, half in wonder.

'I would be.'

'Good. And you embarked with the rest of the human race roughly two weeks ago - 
relative time, that is. I don't know how long it was in your time, since it is 
not always possible to leave and return from one dimension to another and keep 
the time flow the same - kindly remember that.'

'I'll try,' said Roffrey, wondering if there was a question there.

'And these three are...?'

'Miss Willow Kovacs, formerly of Migaa...'

The midget scribbled in his notebook, looking prim at the mention of the planet 
Migaa. It had possessed something of a reputation in the home galaxy.

Willow gave the rest of her data. Talfryn gave his.

'And the other lady?' The little official asked.

'My wife - Doctor Mary Roffrey, born on Earth, nee Ishenko; anthropologist; 
disappeared from Golund on the Rim in 457 Galactic General Time, reappeared from 
Shifter System a short while ago. The Geepees will have all her details prior to 
her disappearance. I gave them to the police when she disappeared. As usual, 
they did nothing.'

The midget frowned, then darted a look at Mary.

'State of health?'

'Insane,' said Roffrey, quietly.

'Curable or otherwise?'

'Curable!' said Roffrey, and the word was cold, savage.

The tiny official completed his notes, thanked them all and was about to leave 
when Roffrey said:

'Just a minute. Could you fill me in on what's happened to the fleet since I 
left?'

'As long as we keep it brief, I'd be pleased to. Remember, I'm a busy little 
man!' He giggled.

'Just before we got here we had a tussle with some alien ships, experienced 
hallucinations, and so on. Do you know what that, was?'

'No wonder the lady is insane! For untrained people to withstand the pressure, 
it's amazing! Wait till I tell my colleagues! You're heroes! You survived a wild 
round!'

'Bully for us. What happened?'

'Well, I'm only a petty official - they don't come much pettier than me - but 
from what I've gathered, you had a "wild round." That is,' he explained quickly, 
'anyone straying beyond the confines of the fleet is attacked by the aliens and 
has to playa wild round, as we call it - one that isn't scheduled to be played 
by the Gamblers. We're not really supposed to do that.'

'But what is this Game?'

'I'm not sure, really. Ordinary people don't play the Game - only the Gamblers 
in the Game Ship. That's the one with the big "G" on it. It isn't the sort of 
game I'd like to play. We call it the Blood Red Game because of the habit they 
have of confusing our sense so that everything seems to be the colour of blood. 
Psychologists and the like play it and they are called Gamblers...'

'How often is it played?'

'All the time, really. No wonder I'm a bundle of nerves. We all are. Citizen's 
rights have been waived, food supplies reduced... We're having a pause just at 
the moment, but it won't last long. Probably they're recovering from your little 
victory.'

'Who'd know details about this Game?'

'Asquiol, of course, but it's almost impossible to see him. The nearest people 
ever get is to his airlock, and then only rarely. You might try Lord Mordan, 
though he's not too approachable, either. Mr. High and Mighty - he's worse than 
Asquiol in some ways.'

'Mordan seems interested --enough to tell us already,' Roffrey nodded. 'But I've 
got to speak to Asquiol on another matter, so I might as well try to combine 
them. Thanks.'

'A pleasure,' the midget enthused.

When he had gone, Roffrey went to the communicator and tried to contact 
Asquiol's ship. He had to get by nearly a dozen officials before he made 
contact.

'Adam Roffrey here, just in from the Shifter. Can I come to your ship?'

He received a curt acceptance. There had been no picture.

'Will you take me with you?' Willow asked. 'He'll be surprised. I've been 
waiting a long, long time for this. He predicted we might meet again, and he was 
right.'

'Of course,' Roffrey agreed. He looked at Talfryn. 'He was a friend of yours, 
too. Want to come?'

Talfryn shook his head. 'I'll stay here and try to find out a bit more about 
what's going on here.' He took a long, almost theatrical look at Willow and then 
turned away. 'See you.'

Roffrey said: 'Just as you like.' He went to the medical chest and took out a 
hypodermic and a bottle of sedative, filled the hypo and pumped the stuff into 
Mary's arm.

Then he and Willow left his launch and, by means of personal power units, made 
their way to Asquiol's ship.

The airlock was open, ready for them, and it closed behind them as the entered. 
The inner lock, however, did not open.

Instead, they saw the light of an internal viewer blink on as they waited and 
they heard a brooding voice - a polite, faraway voice that seemed to carry 
peculiar echoes which their ears could not quite catch.

'Asquiol speaking. How may I help you?'

Willow, masked in her space suit, remained silent.

'I'm Adam Roffrey, just in from the Shifter system with three passengers.'

'Yes?' Asquiol's acknowledgement bore no trace of interest.

'One of them is my wife - you know her as Mary the Maze. She helped Renark in 
the Shifter.' Roffrey paused. 'She sent you to Roth.'

'I am grateful to her, though we didn't meet.'

'I've tried to contact a psychiatrist in the fleet. I haven't succeeded.' 
Roffrey kept his voice level. 'I don't know where they all are, but my wife's 
condition is desperate. Can you help?'

'They are all playing the Game. I am sorry. Grateful as I am to your wife the 
first priority is to the race. We cannot release a psychiatrist.'

Roffrey was shocked. He had expected some response at least. 'Not even to give 
me advice how to help her?'

'No. You must do what you can for her yourself. Perhaps a medical man will be 
able to give you certain kinds of help.'

Roffrey turned disgustedly back towards the outer lock. He stopped as Asquiol's 
voice came again: 'I suggest you contact Lord Mordan as soon as you can.'

The voice cut off.

'Willow spoke. She felt as if she had died and the word was the last she would 
ever utter.

'Asquiol!'

At length, they returned to Roffrey's ship.

Mary was sleeping peacefully under the sedative but Talfryn had disappeared. 
They did not bother to wonder where he had gone. They sat by Mary's bunk, both 
of them depressed, their thoughts turned inward.

'He's changed,' Willow said flatly.

Roffrey grunted.

'He doesn't sound human any longer,' she said. 'There's no way of appealing to 
him. He doesn't seem to care about the approval of the rest of us. His loyalty 
to these mysterious creatures he contacted seems greater than his loyalty to his 
friends - or the rest of mankind, for that matter.'

Roffrey stared down at Mary.

'He doesn't care about anything except this "mission" he has. Everything is 
being sacrificed and subordinated to that one aim. I don't even know how valid 
it is. If I did I might be able to argue - or even agree with him!'

'Perhaps Paul could talk to him. I got scared. I meant to tell him who I was. I 
might be able to later.'

'Save it. I'll see what Mordan wants with me first.'

Roffrey moved over to his control panel and operated the screen.

'Lord Mordan?'

'Mordan here.' The Gee-lord's face appeared on the screen. He seemed 
disconcerted when he saw Roffrey.

'I was just going to contact you. You and Talfryn have been enlisted as Gamblers 
- subject to preliminary tests.'

'What the hell, Mordan? I'm not interested. Tell Talfryn about it. I've got a 
sick wife to think about.'

'Talfryn's already here.' Mordan's face was serious. 'This is important - though 
it may not look like it to you. There's a war to the death on and we're up 
against it. I'm directly responsible to Asquiol for enlisting any men I think 
will help us win. You've given us a great deal of trouble already. I'm empowered 
to kill anyone liable to disrupt our security. Come over to the Game Ship - and 
come fast! If you refuse we'll bring you over forcibly. Clear?'

Roffrey switched out without answering.

Defiantly, he waited by Mary's bed. She was beginning to show signs of 
improving, physically, but how her mind would be when she came out of the 
drugged sleep he didn't know.

Later, two Geepees demanded entry. Their launch was clamped fast against his. 
They threatened to hole his ship and enter that way if they had to. He opened 
the airlocks and let them in.

'What can one extra hand do?' he said. One of them replied: 'Any man who can 
hold off an enemy attack virtually single-handed is needed in the Game Ship. 
That's all we know.'

'But I didn't...' Roffrey stopped himself. He was losing his grip.

The Geepee said with false impatience: 'You may not have realised it, Captain 
Roffrey, but you did something a while ago that was impossible. You held out 
under the combined attack, mental and physical, of ten enemy ships. Most people 
couldn't have taken an attack from even one!'

The other Geepee drawled: 'That means something. Look at it this way. We're damn 
near beaten now. We took a hell of a lambasting during the initial alien 
attacks. We're the last survivors of the human race and we've got to stay 
together, work for the common good. That's the only way you'll look after your 
wife in the long run. Don't you see that?'

Roffrey was still not convinced. He was a stubborn man. There was an atavistic 
impulse in him which had always kept him away from the herd, and outside the 
law, relying entirely on his own initiative and wits. But he was also an 
intelligent man so he nodded slightly and said:

'Very well - I'll speak to Lord Mordan, anyway.' Then he turned to Willow. 
'Willow, if Mary shows any sign of getting worse, let me know.'

'Of course, Adam.'

'You'll stay with her - make sure she's all right?'

She looked into his face. 'Naturally. But when she's under a sedative there's 
something else I've got to do.'

'Yes. I understand.'

He shrugged at the Geepees, who turned and led him through the airlock.

FOURTEEN

The Game Ship was bigger than a large battlewagon, even more functional-looking, 
a little barer of comforts. Yet it did not seem prepared for battle. There was 
an atmosphere of hushed silence aboard and their boots clanged loudly along the 
corridor which led to Lord Mordan's cabin. A sign on the door read: Deputy Game 
Master, Lord Mordan. Strictly Private. The letters were heavy black on the white 
door.

The Geepee accompanying Roffrey knocked on the door.

'Enter!'

They went through into a cabin cluttered with instruments.

There were some Roffrey recognised - an encephalograph, an optigraph-projector - 
machines for measuring the power of the brain, equipment for testing visualising 
capacity, for measuring I.Q. potential, and so on.

Talfryn was sitting in a comfortable chair on the other side of Mordan's desk. 
Both men had their hands clenched before them - Talfryn's in his lap, Mordan's 
stretched out across the empty desk.

'Sit down, Roffrey,' said Lord Mordan. He made no reference to Roffrey's 
defiance of orders. He seemed perfectly controlled. Perhaps over-controlled, 
thought Roffrey. For a moment he sympathised - wasn't that his own condition?'

He sat down as the Geepee guard left.

'Okay,' he said curtly. 'Get on with it.'

'I've been explaining to Talfryn how important you both are to this project,' 
Mordan said crisply. 'Are you prepared to go along with us on the first stage of 
our tests?'

'Yes.' He was almost responding to the decisive mood.

'Good. We've got to find out exactly what qualities you possessed which made 
defeat of that alien fleet possible. There is a chance, of course, that you were 
lucky or that being unprepared for the sense-impression attack on you and having 
no understanding of its origin, you were psychologically better prepared to meet 
the attack. We'll know the answers later. Let me recap on recent events first.'

Mordan spoke rapidly:

'As you know, we entered this universe several weeks ago and encountered its 
inhabitants shortly after entry. These people are non-human, as might be 
expected, and regard us as invaders. That's fair enough, since we should think 
the same in their position. But they made no attempt to assess our potential 
strength, to parley or order us away. They attacked. We have no idea even what 
they look like, these aliens. You saw how quickly they had mobilised an attack 
on our fleet, well before we had a chance to talk and tell them why we are 
here.'

'What happened after the first battle - the one I saw?'

'There were several others. We lost a lot of ships of all kinds. Finally, 
Asquiol contacted them by his own methods, and intimated that we were quite 
prepared to settle on planets unsuitable for them and live in friendly co-
operation with them. But they wouldn't accept this. However, they came up with 
an alternative to open warfare.' He sighed and waved his hand to indicate the 
massed equipment

'We did not reckon with the predominant society existing here. It is based on a 
Code of Behaviour which we find, in parts, very difficult to grasp.

'In our terms it means that the status of a particular individual or group is 
decided by its ability to playa warlike game which has been played in this 
galaxy for centuries. We call it the Blood Red Game, since one of their prime 
"weapons" is the ability to addle our sense-impressions so that we get a total 
sensory experience of the colour red. You already know this, I believe.'

Roffrey agreed. 'But what, apart from confusing us, is it meant to do? And how 
does it work?'

'We believe that the aliens have come to rely, when disputes break out among 
themselves, on more subtle weapons than energy-cannon or anything similar. If we 
wished, we might continue to use our familiar weapons to fight them, as we did 
at first. But we should have only a slight chance of winning. Their weapons make 
you better than dead, in their view. They turn you insane. If you were dead 
you'd be out of the way. But since you're alive but useless as a fighter, you 
drain our resources and slow us down in many ways. But that's only part of it. 
There are rigid, complicated rules which we are having to learn as we go along.' 
'What are the stakes?' Roffrey asked. 'If we win so many rounds of the Game 
without relying on our ordinary armaments, the aliens will concede us the right 
to rule, as absolute monarchs, their galaxy! Big stakes, Captain Roffrey. We 
lose our lives, they lose their power.' 'They must be confident of winning.' 
'Not according to Asquiol. The fact that they are winning at the moment is 
obvious, but their love of playing this Game is so ingrained that they welcome 
any new variety. You see, both sides have got to do more than simply play the 
Game, they have the added difficulty of not understanding the opponent's 
capabilities, susceptibilities, psychology and so forth. In that, we're even. In 
other things, such as experience of playing the Game, they have the advantage.'

'Where do we come into this?'

'We're hoping that you are the aces we need in order to win. Your ship was the 
only human ship which has ever succeeded in beating the fantastic odds. Somehow, 
you have something we need to beat the aliens!'

'And you don't know what it is?'

'Right.'

'Do we possess it jointly - or does only one of us possess this protective 
"shield-attack" quality, whatever it is?'

'We're going to find that out, Captain Roffrey. That's why we're testing you 
both. Although you were actually at the controls of your ship, Talfryn, I 
understand, was beside you.'

Talfryn spoke slowly: 'What we have to seek, I gather, is a moral advantage over 
the aliens. It is not a question of numbers but prestige. If we win, we gain 
sufficient status for them to accept our dominance. If we lose... what?'

'If we lose, we'll be beyond caring. Our supplies are so short we can't risk 
phasing into a new universe at this late stage.' Lord Mordan turned his 
attention back to Roffrey. 'Do you see that, captain? Your wife is only one of a 
few victims of insanity in the fleet at the moment. But if we don't win the 
Game, we'll all be mad - or dead.'

Roffrey understood the logic. But he was still suspicious of it.

'Let's get these tests over with,' he said. 'Then maybe we'll know where we're 
going. I'll make up my mind afterwards.'

Mordan tightened his lips, nodding a trifle. 'As you like,' he said. He spoke 
towards his desk. 'Ask the testing team to come here.'

Three men entered Mordan's cluttered cabin.

Mordan stood up to introduce them.

'This is Professor Selinsky,' he said. The tallest of the group detached himself 
and walked over to Roffrey and Talfryn. He stretched out his fat hand and smiled 
warmly.

'Glad you're here,' he said. 'It looks as if you and your friend may be able to 
help us out of our present difficulties.'

He shook hands with them and said: 'These are my assistants. Doctor Zung' - a 
small, gloomy man of Mongolian appearance - 'and Doctor Mann' - a young, blond-
headed man who looked like an adventure-fiction hero.

'I've heard of you, professor,' said Talfryn. 'You used to hold the Chair of 
Physiology at Earth.'

'That's right,' Selinsky nodded. Then he said. 'We'll give you an ordinary test 
with the electro-encephalograph first. Then we'll put you to sleep and see if we 
can get at the subconscious. You're prepared to accept all our tests, I 
presume.' He looked at Mordan who made no reply.

Roffrey said: 'Yes. As long as it doesn't involve brainwashing.'

Selinsky said sternly: 'This is the fifth century, you know - not the fifth 
century pre-war.'

'I thought Asquiol and Lord Mordan's motto had become "Needs Must When The Devil 
Drives," Roffrey said as he sat in the seat which Doctor Zung had prepared for 
him.

But the reference made no impression on Mordan who had probably never heard it. 
Roffrey was given to obscure quotations - it was all part of his atavistic 
outlook. Mary had once accused him of being deliberately obscurist in his 
references, of reading old books merely in order to pick up unfamiliar 
quotations to fling at people he despised or disliked. He had agreed. Part of 
her attraction, he had added, was that she, at least, knew what he was talking 
about.

A small, glass-alloy helmet was now being fitted over his scalp. He hated such 
devices. He hated it all. As soon as this is over, he promised himself, I'll 
show them what independence really means.

Such thoughts and emotions gave the scientists some interesting, if hardly 
usable, findings.

Professor Selinsky appeared calm as he checked over the material so far gained 
from the sleeping men.

'All this will require careful analysis, of course,' he said. Then he shrugged 
his shoulders.

'What have you found out?' Mordan said.

'Frankly, I can't find any clue at first sight as to what they've got that men 
we're using haven't already got. They're both intelligent - Roffrey quite 
superlatively so, but there's only a grain of something out of the ordinary. 
Naturally, this quality would be subtle - we expected that - but Roffrey isn't 
the only psychopath in the human race and he isn't the only one with a high 
I.Q.' He sighed.

'But their memories for sensory-experiences are very good,' Doctor Mann said 
eagerly. 'In any event they will help swell the Gambling strength.'

'A poor second,' said Zung disgustedly as he uncoupled electrodes and neatly 
placed his personal equipment in its cases. 'I'll agree that we need all the 
Gamblers we can recruit - but these men were going to give us the answer to the 
problem of defeating the aliens. That's what we hoped, didn't we, professor?'

Selinsky said: 'This project is wearing us all down, Zung. There's not a scrap 
of reason for your defeatest tone - nor yours, Mann. We have a lot of work to do 
before we can analyse our findings. Meanwhile' - he turned to Mordan who had 
been sitting in his chair with a look of studied indifference on his seamed, 
bloodhound's face - 'I suggest we put these men on our regular strength. No need 
to waste them while we study their results. Let them be trained.'

'You're sure they'll work all right with the rest?' Mordan said, getting up.

'Why shouldn't they?' Selinsky pointed his thumb towards the door. 'You know 
what the atmosphere in there's like, with O'Hara and everything... None of them 
are what you would call "normal." Our Gamblers are all neurotics these days, by 
definition. Normal people couldn't stand the strain - normal people couldn't hit 
back. We count on unusual physiological and psychological patterns to play the 
Game.'

'I trust Talfryn,' Mordan said, 'he's much more susceptible to persuasion. But 
Roffrey's a born troublemaker. I know - I've dealt with him more than once.'

'Give him something important to handle, in that case.' Selinsky swung the arm 
of the optigraph away from Roffrey's chair. The man stirred but didn't wake. 
'He's the kind who needs to be kept active - who needs to feel that every action 
he makes is personally inspired.'

'There never was such a thing,' said Mordan, walking over and staring down at 
his old enemy.

'Then don't tell him.' Selinsky smiled faintly. 'It's egocentricity of that 
order which has pushed humanity up the scale. Renark and Asquiol were the same - 
they may sometimes have the wrong information, but they get better results than 
we do.'

'Of a kind,' Mordan agreed reluctantly.

'It's the kind we need right now,' Selinsky told him as he and his assistants 
bustled out of the cabin. 'We'll send a couple of attendants to take care of 
them.'

'You'll need the whole damn police force to take care of Roffrey once he starts 
getting stubborn,' Mordan said fatalistically. He liked Roffrey, but he knew 
Roffrey didn't like him. He'd come to the somewhat comforting conclusion that 
Roffrey didn't really like anyone - apart from his wife. It was a great pity 
that he'd found her, Mordan reflected.

Selinsky and his assistants pored over their findings. Mann, although a good and 
clever scientist, was beginning to tire of the routine work. As they paused for 
coffee, he said to Selinsky:

'Something occurred to me, professor, which may mean nothing, but it's worth 
throwing out for discussion, I think.'

Selinsky, who disapproved of Mann's weakness for theorising while on the job, 
said impatiently: 'What is?'

'Well, in the history we got from records, both Talfryn and Roffrey were on that 
planet they call Roth - in the Sundered Worlds - the "lattice planet." Parts of 
it exist in different continua, rather like Asquiol is supposed to do. Could 
this planet have exerted some kind of influence on them? Or perhaps if they 
stood the test of staying sane on Roth - it turned Roffrey's wife mad, remember 
they are therefore better fitted for fighting the aliens?'

Selinsky drained his coffee cup and ran a finger across his wet lips.

'There may be something there,' he said. 'Look, I'll tell you what. Work 
something out properly, in your spare time, and show me your ideas in a report.'

'Spare time!' Mann said explosively, though he was pleased at Selinsky's 
encouragement - a rare thing in itself.

'Well, you can't sleep all of those six hours,' said Zung quietly, grinning to 
himself as he went back to his work.

Willow Kovacs felt more resigned now. Roffrey had been away too long for there 
to be much chance of his coming back soon. She calmly filled the hypo and gave 
Mary another sedative, but she didn't, after all, take one herself. In this 
calmer frame of mind her thoughts had again turned to Asquiol. She must contact 
him, she felt. At least she would have a clearer idea of how to act after she 
had seen him - whatever happened.

She experienced some difficulty in getting Roffrey's communications equipment to 
work, but finally she contacted Mordan.

The Gee-lord's sagging face appeared on the screen. He was hunched over his desk 
apparently doing nothing. He looked incredibly tired. Willow decided he must be 
keeping himself awake with stimulants.

He gave her a nod of recognition and said: 'Miss Kovacs, if you're worried about 
Roffrey and Talfryn, there's no need. They have been recruited as Gamblers and 
will no doubt be getting in touch with you during a rest period.'

'Thanks,' she said, 'but there was something else.'

'How important is it, Miss Kovacs? You understand that I'm very...'

'I wish to contact Asquiol directly.'

"That's impossible now. And, anyway, you wouldn't find it desirable if you 
realised what he looks like. What do you want to say to him?'

'I can't deal through someone else - it's a purely personal matter.'

'Personal? I remember - you had some emotional relationship...'

'We were very close on Migaa and on the Shifter worlds. I'm sure he would want 
to see me.' She didn't sound as if she particularly believed her own words.

'Next time I report to him I'll pass your message on. That's all I can do, I'm 
afraid.' Mordan stared curiously at her but said nothing more.

'Will he contact me if he gets your message?'

'If he wants to that's exactly what he will do. I'll tell him what you've said - 
I promise.'

The screen shimmered and was empty again. Willow turned it off and walked slowly 
back to where Mary was sleeping.

'What's going to happen to you in all this?' she said.

There was in Willow a large capacity for sympathy with those in distress. Even 
now, with troubles of her own which she hadn't counted on before she'd reached 
the fleet, she could turn her attention to Mary.

But what had at first been a detached emotion of sympathy such as she could feel 
towards anyone in an unpleasant predicament, was fast running into a less 
healthy feeling. She was beginning to sense a kinship with Mary. They were both 
very lonely women - the one lacking any contact with her fellows, trapped inside 
her disturbed and jumbled mind, veering between near-sanity and complete 
madness; the other with a growing conviction that, in her moment of need, she 
had been deserted - not only by Asquiol, but by Talfryn and Roffrey too.

She sat by the screen, waiting for Asquiol to contact her. She sat stiffly. The 
cabin was silent, as silent as the space through which the fleet moved. She 
shared with the rest of humanity a demoralised, disillusioned sense of loss, of 
unknowing, of confusion. And as in the rest of them, these feelings were 
crystallising into fear.

Only the certain knowledge that loss of control at this time would bring certain 
destruction of mind or body allowed them to keep going.

Kept active by drugs, sent to sleep by sedatives, driven by the uncompromising 
will of Asquiol and his tool Mordan, the Gamblers prepared for another round of 
the Game.

FIFTEEN

They were seated in threes, each group before a large screen which mirrored the 
scene on the huge screen over their heads. The large chamber was dark, 
illuminated solely by light from instruments and screens. Below the small 
screens were even smaller ones, in two rows of six. Mordan, who had brought 
Talfryn and Roffrey into the chamber, explained in a soft voice what purpose 
they served.

Roffrey looked about him.

Three sections of the circular chamber were occupied with the screens and seated 
before them each bad its trio of operators - pale, thin men and women, for the 
most part, living off nervous energy and drugs. They had glass-alloy caps, 
similar to those he had worn while taking the tests. No one looked up as he 
entered.

'The screen above us is, as you can see, merely a wide-angle viewer which 
enables us to scan the space immediately around the fleet,' Mordan was saying.

'Each group of operators - Gamblers we call them - is delegated a certain 'area 
of this space to watch for signs of alien expedition. So far as we can gather, 
it is part of their code to come close - within firing range - to our fleet 
before beginning the round. Apart from that, we are given no warning that a 
fresh round is about to commence. That's why we keep constant watch. Presumably 
among themselves the aliens have subtler ways of beginning, but this seems to be 
their compromise.

'When an alien expedition comes into sight, the team sighting it alerts the rest 
and they all concentrate on that area. The smaller rows of screens record the 
effect which we beam towards the aliens. They record hallucinatory impulses, and 
these are broken down into sections governed by the different senses, brain-
waves of varying frequencies, emotional-impulses such as fear, anger and so on, 
which we are capable of simulating. We have, of course, projectors, magnifiers 
and broadcasting equipment which is capable of responding to the commands of the 
Gamblers. But primarily, in the last resort, everything depends on the 
imagination, quick reactions, intelligence and ability to simulate emotions, 
thoughts and so on, which each individual Gambler possesses.'

'I see.' Roffrey nodded. In spite of himself, he was interested. 'What happens 
then?'

'Just as many of our emotions and impulses are unfamiliar and incommunicable to 
the aliens, the same applies to us. Presumably half the impressions and mental 
impulses we have flung at us do not have the effect the aliens desire, or would 
get in their own kind. But we have the same difficulty.

'These men have been playing the Game long enough to recognise whether the 
effects they send are effective or not, and can guard against those effects 
which are most dangerous to us. Winning the Game, at this stage, anyway, depends 
largely upon the extent to which we can assimilate and analyse what works and 
what doesn't work. This also, of course, applies to the aliens. You, for 
instance, had the hallucination of a monster beast which shocked not only your 
instincts, triggering fear, panic, and so on, but shocked your logical qualities 
since you knew that it was impossible for such a beast to exist in the vacuum of 
space.'

Roffrey and Talfryn agreed.

'This sort of effect is what the aliens are relying on - although in the general 
run of things these days they have learned to be much more subtle, working 
directly on the subconscious as they did to a large extent on you, after the 
beast-image didn't get the result they wanted. Therefore our psychologists and 
other researchers are gathering together every scrap of information which each 
round gives us, trying to get a clear picture of what effects will have the most 
devastating results on the alien's subconscious. Here, as I mentioned, we are 
fairly well matched - our minds are as alien to them as theirs are to us.

'The prime object in playing the Blood Red Game, therefore, is to find the exact 
impulse necessary to destroy the qualities which we term self-respect, strength 
of character, intrinsic confidence, and so on.'

Mordan exhaled heavily.

'The number of losses we've had can be assessed when I tell you that we've got 
two hundred men and women alone who are curled up into foetal balls in the wards 
of our hospital ships.'

Talfryn shuddered. 'It sounds revolting.'

'Forget that,' Mordan said curtly. 'You'll lose all sense of moral values after 
you've been playing the Game for a short time. The aliens are helping us to do 
what philosophers and mystics have been preaching for centuries. Remember it? 
Know thyself, eh?'

He shook his head, staring grimly around the chamber where the grey-faced 
Gamblers watched the screens concentratedly.

'You'll get to know yourself here all right. And I'm sure you won't like what 
you learn.'

'Easier on the brooder, the introvert,' Roffrey said.

'How deep can one man go in probing his innermost impulses before he pulls back 
- out of self-protection if nothing else?' Mordan said sharply. 'Not far in 
comparison to what the aliens can do to you. But you'll find out.'

'You're giving an attractive picture,' Roffrey said.

'Damn you, Roffrey - I'll talk to you after your first round. This may, now I 
come to think of it, do you an awful lot of good!'

They were joined by a third individual. He had obviously been a Gambler for some 
time. They were beginning to recognise the type. He was tall, thin and nervous.

'Fiodor O'Hara,' he said, not bothering to shake hands. They introduced 
themselves in the same curt manner.

'You will be in my charge until you become familiar with the Game,' O'Hara said. 
'You will obey every order I give you. Try not to resist me. The sooner you are 
trained, the sooner you will be able to play the Game without any direction. I 
believe you are what they call an individualist, Roffrey. Well, you will have to 
conform here until you have mastered the Game - then your individualism will 
doubtless be of great use, since we depend on such qualities.

'Most of the people here are trained in some branch of psychology, but there 
area few like yourselves - laymen - who have a sufficiently high I.Q. to be 
receptive, almost instinctively, to the needs of the Game. I wish you luck.

'You will find it a great strain to keep your ego free and functional - that is 
really all you have to learn to do as a beginner. You will carry out defensive 
strategy, as it were, until you are adept enough to begin attacking the enemy. 
Remember, both of you, physical strength and daring mean absolutely nothing in 
this war. And you lose not your life, but your sanity - at first anyway.' 
Roffrey scratched the back of his neck. Tor God's sake, let's get started,' he 
said, impatiently. 'Don't fret,' Mordan said as he left them. 'You'll soon know 
when another round begins.'

O'Hara took them to a row of empty seats. There were three seats, the usual 
screen and the miniature screens beneath it. Immediately in front of them were 
small sets of controls which were evidently used to operate the sense-projectors 
and other equipment.

'We have a short vocabulary which we shall use later for communication while the 
Game is in progress,' O'Hara said, settling the skullcap on his head. 'Switch 
sound, for instance, means that if, at a certain moment, you are concentrating 
on taste sensations, I have decided that sounds would be more efficient against 
the enemy. If I say, "Switch-taste," it means that you send taste-impressions. 
That is simple - you understand?'

They showed their assent. Then they settled themselves to await their first - 
and perhaps - last round of the Blood Red Game.

The morality of what they were doing - invading this universe and attempting to 
wrest dominance of it from the native race - had bothered Asquiol little.

'Rights?' he had said to Mordan when the Gee-lord had relayed the doubts of some 
of the members of the fleet. 'What rights have they? What rights have we? 
Because they exist here doesn't mean that they have any special right to exist 
here. Let them, or us, establish our rights. Let us see who wins the Game.'

Asquiol had more on his mind than a squabble over property, dangerous as that 
squabble could be for the race.

This was Man's last chance of attaining his birthright - something which Asquiol 
had almost attained in his ability to perceive simultaneously the entire 
universe - to take over from the Originators.

Somehow he had to teach his race to tap its own potential. Here, those Gamblers 
who might survive would be of use.

The race had to begin on the next stage of its evolution, yet the transition 
would have to be so relatively sudden that it would be virtually revolution.

And there was the personal matter of his incompleteness the torturing 
frustration of knowing that the missing piece that would make him whole was so 
close - he could sense it - as to be almost within his grasp. But what was it?

Dwelling in thought, Asquiol was grave.

Even he could not predict the eventual outcome if they won the Game. More able 
to encompass the scope of events than the rest of the race, in some ways he was 
as much in a temporal vacuum as they were - quite unable to relate past 
experience with present, or the present with whatever the future was likely to 
be.

He existed in all the many dimensions of the multiverse. Yet he was bound by the 
single multiversal dimension of Time almost as much as anyone else. He had cast 
off chains of space but was tied, as perhaps all denizens of the multiverse 
would always be, by the steady-paced, imperturbable prowl of Time, which brooked 
no halt, which condoned no tampering with its movement, whether to slow it or to 
speed it.

Time, the changer, could not be changed. Space, perhaps, the material 
environment, could be conquered. Time, never. It held the secret of the First 
Cause - a secret not known even to the Originators who had built the great, 
finite multi-verse as a seeding bed - a womb - for their successors. But should 
the human race survive the birth pangs and succeed the Originators, Asquiol felt 
that it would not present a key to the secret.

Perhaps, in many generations - each generation measured as a stage in Man's 
evolution - it would be found. But would the solution to the puzzle be welcomed? 
Not by his race - but maybe its great-grand-children would be capable of 
accepting and retaining such knowledge. For once they replaced the Originators 
they would have the task of creating their successors. And so it would continue, 
perhaps ad infinitum - to what greater purpose?

He stopped this reverie abruptly. In this respect he was a pragmatist. He could 
not concern himself with such pointless speculation.

There was a lull in the Game. The coming of Roffrey's ship and its defeat of the 
aliens had evidently non-plussed them for a while. But Roffrey, so far, had not 
experienced the real struggle which was between minds, trained minds capable of 
performing the most savage outrage there could be - destroying the id, the ego, 
the very qualities that set man above other beasts.

For a moment he wondered about Talfryn, but stopped the train of thoughts since 
it led to another question troubling him.

Asquiol allowed his concentration to cease for a moment as he enjoyed the rich 
nourishment that experience of dwelling on all planes of the multiverse gave 
him. He thought: I am like a child in a womb, save that I know I am in the womb. 
Yet I am a child with a part missing, I sense it. What is it? What will complete 
me? It is as if the part would not only complete me, but complete itself at the 
same time.

As was happening increasingly, he was interrupted by a sharp signal from the 
communicator.

He leaned forward in his chair, the strange shadows and curious half-seen images 
dancing about his. As he moved, the area of space between him and the 
communicator seemed to spray apart, flow and move spasmodically like water 
disturbed by the intrusion of an alien body. This happened whenever he moved, 
although he himself was only aware of his passing his arm through many objects 
which exerted a very faint pressure upon his limbs.

He could not only see the multiverse, he could also feel it, smell it, taste it. 
Yet this was little help in dealing with the aliens, for he found it almost as 
difficult as the rest of his race to understand the actual psychology of the 
non-human attackers.

The communicator came to life.

'Yes?' he said.

Again, Mordan had not turned on his own receiver, so that whereas Asquiol could 
see him, he need not subject himself to the eye-straining sight of Asquiol's 
scintillating body.

'A few messages,' Mordan went through them quickly. 'Hospital ship OP8 has 
disappeared. We heard that the I.T. field was becoming erratic. They were 
repairing it when they just... faded out of space. Any instructions?'

'I saw that happen. They're safe enough where they are. No instructions. If 
they're lucky they'll be able to rejoin the fleet if they can adjust their 
field.'

'Roffrey and Talfryn, the two men who succeeded in withstanding the B.R. effect 
so successfully, have been subjected to all Professor Selinsky's tests and he is 
studying the 'results now. In the meantime they are being taught how to play the 
Game.'

'What else?' Asquiol observed Mordan's worried expression.

"There were two women on Roffrey's ship. One of them was the mad woman - Mary 
Roffrey. The other calls herself Willow Kovacs. I have already forwarded this 
information to you, you remember.' 'Yes. Is that all?'

'Miss Kovacs asked me to pass a message on to you. She says that you were 
personally acquainted on Migaa and later in the Shifter. She would like it if 
you could spare the time to get in touch with her. The ship is on 050L metres 
for tight contact.' 'Thank you.'

Asquiol switched out and sat back in his seat. There was in him still some part 
of the strong emotion he had felt for Willow. But he had had to rid himself of 
it twice. Once when she had declined to follow him to Roth, once after he met 
the Originators. His impression of her was, by now, a little vague - so much had 
happened.

He had had to dispense with many valuable emotions when he assumed control of 
the fleet. This was out of no spirit of ambition or will to dominate. It was 
simply that his position demanded maximum control of his mind. Therefore 
emotions had to be sacrificed where they could not directly contribute to what 
he was doing. He had become, in so far, as ordinary human relationships were 
included, a very lonely man. His perception of the multiverse had more than 
compensated for the breaks in human contact he had been forced to make, but he 
rather wished that he had not had to make those breaks.

Normally, he never acted on impulse, yet now he found himself turning his 
communicator dial to the wavelength 050L metres. When it was done he waited. He 
felt almost nervous.

Willow saw her screen leap into life and she quickly adjusted her own controls 
with the information indicated above the screen. She acted hurriedly, excitedly, 
and then the sight she saw froze her for a moment.

After that, her movements were slower as she stared fascinatedly at the screen.

'Asquiol?' she said in a faltering voice.

'Hello, Willow.'

The man still bore the familiar facial characteristics of the Asquiol who had 
once raged through the galaxy spreading chaos and laughter in his wake.

She remembered the insouciant, moody youth she had loved. But this... this Satan 
incarnates sitting in its chair like some fallen archangel - this golden sight 
bore no relation to him as she remembered him.

'Asquiol?'

'I'm deeply sorry,' he said, and smiled at her with a melancholy look for an 
archangel to wear.

Her face reflected the peculiar dancing effect which the image on the screen 
produced. She stepped back from it and stood with her shoulders drooping. And 
now she had only the memory of love.

'I should have taken my chance,' she said.

'There was only one, I'm afraid. If I'd known, I perhaps could have convinced 
you to come with us. As it was I didn't want to endanger your life.'

'I understand,' she said. Tough for me, eh?'

He didn't reply. Instead he was glancing behind him.

'I'll have to switch out - our opponents are starting another round of the Game. 
Goodbye, Willow. Perhaps, if we win, you and I can have another talk.'

But she was silent as the golden, brilliant image faded from the screen.

SIXTEEN

O'Hara turned to his companions.

'This is your trial,' he said. 'Get ready.'

There was a faint humming sensation in the huge, circular chamber.

O'Hara had adjusted his screen so that he could now see the alien ships swimming 
through space towards them. Only a few miles from the fleet they came to a stop 
and remained, in relation to the fleet, in a fixed position.

Roffrey suddenly found himself thinking of his childhood, his mother, what he 
had thought of his father and how he had envied his brother. Why should he 
suddenly decide to...? Hastily he pulled himself out of this reverie, feeling 
slightly nauseated by a random thought that had begun to creep into his 
conscious mind. This was akin to what he'd experienced earlier, but not so 
intense.

'Careful, Roffrey - it's beginning,' said O'Hara.

And it was only a mild beginning.

Whatever the aliens had learned of the human subconscious, they used. However, 
they had gained such a store of information, Roffrey would never know - though 
the human psychiatrists had a similar store of 'weapons' to turn back against 
their enemies.

Every dark thought, every unhealthy whim, every loathsome desire that they had 
ever experienced was dredged up by the alien machines and shoved before their 
conscious minds.

The trick, as O'Hara had said, was to forget values of good and evil, right and 
wrong, and to accept these impressions for what they were - desires and thoughts 
shared by everyone to some degree.

But Roffrey found it hard going.

And this was not all. The alien means of triggering these thoughts was 
spectacular and mind smashing in its incredibly clever intensity.

He found it difficult to define between what was sight or smell, taste or sound.

And pervading it all, in the aching background of everything, was the swirling, 
whirling, chattering, shrieking, odorous, clammy, painful colour - the blood red 
sense.

It was as if his mind had exploded. As if it were gouging its contents, awash 
with blood and the agony of naked thoughts, unclothed by prejudice and self-
deception. There was no comfort in this world he had suddenly entered - no 
release, no rest or hope of salvation. The alien sensory-projectors were forcing 
him further and further into his own mind, jumbling what was there when it did 
not suit their purpose to show it to him as it really was. All his conscious 
thoughts and senses were scrambled and jellied and altered. All his subconscious 
feelings were halted before him and he was forced to look.

In the back of his mind was a small spark of sanity repeating over and over 
again: 'Keep sane - keep sane - hang on - it doesn't matter - it's all right.' 
And at times he heard his own voice blended with dozens of others as he howled 
like a dog and cried like a child.

Yet in spite of all this that was flung against him and the rest, in spite of 
the loathing he began to feel for himself and his fellows, there was still the 
spark which kept him sane.

It was at this spark that the aliens aimed their main concentration, just as the 
more experienced Gamblers in the human ranks aimed to destroy the little sparks 
of sanity alive in their opponents.

Never in the history of the human race had such dreadful battles been fought. 
This was more like a war between depraved demons than between material 
creatures.

It was all Roffrey could do to keep that spark alive as he sweated and struggled 
against the columns of sound, the vast, booming waves of smells, in the groaning 
movement of colour.

And as if in keeping with this battleground, the blood red mingling of senses 
swam and ran and convulsed and heaved themselves through his racked being, 
hurled themselves along his neural tracts, hacked past his cortical cells, 
mauled his synapses and shook body and brain into a formless, useless jelly of 
garbled receptions.

Blood red! There was nothing now save the blood red shrilling of a pervading, 
icy, stinking taste and a washed-out feeling of absolute self-loathing that 
crept in everywhere, in every cranny and corner of his mind and person so that 
he wanted nothing more than to shake it aside, to escape from it.

But it trapped him - the blood red trap from which he could only escape by 
retreating back down the corridors of his experience, to huddle comfortingly in 
the womb of...

The spark flared and sanity returned completely for a moment. He saw the 
sweating, concentrated faces of the other operators. He saw Talfryn's face 
writhing and heard the man groaning, saw O'Hara's thin hand on his shoulder and 
grunted an acknowledgement. He glanced at the tiny screen which was fluttering 
with dancing graphs and pulsating light.

Then he was reaching for the small control panel before him, and his bearded 
face bore a twisted half-smile as he shouted:

'Cats!'

'And they crawl along your spines with their claws gripping your nerves.

'Tides of mud, oozing. Drown, creatures, drown!'

The words themselves were of little effect, but they were not meant to be - they 
were triggering off emotions and impressions in his own mind.

He was attacking now! Using the very emotions and impressions which the aliens 
had released. And he had grasped some understanding of how they could react to 
these things, for there had been in their attack several impressions which had 
meant nothing to him, translated into his own terms. These he flung back with a 
will and his own screens began to lap to the horrid rhythms of his savagely 
working mind.

First he sent the blood red impressions back, since these were obviously a 
preliminary attack which formed the basis of the Game. He didn't understand why 
this should be, but he was learning quickly. And one of the things he had 
learned was that reason played little part while the Game was on. That instinct 
had to be turned into a fighting tool. Later the experts could analyse results.

But then he felt the hysteria leave him and there was silence in the chamber.

'Stop! Roffrey - stop! It's over - they won. Christ! We haven't got a hope now!'

'Won? I haven't finished...' 'Look - ' Several of the Gamblers were sprawled on 
the floor, mewling and drooling insanely. Others were curled into tight foetal 
balls. Attendants rushed in to tend to them.

'We've lost seven. That means the aliens won. We got perhaps five. Not bad. You 
nearly had your opponent, Roffrey, but they've pulled back now. You'll probably 
get another chance. For a first-timer you did exceptionally well.'

Talfryn was insensible when they turned their attention to him.

O'Hara appeared unconcerned. 'He's lucky - it looks as if he's only blacked out. 
I think he's tough enough to take another round or two now he's got used to the 
Game.'

'It was - filthy...' Roffrey said. His whole body was tight with strain, his 
nerves were, bunched, his head ached terribly, his heart pumped wildly. He even 
found it hard to focus on O'Hara.

Seeing his trouble, O'Hara took a hypodermic from a case in his pocket and gave 
Roffrey an injection before he could protest.

Roffrey began to feel better. He still felt tired, but his body started to relax 
and the headache was less intense.

'So that's the Blood Red Game,' he said after a moment

'That's it,' said O'Hara.

Selinsky studied the papers Mann had prepared for him.

'You may well have something here,' he said. 'It is possible that the Shifter 
exerts a particular influence on the human mind that equips that mind for 
withstanding the attacks of the aliens.'

'He looked up and spoke to Zung, who was fiddling with some equipment in one 
corner of the room.

'You say that Roffrey stood up particularly well in his first round?'

'Yes,' the little Mongolian nodded. 'And he resumed the attack without 
direction. That's rare.'

'He's valuable enough without having any special characteristics,' Selinsky 
agreed.

'What do you think of my suggestions?' Mann said, almost impatiently, wanting to 
get back to his own line of inquiry.

'Interesting,' Selinsky said, 'but still nothing very definite to go on. I think 
we might ask to see Roffrey and Talfryn

and find out what we can about their experiences in the Shifter.'

'Shall I ask them to come here?' Zung suggested.

'Yes, will you?' Selinsky frowned as he studied Mann's notes.

From the turmoil that was her ruined brain, Mary was emerging. Half afraid, for 
the knowledge of her insanity preyed always on her sane mind, she was 
reassembling her reason.

Suddenly there was no more confusion. She lay there, eyes seeing nothing at all 
- no sights of disordered creation, no threatening creatures, no danger. All she 
heard was the slight scuffling sound of somebody moving about near her.

Very carefully, she thought back.

It was hard to distil a sense of time out of the chaos of memory. It had been as 
if she had spent most of her life in a whirlpool, performing such meaningless 
actions as piloting a ship, opening airlocks, making equations on pads that 
flowed away from her and disappeared.

There had been periods when the turmoil of the whirlpool had abated - sane 
periods where she had hovered on the brink of insanity but never quite 
succumbed. There had been the first arrival at the Shifter, looking for the 
knowledge she had found on Golund. There had been a landing on Entropium, and 
then a chaotic journey among the planets through space that contained no laws, 
only a turbulent inconsistency; landing, finding nothing, keeping a hold on her 
sanity which kept threatening to crack; and finally to Roth where her mind had 
gone completely. Aware of warmth. Then away from Roth in a manner she could 
never remember, back to Entropium; a man who asked her questions - Jon Renark - 
and the horror of half-sanity finally smashed by the cataclysm that had turned 
Entropium into rubble; the dash for the Hauser, crashing on a peaceful planet - 
Ekiversh, perhaps? - and resting, resting - then on to Roth ... chaos ... warmth 
... chaos ...

Why?

What had kept pulling her back to Roth, so that every time she returned her 
sanity had given out a little more, a little more? But the last time there had 
been something extra - a turning point, as if she had gone full circle, on the 
road back to sanity. She had met entities there, things of formless light that 
had spoken to her. No, that was probably a hallucination...

With a healthy sigh she opened her eyes. Willow Kovacs stood over her. Mary 
recognised the woman who had comforted her. Mary smiled.

'Where's my husband?' she said quietly, and composed her features.

'Feel better now?' Willow said. The smile she gave in reply was sorrowful, but 
Mary saw it was not her that Willow pitied.

'Much. Is Adam...?'

'He's been recruited to play this Game.' Briefly Willow explained all she knew. 
'He should be getting in touch soon.'

Mary nodded. She felt rested, at peace. The horror of her madness was a faint 
memory which she pushed further and further back. Never again, she thought. That 
was it - I'm all right now. That was the last time. She felt herself drifting 
into a deeper, more natural sleep.

Roffrey and Talfryn entered Selinsky's lab. Roffrey, huge and powerful, his 
black beard seeming to bristle with vitality, said:

'More tests, professor?'

'No captain. We wish merely to question you on one or two points which have 
cropped up. To tell you the truth, neither of you appears to possess any strong 
trait which can account for your besting so many opponents. We have discovered 
that the reason you were able to beat those ships with such apparent ease was 
that every one of their Gamblers was beaten - put out of action by some force so 
powerful that it crossed space without any sending equipment to aid it. Their 
receivers turned the emanations into a force which destroyed their minds 
completely. But you possess no qualities of sufficient strength which could 
account for this. It is as if you needed an ... amplifier of some kind. Can you 
explain that?'

Roffrey shook his head.

But Talfryn was frowning and said nothing. He appeared thoughtful. 'What about 
Mary?' he said slowly.

'Yes, that may be it!' Zung looked up from his notes.

'No, it isn't,' Roffrey said grimly.

Talfryn broke in: 'She's the one. Your wife, Roffrey. She was absolutely crazy 
on Entropium. She travelled between the Shifter's planets when space was wild 
and chaotic. She must have had a tremendous reserve of control somewhere in her 
if she could stand what she did. She could have picked up all kinds of strange 
impressions that worked on her brain. She did, in fact. She's our amplifier!'

'Well, what about it?' Roffrey turned round and looked at the three scientists 
standing there eagerly, live vultures who had spotted a dying traveller.

Selinsky sighed.

'I think we're right,' he said.

Mary stared out at the hazy light of the fleet dropping through darkness towards 
the far-off stars gleaming like lights at the end of a long, long tunnel.

'Adam Roffrey,' she said aloud, and wondered what she would feel when she saw 
him.

'How did you get to the Shifter?' Willow asked from where she sat.

'I ran away from Adam. I got tired of his restless life, his constant hatred of 
civilisation and ordered society. I even tired of his conversation and his 
jokes.

'Yet I loved him. Still do. I'm an anthropologist by profession, and took 
advantage of Adam's trips to the remote outworlds to keep my hand in. One time, 
we landed on Golund - the planet with signs of having been visited by a race 
from another galaxy. I hunted around the planet but got no more than the scant 
information available. So I left Adam and went to the Shifter when it 
materialised in our space-time, hoping to find some clues there. I searched the 
Shifter system, I searched it and clung to my sanity by a thread. But Roth was 
the last straw, Roth finished me.

She turned back to look at Willow, smiling. 'But now I feel saner than I've ever 
done - and I'm thinking of settling down if I can. Becoming a good little wife 
to Adam. What do you think of that, Willow?' Her eyes were serious.

'I think you're nuts,' Willow said tactlessly. 'Don't sell out for the easy 
life. Look at me...'

'It's been hard, though,' said Mary, staring at the floor. Tar too hard, 
Willow.'

'I know,' she said.

The communicator whistled. Mary went to it, operated the control.

It was Roffrey.

'Hello, Adam,' she said. Her throat felt constricted. She put her hand to it.

"Thank God,' he said, his weary face impassive.

She knew she still loved him. That alone was comforting.

'You got a doctor, then?' he said.

'No,' she said smiling. 'Don't ask me how - just accept that I'm sane. Something 
happened - the fight with the aliens, something on Roth, maybe just Willow's 
nursing. I don't know. I feel a new woman.'

His face softened as he relaxed. He grinned at her. 'I can't wait,' he said. 
'Can you and Willow come over to the Game Ship right away? That's what I 
contacted you for - before I knew.'

'Certainly,' she said. 'But why?'

'The people here think that all four of us, as a sort of team, managed to beat 
off the alien sense-impression attack. They want to give you a few routine tests 
along with Willow. Okay?'

Tine,' she said. 'Send over a launch to collect us and we'll be with you.'

She thought she saw him frown just before he switched out.

Much later, Selinsky screwed up his tired face and pushed his hand over it. He 
shook his head briskly as if to clear it, staring at the two women who, under 
sedatives, lay asleep in the testing chairs.

'There's certainly something there,' he said, rolling a small light-tube between 
his palms. 'Why couldn't we have tested all four of you together? A stupid 
oversight.' He glanced at the chronometer on his right index finger.

'I've no idea why, but Asquiol is to broadcast to the entire fleet in a little 
while. About the Game, I think. I hope the news is good - we could do with 
some.'

Roffrey was ill at ease, brooding, paying scant attention to the scientist. He 
stared down at Mary and he suddenly felt weak, ineffectual, as if he no longer 
played a part in her life, and could hardly control his own. An unusual feeling 
- connected, perhaps, with the shape that events seemed to be taking...

Now she remembered. As she slept, physically, her mind was alert. She remembered 
landing on Roth, of stumbling over the surface, of falling down an abyss that 
took her upwards; of the strange, warm things that had entered her brain... She 
remembered all this because she could sense something similar quite close to 
her. She reached out to try and contact it, but failed - only just failed. She 
felt like a climber on a cliff-face who was reaching for the hand of the climber 
just above, the fingers stretching out carefully, desperately, but not quite 
touching.

There was somebody out there - somebody like her - but more like than she was. 
That was the impression she got. Who or what was it? Was it a person, such as 
she defined the word, or something else?

Adam? No, it wasn't Adam. She realised she had spoken his name aloud.

'I'm here,' he said, smiling down at her. She felt his big hand grasping her 
firmly, encouragingly.

'Adam ... there's something ... I don't know...'

Selinsky appeared beside her husband. 'How are you feeling?' he asked.

'Fine, physically. But I'm puzzled.' She sat up in the chair, dangling her legs, 
trying to touch the floor. 'What did you find out?'

'Quite a bit,' he said. 'And we'll be needing you. Are you willing to take a big 
risk and help us play the Game?'

Mary wondered why her husband was so quiet.

SEVENTEEN

This time, Asquiol realised, he would have to visit the Game Ship personally, 
for the time he had feared had come.

The aliens had virtually won the Blood Red Game.

Jewelled, the multiverse spread around him, awash with life, rich with pulsating 
energy, but it could not compensate for his mood of near-despair. Coupled with 
the empty ache within him, the ache for the missing piece which seemed so close, 
it threatened to control him.

He still could not trace the source, but it was there. Something, like him but 
not so developed, was in touch with him - almost the multiverse. He began to put 
out feelers of his mind into the multiverse, searching.

But then his conscience made him withdraw from this and concentrate once more on 
the immediate problem. As had happened on past occasions, he had been in 
communication with the alien leaders. This time they had found it hard to 
disguise their jubilation, for the Game had taken firm shape.

They were winning. Even with the setback they had received from Roffrey's ship, 
their score had mounted enormously.

Asquiol still found it difficult to comprehend their method of scoring, but he 
trusted them. It was unthinkable for them to cheat.

His way of communicating with them was the way he and Renark had learned from 
the Originator. It wasn't telepathy. It relied on no exact human sense, but 
involved the use of waves of energy which only one in complete awareness of the 
multiverse might sense and harness. It did not involve words, but used pictures 
and symbols. It had been by analysis of some of these symbols which Asquiol had 
passed on to them that the psychiatrists had managed to devise 'weapons' for use 
against the aliens.

Asquiol still had no idea of what the aliens called themselves and did not even 
have a clear impression of their physical appearance. But their messages were 
easy enough to interpret and the fact remained that the human race had reached a 
crisis point.

Only one more round of the Game would decide the issue!

Then, if the human race refused to accept the decision and began open war again, 
Asquiol knew they were doomed, for their fleet was too depleted to stand any 
chance at all.

News received recently did not alter this certainty. A number of farmships had 
broken down, others had been lost completely or been destroyed in their early 
physical encounters with the aliens. Less than two thousand ships of all kinds 
remained in the fleet - a vast enough caravan by any ordinary standards, but 
nearly a quarter of a million ships had originally left the home universe.

It was in a mood bordering on hopelessness that he stretched out a scintillating 
arm and put his communicator on to a general broadcast wavelength to inform the 
race of what he had learned. It was rare for him to do this, since direct 
contact with members of his race was becoming increasingly less attractive. He 
began:

'Asquiol here. Please listen attentively to my message. I have recently been in 
contact with our attackers and they have informed me that, as far as they are 
concerned, the game is virtually won - that they are confident that they will be 
the victors. This means that our position is very nearly hopeless.

'We have, at most, enough supplies to last us for a month. Unless we make 
planet-fall on some habitable world soon, you will all be dead.

'The only way in which we can survive is to win, decisively, the last round of 
the Game. The aliens already have a considerable advantage over us and feel that 
they can, in the next round, sufficiently increase this to ensure victory. Our 
Gamblers are weary and we have no more recruits. We have drained out talent as 
we have drained our resources. Our scientists are still working to devise a new 
way of beating the aliens, but I must tell you that time is running very short. 
Those among you not directly involved in playing the Blood Red Game had best 
make what plans you can, bearing in mind what I have said.

'To the Gamblers and all those attached to the Game Ship I can only ask for 
greater effort, knowing you have worked at full capacity for many days. Remember 
what we can win. Everything! Remember what we stand to lose. Everything!'

Asquiol sat back, his message still unfinished, and as he breathed in the exotic 
scents of the multiverse, he saw the hull of his ship a stark outline against an 
over-poweringly beautiful background of space alive; sensed, again, that 
peculiar feeling of kinship with another entity. Where was it? In this universe 
- or another? Then he continued:

'I myself will not be directly affected by the outcome, as many of you have 
guessed. But this is not to say I am unaffected by my trust - to lead the race 
to safety in the first instance and to something more in the second. There are 
those among you who ask what became of my companion Renark, our original leader. 
You wonder why he stayed behind in the contracting universe. My answer is vague, 
for neither of us got a clear idea from the Originators why this had to be. It 
is probably that the stuff of his great spirit was spread amongst us, to give 
all of us extra vitality - the vitality that we need. It may also have been that 
he sensed his role finished and mine only to have begun. Perhaps that is an 
arrogant thing to say.

'Renark was a brave man and a visionary. He was confident that mankind, by its 
efforts, could avoid, destroy or survive all danger. He was a believer in human 
Will conquering all obstacles - physical, intellectual, and metaphysical. In 
this, perhaps, he was naive. But without that idealism and naivete, our race 
could not have survived.

'However, what saved us from one form of peril may not be able to save us from 
another. Different problems require different solutions. Will alone is not now 
sufficient to win the Blood Red Game. It must be remembered that the 
circumstances applying to us in our present predicament are much more complex 
than they were when Renark and I went on our quest.

'We must be totally ruthless, now. We must be strong and courageous. But we must 
also be devious, cautious and sacrifice any idealism which made us embark on 
this voyage. Sacrifice is for survival - and the survival of a greater ideal.'

Asquiol wondered whether to continue. But he decided he had said sufficient for 
the moment.

Again he sat back, allowing himself to experience full unity with the 
multiverse.

'Where are you...?' he said, half-aloud. 'Who are you?'

The need was tangible in him - disconcerting, distracting his attention from the 
matter he must give all his mind to.

He had already been in contact with the Game Ship and now waited impatiently for 
the signal which would tell him a vessel was ready to take him there.

He rose and paced the cluttered cabin, the light shivering and breaking apart 
into rays of shining blue, gold and silver; shadows quivered around him and at 
times there seemed to be several ghostly Asquiols in the cabin.

At length the launch clamped against the side of his ship and he passed through 
his airlock and into the cramped cabin of the launch. Quickly it cruised over to 
the Game Ship and eased sideways into a receiving bay. The great outer doors 
closed down swiftly and Asquiol stepped out to be greeted by Lord Mordan.

'Perhaps,' he said, 'with your aid, Asquiol...'

But Asquiol shook his iridescent head. 'I have little special power,' he said. 
'I can only hope that my aid will help the Gamblers to hang on a little longer.'

'There is something else. Selinsky wants to see you. It appears that all four of 
those people who came in from the Shifter have some kind of group-power...'

They were striding along the corridors, their boots clanging on metal.

Asquiol said, 'I'll speak to Selinsky now.'

He stopped as Mordan paused beside a door. 'This is Selinsky's lab.'

'Is he in?'

Mordan turned a stud and entered. Selinsky looked up, blinking as Asquiol 
followed Mordan in.

'An honour...' he said, half-cynically.

'Lord Mordan tells me, professor, that you are on to some new development?'

'Yes, that's so. The woman - Mary Roffrey. She's not only sane now, she's... 
what? Super-sane! Something was done to her mind on Roth. The whole nature of it 
altered. It is very different from anyone else's - except, perhaps...'

'Mine?' Asquiol felt excitement creeping through him. 'Is she, then, like me - 
as you see me?'

Selinsky shook his head. 'She seems perfectly normal - until you analyse her 
brain structure. She's what we need, all right.'

Asquiol was beginning to see the pattern now. Was this woman the missing piece 
in his existence? Had the Originators done something to her brain in order to 
form her into what she potentially was - a weapon? He could only guess.

Selinsky said: 'She wasn't a product of the alien attack at all. She was a 
product of more than just a series of madness-inducing hallucinations on Roth. 
Something or somebody had actually tampered with her brain. It's the most 
delicately balanced thing I've ever seen!'

'What do you mean?' Asquiol asked.

'One way - utter madness; the other way - unguessable sanity.' Selinsky frowned. 
'I'd hate to be in her position. We've got her doing a quick training course 
with O'Hara at the moment. But playing the Game could ruin her mind for good, 
tip the balance once and for all.'

'You mean she'd be completely insane?'

'Yes.'

Asquiol pondered. 'We must use her,' he said finally. 'Too much is at stake.'

'Her husband is against the idea, but she seems to be taking it all right.'

'He's the trouble-maker - Roffrey,' Mordan interposed.

'Will he give trouble in this business?'

'He seems resigned,' Selinsky said. 'A strange mood for him. Playing the Game 
seems to have wrought a change in him. Not surprising...'

'I must see her,' Asquiol said with finality, turning to leave the laboratory.

They began the long walk down the corridor to the Game Chamber.

Now Asquiol wanted to see Mary Roffrey - wanted to see her desperately. As he 
strode along, his mind worked quickly.

Ever since he and Renark had gone to the Shifter, their paths had crossed 
indirectly. He had never met her - yet she had been the person to supply Renark 
with a lot of important information without which they might never have reached 
the Originators. What was she? Some puppet of the Originators which they were 
using to aid the race? Or was she something more than a puppet?

She must be the missing factor in his own existence. Yet obviously she had no 
direct contact with the multiverse. She had the power to strike devastatingly 
back at the aliens - and he had no comparable power. There were things that 
linked them, yet there were qualities that separated them also. It was as if 
they both represented certain abilities which Man was capable of possessing. She 
had something he didn't have - he had something she didn't have. How similar 
were they?

This, perhaps, he would find out in a moment.

He went over in his mind the information he had. Mary's mind had been primarily 
responsible for disorientating the aliens in a wild round of the Game. At that 
stage she had acted as a conductor for the rest. All of them having been on 
Roth, they were probably that much more capable of fighting the aliens than 
anyone else in the fleet. Therefore they would use the other three as well as 
Mary.

But uppermost in his mind was what Selinsky had just told him.

Mary's mind could improve - or snap irreparably under the stress of this last 
round.

He knew what he would have to do now. But it was a heavy weight. As he 
contemplated it, the light around him seemed to fade, become colder and less 
frenetic in its movement. Sadness, such as he had never thought to experience 
again, filled him, and he fought it unsuccessfully.

He might, in essence, have to murder a woman - and cut himself off from the 
power she possessed. The power that was part of him as well as of her.

It was getting late - too late for anything but immediate action. The time of 
the last round was approaching.

They reached the door of the Game Chamber...

EIGHTEEN

In the main chamber, Mary was seated between Willow and listening to the man's 
briefing. Around them, the other Gamblers were readying themselves for the last 
round. They looked ill at ease and weary. Many of them did not look up even when 
Asquiol came in, flinging the door of the chamber open and striding quickly 
across the great room. The light flowed about the many facets of his body and 
streamed away behind him. Mary turned round and saw him.

'You!' she said.

A look of puzzlement crossed Asquiol's face. 'We've met?' he said. 'I don't 
remember.'

'I saw you with Renark several times - on Roth.'

'But we left Roth ages ago!'

'I know - but Roth is a strange planet. Time is non-existent there. Anyway, it 
wasn't only that.'

'Then how else did you recognise me?'

'I've sensed you've been here all the time. Even before we reached the fleet, I 
think.'

'But obviously you do not exist, as I do, in the entire multiverse. What could 
the link be, I wonder?' Then he smiled. 'Perhaps our mutual friends the 
Originators could tell us.'

'Probably it's simpler than that,' Mary replied. The sense of empathy with 
Asquiol was like nothing she had ever experienced before. 'Because we have seen 
them and gained from the contact, we recognise it in each other.'

'Very likely.' He nodded, then suddenly noticed that Willow was staring at him, 
her eyes full of tears. He took control of himself and said briskly: 'Well, we 
had better get ready. I'm going to be in control of this project. You, Mary, 
will work under my direction using - as power, as it were - the other three, 
Roffrey, Talfryn and Willow. It's quite simple - a sort of gestalt link.'

She looked at the others, who had crossed the room from where Selinsky and his 
team were working on a mechanism. 'Did you hear that?' Adam had the look of a 
dumb beast in pain as he stared at her for a moment before dropping his eyes.

'We heard it,' he said. 'All of it.'

She glanced at Asquiol as if seeking his advice, but he couldn't help her. Both 
of them were now in a similar position - Mary with Roffrey and Asquiol with 
Willow.

The time was nearing, Mary felt, when she would have to sever her ties with her 
husband.

The time had passed, Asquiol reflected, when he and Willow could have been 
united by the common bond which he and Mary possessed.

As they looked at one another, they seemed to convey this without need of 
speech.

O'Hara interrupted them:

'Get ready, everyone! Remember, we need an overwhelming win in the round that is 
to follow. This round will be the last we have to play. Winning it must be 
decisive!'

The five people, Asquiol and Mary in the lead, went towards the specially 
prepared panel.

Selinsky and his team finished their work and stepped aside.

The five composed themselves to play.

Both Willow and Adam Roffrey had to force themselves to concentrate, but both 
were motivated by a different fear. Willow feared that Mary would become extra-
sane through her ordeal. Roffrey feared she would become insane, while he hated 
the alternative which would break their relationship before it ever had a chance 
to resume.

Asquiol was his rival now, Roffrey saw. Yet Asquiol hardly knew it himself.

Only Talfryn was not afraid of the possible results. Either way, he felt, he 
stood to win - so long as Mary was effective in helping the Gamblers win the 
Game.

Asquiol bent close to Mary and whispered: 'Remember I am in the closest possible 
touch with you, and you with me. However near you feel you are coming to 
insanity, don't panic. I'll keep you on the right course.' She smiled at him. 
'Thanks.'

The tension rose as they waited.

It was so delicate, the first probe. As delicate as a slicing scalpel.

O'Hara shouted: 'Don't wait for them. Attack! Attack!'

In contact with Mary now, Asquiol began to dredge up Mary's memories from the 
deepest recesses of her subconscious, doing to her what only a totally evil man 
might do.

Yet, even as she slipped into the giddy, sickening whirlpool of insanity, it was 
obvious to her that Asquiol was not evil. There was no malice in him at all. It 
was taking fantastic control for him to force himself to continue. But he did 
continue. He worked at her mind, slashing at it, tearing at it, working it apart 
in order to remould it, and he did it in the full knowledge that he might, in 
the final analysis, be committing a dreadful crime.

Beside him, the trio sweated, feeding power to Mary that was channelled by 
Asquiol and directed by him at the alien attackers.

'There they are, Mary - you see them!'

Mary turned glazed eyes towards the screen.

Yes, she saw them.

It was suddenly like horrible darkness then rolling through her. Red-hot needles 
forced themselves into the grey mass of her brain. It was like being tightened 
like a banjo string, together and tighter until she must surely snap. She 
couldn't ... She couldn't...

She laughed. It was a huge joke against her. They were all laughing at her.

She sobbed and mewled and lashed back at the pouring stream of demons and 
hobgoblins that came prancing and tumbling down the long corridors of her mind. 
They sniggered and simpered and fingered her brains and her body and pulled her 
nerves about, enjoying their sport, caressing the parts of her they captured.

She lashed back as the whole scene became pervaded with the blood red sense that 
had always been there. She knew it. She was familiar with it and she hated it 
more than anything else.

Gone were emotions - gone self-pity - gone love - gone yearning and jealousy and 
impotent sadness. The trio linked and locked and lent their strength to Mary. 
Everything that she felt, they felt. Everything she saw and did, they saw and 
did. And at times, also, so close were the five blended, they saw something of 
what Asquiol saw and it lent them strength to pass on to Mary.

On and on they went, driving at the aliens, hating them and sending back 
impression after impression from the multiple brain.

To the alien players of the Game, it was as if they had suddenly been attacked 
by an atomic cannon in a war that had previously been fought with swords. They 
reeled beneath the weight of the attack. They reeled, they marvelled and, in 
their strange way, they admired. But they fought back even harder, playing, 
after the initial shock, coolly and efficiently.

Roffrey broke contact at the sound of a voice outside. It was O'Hara shouting: 
'We're winning; they were right. Somehow she has the key to the whole mastery of 
the Game. She does something with her mind that sends exactly the thing most 
loathsome to them back to them. There's a twist there somewhere that no human 
experience could have made. She's doing it!'

Roffrey stared at him for a moment as if in panic, and then returned his 
attention to the Game. For a moment, O'Hara watched him before he returned his 
own attention. Their gains were slowly mounting - and Mary's inspiration seemed 
to be encouraging the rest of the Gamblers to give their best.

This is our finest hour,' O'Hara said thickly. 'Our finest hour.'

And as he passed her he saw Mary's twisted and distorted face with the sweat and 
saliva all over it, wreathed in the same flickering images that surrounded 
Asquiol's intent face.

Now she knew she was winning. Now she could see they were reeling back. Now she 
felt victory within her reach.

Although the madness was frenzied and all-consuming, there was behind it all the 
confidence that Asquiol's presence gave her, and she kept sending, though her 
mind and body ached with searing agony.

Then, quite suddenly, she blacked out, hearing a voice call from a long way off:

'Mary! Mary!'

 Asquiol, knowing that he had aided her to reach this state, could hardly bear 
to continue. But he had to. He put a hand to her sweat-wet hair and dragged the 
head back to stare into the vacant eyes.

'Mary - you can send them away, You can!' He began to communicate with her. He 
forced her attention to the screens.

She threshed in her chair. For a second she stared at him. To his relief he saw 
sanity there.

'Asquiol,' she said, 'what is it we were?'

'We can be the same, Mary - now!'

And then she was bellowing in his face, her laughter seeming a physical weight 
battering around his head so that he wanted to fling up his hands to ward it 
off, to run and escape, to hide from what he had created. But again he forced 
control on himself and pushed her face towards the screens.

Roffrey, pain-drunk, glared at him, but did nothing.

Finally, she was roaring and tearing. Asquiol couldn't make contact with her. 
One of her hands flailed out, the nails slashing his face. Roffrey saw the blood 
come and was half-astonished. He had forgotten that Asquiol was in many ways as 
mortal as himself. Somehow it made the feelings in him worse.

Asquiol fought to control this rage, turn it against the aliens. He battled to 
resume empathetic contact with Mary.

She stirred, her name formed and curled and buzzed through the darkness. She 
reached out for it.

Elsewhere, many of the Gamblers had already succumbed to the force of the alien 
impressions. Tidal waves of garbled sense-impressions were being flung against 
them and even the strongest were finding it hard to resist, to keep the spark of 
sanity alive and to retaliate.

Asquiol used the communicating-sense that allowed him to contact the aliens and 
'converse' with them. He did this to Mary. He shoved impressions and pictures 
into her mind, things taken from his own memory. And so real did they become, in 
such close empathy was he with the woman, that he felt his own sanity slipping 
away. But he was the controlling part of the team - he had to keep aware. He 
held on for as long as he could, then straightened his back, gasping.

Those watching saw the light surrounding him skip erratically and dim suddenly. 
Then it became brighter, like a flaring explosion.

And then the light appeared to make contact with Mary. The same thing appeared 
to happen to her body. Her image split and became many images...

Asquiol! ASQUIOL! ASQUIOL!

Hello, Mary.

What is it?

Rebirth. You're whole now.

Is it over?

By no means!

Where are we, Asquiol?

On the Ship.

But it's...

Different, I know. Look!

She saw, through facet after facet, her husband, the girl and the other man. 
They were staring at her in astonishment. Angled, opaque images surrounded every 
space they did not occupy.

'Adam,' she said, 'I'm sorry.'

'It's all right, Mary. I'm not. Good luck - like I said.' Roffrey was actually 
smiling.

A new image swam into focus - O'Hara gesticulating.

'I don't know what's happened to the woman and I don't care. Get your attention 
back to the Game, or it's lost!'

She turned, and the horrifying impressions came back, but it was as if they were 
pressed through a filter which took away their effect on her mind.

Carefully, she searched her being. She felt Asquiol beside her, felt the warmth 
of his encouragement. She lashed back, with deliberate and savage fury, 
searching out weaknesses, using them, splitting the alien minds to shreds. 
Asquiol guided her - she could feel it. Talfryn, Willow and Adam supplied power 
and extra impressions which she took and warped and sent out.

More of the Gamblers were dropping out and attendants were kept busy clearing 
them from the chamber. There were only five complete teams left.

But it was victory. Mary and Asquiol could feel it as they worked together - 
oblivious of everything else - to defeat the aliens. They felt at that moment as 
if they knew everything about their opponents, to such an extent that they were 
even in danger of giving up out of sympathy.

They fought on, riding a tide of conquest. Soon the entire alien complement was 
finished. They retreated back and stared around them.

'Asquiol - what happened?'

Asquiol and Mary saw Willow looking up at them. They smiled at her and said:

'This was the Originators' plan, Willow. They obviously did not allow 
sufficiently for human weakness - but they did not count on the strength of the 
human spirit, perhaps. Please don't suffer, Willow. You have done more today for 
humanity than you could ever have done for any single person.'

They turned to regard the others.

'You too, Roffrey - and you, Talfryn. Without you It is unlikely that we could 
have defeated the alien intelligences. Everything has suddenly become a clear 
pattern. There was, perhaps, a purpose for Willow and Talfryn when they stayed 
behind. There was a purpose, also, for Roffrey when he took it into his head to 
visit the Shifter. We nearly threw away our chance.

'What exactly has happened?' Lord Mordan interrupted. 'Have you become one 
entity or what?'

'No.' Asquiol spoke with a slight effort. 'It is simply that, existing on the 
multiversal level, we are capable of linking minds to forma more powerful single 
unity. That was how we finally defeated our opponents.

'Obviously this was part of the Originators' plan. But they never do anything 
for us directly. At best, they merely put certain aids in our path. If we can 
make use of them - assuming we realise what they are - so much to the good. If 
we can't, we suffer. We were near complete defeat there. If we had not got some 
hint of Mary's abilities when we did, the plan would have come to nothing. As it 
was, we were lucky.'

Mary said: 'I must have been watched by the Originators right from the start - 
even before I met you.'

Asquiol continued: 'The Originators make things especially difficult for people 
they think are... material for the new, multiversal race. Simply, only the 
fittest survive.'

Lord Mordan said obsequiously, yet hastily: 'But the aliens. Can we not discover 
what our peace terms are? We must hurry ... the farm-ships...'

'Of course,' Asquiol nodded. 'Mary and I will return to my ship and contact them 
from there.'

Mary and Asquiol moved towards the exit, gave one last glance at the three 
others, and left.

'What the hell have you got to smile about, Roffrey?' Talfryn said accusingly.

Roffrey felt at peace. Maybe it was the mood induced by weariness, but he didn't 
think so. There was no more pain in him, no more jealousy, no more hatred. He 
moved over to the big blank screen and stared up at it. The place suddenly 
brightened as assistants switched on the central lights and began clearing up 
the mess the Gamblers had left...

'I give up.' Talfryn shook his head, perplexed.

'That's the trouble,' Willow said. 'So many of us do, don't we?'

EPILOGUE

Asquiol of Pompeii took Mary the Maze back to his ship. They felt more at ease 
there, since the ship bore similarities to their own metabolic state.

Here, with Asquiol acting again as a guide for Mary, they pooled their resources 
together and contemplated the radiant multiverse around them.

Then they put out a tendril of multiversal thought-matter along the familiar 
layers, seeking the alien minds.

Then they were in contact!

When the alien leaders came to the ship, Mary gasped and said in normal speech: 
'God! They're beautiful.'

They were beautiful, with delicate bones and translucent skins, great, golden 
eyes and graceful movements. Yet there was a look of depravity about them, of 
ultimate decadence. Like depraved, wise children.

'The Originators warned me to beware of races they called pessimists,' Asquiol 
said, 'races who had despaired of ever attaining full awareness of the 
multiverse, who had so completely lost the urge to transcend their limitations 
that the tiny core of being had, over millennia, been almost completely eroded. 
Doubtless these are of that kind.'

By use of their unique method, they once again conversed with the aliens and 
were astonished by the mood of total defeat, unquestioning acceptance of the 
winners' rights to dictate any terms they wished.

They had lost their urge to transcend physical confines and in so doing had lost 
pride - real pride, also.

Absolute defeat - lost spirit - utter hopelessness - concede all rights you wish 
to take...

This mood was sufficient to add almost the last pressure on the victors' already 
weary minds. A great pity welled up in them as they communicated their terms to 
the conquered.

Accept terms - any terms acceptable - we have no status - you have all status - 
we are nothing but your tools to use...

So conditioned were the aliens to the code applying to the Game they had played 
for centuries, perhaps millennia, that they could let this unknown opponent do 
as it liked. They were conditioned to obeying the victor. They could not 
question the victor's right. Their shame was so intense that they threatened to 
die of it - yet there was no trace of bitterness, no trace of resentment or 
lingering pride...

Asquiol and Mary resolved to help them, if they could.

The aliens left.

Would they ever see them again? As the spherical ship moved away, they sent out 
a polite impression that congratulated them on their ingenuity and courage, but 
it met with no response. They were beaten - no praise could alter that. They 
gave them positions of planets suitable for human occupation - they were totally 
unsuited for themselves, anyway - and then they fled.

They did not go to nurse grudges, for they had none. They did not plot 
retaliation, for such a thing was inconceivable. They went to hide - to reappear 
only if their conquerors demanded it.

They were a strange people whose artificial code had obviously completely 
superseded natural instincts.

As the alien ship disappeared, Asquiol and Mary broke their contact with the 
leaders.

'I'd better inform Mordan. He'll be delighted, anyway.' Asquiol operated the 
laser. He told the Gee-lord of his meeting.

'I'll start the fleet moving towards some habitable planets right away. Give me 
an hour.' Lord Mordan smiled tiredly. 'We did it, Prince Asquiol. I must admit I 
was close to accepting defeat.'

'We all were,' Asquiol smiled. 'How are the other three?'

'They've gone back to Roffrey's ship. I think they're okay. Roffrey and the girl 
seem quite happy, strangely. Do you want me to keep tabs on them?'

'No.' Asquiol shook his head, and as he did so the light broke and reformed 
around it, the images scattering and merging. Asquiol stared at Mordan's weary 
face for a moment. The Gee-lord shifted uncomfortably beneath the fixed stare.

'I could do with some natural sleep,' he said at last, 'but I've got to get the 
fleet moving first. Is there anything else?'

'Nothing,' said Asquiol, and switched out.

There was a subdued mood of victory about the reformed fleet as he and Mary 
watched it from one of the ports.

'There's a lot more to do, Mary,' he said. 'This is really only the beginning. I 
once compared the human race to a chick smashing out of its shell. The 
comparison still applies. We've broken the shell. We've survived our first 
period in the multiverse - but will we survive the second and the third? Is 
there a huge, cosmic farmer with an axe somewhere thinking of serving us up for 
dinner when we're plump enough?'

She smiled. 'You're worn out. So am I. Give yourself time to think properly. 
It's the reaction - you're depressed. That kind of emotion can harm a lot of the 
work we still have to do.'

He looked at her in surprise. He was still unused to having company that he 
could appreciate, someone who could understand what he felt and saw.

'Where are we going?' he said. 'We need to plan carefully. The degraded 
condition of the fleet can't be allowed to continue once we make planet-fall. 
Galactic Law will have to be firmly re-established. Men like Lord Mordan, who 
have been more than useful in the past because of their pragmatic virtues which 
could not have been helped by possession of the kind of vision we need now, will 
have to be taken out of, positions of power. We've become a grim race lately - 
out of necessity. If we let matters slide, Mary, the race could easily 
degenerate back into something worse than its pre-exodus state. If that 
happened, our destiny might be out of reach for good. There isn't much time. The 
Originators made that clear when Renark and I first met them.'

He sighed.

'With me to help you,' she said, 'the hard work will be easier. I know it's 
going to be harder, but there are two of us now. You noticed how Adam and Willow 
were beginning to respond back in the Game Ship? There must be dozens like them 
in the fleet, potentially capable of joining us. Soon, perhaps in only a few 
generations, there will be a race of people like us, until there are enough to 
take the place of the Originators.'

'Not that many,' Asquiol said. 'Most people are happy as they are. Who can blame 
them? It will be an uphill climb.'

'That's the best way to climb hills,' she smiled. 'And remember - keep your 
impression of those aliens we saw firmly in your mind. We have an example now of 
how we could degenerate. Perhaps it was fated that we should meet that race. It 
will serve as a reminder - and a warning. And with a reminder like that, we are 
not likely to fail.'

Around them, as they sat in contemplation, the multi-verse flowed, thick and 
solid, so full. And this could be the heritage of their race.

He laughed slightly. 'There's a, scene in Henry the Fourth where Falstaff learns 
that Prince Hal, his old drinking companion, is now king. He gathers his friends 
about him and tells them good times have come, for he is "Fortune's Steward," 
and the king will honour them and allow them to behave as they like with 
impunity. But, instead, King Henry banishes Falstaff for a buffoon and 
troublemaker. Falstaff realises then that instead of becoming better, things are 
going to be worse. I sometimes wonder if, perhaps, I'm not "Fortune's Steward" - 
leading the whole race towards a promise I can't keep...'

Mary's multi-faceted face smiled encouragingly.

'There are still the Originators. But even without them

Man has always had to act without being able to foresee the outcome of his 
actions - ever since he began the long climb upward. He is a stumbler; he has to 
convince himself of the results he will achieve without ever knowing if he can 
do it. But he quite often succeeds. We have a long way to go, Asquiol, before we 
shall ever be able to know for certain the outcome of our actions. Meanwhile, we 
keep going.

'We're probably the most optimistic race in the multi-verse!'

They laughed together. And the spirit of Renark, which had permeated through the 
race to give it a unified strength, seemed to share their joy.

The multiverse, agitated, swirled and leapt and delighted them with its flourish 
of colour and variety. All possibilities existed there.

All promise, all hope.