The Invincible

THE INVINCIBLE

Before daybreak the first two cross-country vehicles rolled down the ramp. The slopes of the dunes toward the sunny side were still black, lying in the shadow of nocturnal darkness. The force field opened up, letting the machines pass through, and closed once more with blue lights twinkling in the night. On the posterior running board of the third vehicle, directly beneath the tail end of the space cruiser, sat Rohan, wearing a spacesuit, but without his helmet and goggles, only with the small oxygen mask before his mouth. He clasped his knees with his hands, for this way it was easier to observe the jumping second hand of his watch.

In the left breast pocket of his protective suit he had stashed away four vials, in the right pocket thin wafers of concentrated food, and the pockets of his knee protectors held small instruments: a radiation counter, a small magnetic watch, a compass, and a microphotogram map of the terrain, smaller than a postcard, which could be read only with a strong magnifying lens. Wound around his waist was a six-ply roll of the finest nylon rope. All metal parts had been removed from his clothing. He could not feel the wire netting hidden in his hair, unless he moved his scalp on purpose. Neither could he feel the current flowing through the net, but he was able to control the micro-sender, sewn inside his collar, by placing his finger on that spot. The small, hard cylinder kept ticking evenly, and he could feel it throb clearly when he touched it.

There was a red streak in the eastern sky. A strong breeze had sprung up. The wind whipped the sandy crests of the dunes. The low-lying, jagged crater rims on the horizon seemed gradually to dissolve in a flood of red. Rohan lifted his head. There was to be no two-way communication between him and the spaceship, since a sender would have given away his presence at once. However, inside, in his ear, was a tiny receiver, no larger than a cherry stone. The Invincible could send him signals, at least for a while. Now words came from the receiver; it was almost as if he were hearing a voice inside his head.

“Rohan, this is Horpach speaking. Our instruments on the ship’s nose have noted increasing magnetic activity. The two vehicles are probably already under attack by the cloud… I am dispatching a probe.”

Rohan looked up into the brightening sky. He failed to see the start of the rocket which suddenly rose vertically like a flare, leaving in its wake a thin, white streak of smoke, which fogged in the spaceship’s nose. The teleprobe raced off with tremendous speed in a northeasterly direction. Minutes went by. By now half the disk of the bloated old sun sat astride the crater wall.

“A small cloud is attacking the first car,” said the voice inside Rohan’s head. “So far, the second vehicle is advancing undisturbed. The first car is approaching the rock gate… attention! We have lost control over the first car. No visual contact — it is covered by the cloud. The second vehicle is approaching the turn near the sixth narrowing of the road. No attack yet. Now it’s got it too! We have lost control over the second car. They have surrounded it already… Rohan! Your car will leave in fifteen seconds. From now on you’re on your own. I’m activating the automatic starter. Good luck!”

Horpach’s voice was suddenly gone. In its stead came a mechanical clicking, ticking off the seconds. Rohan settled in a more comfortable position, planted his feet firmly on the running board and slipped his arm through the elastic loop that had been fastened to the railing of the car. The light machine began to vibrate and drove off.

Horpach had given orders for all men to stay inside the Invincible… Rohan was almost grateful; a farewell scene would have been unbearable. Clinging to the bouncing running board of the vehicle, he saw only the giant pillar of the spaceship which gradually grew smaller. At first, the blue glow that flickered over the slopes of the dunes told him the car was just crossing the border of the protective energy field. Soon after, the speed increased, and the reddish dust cloud whirled up by the huge tires obstructed his view. Only dimly could he see the gray skies above. How unfortunate, he thought. He might be attacked without even realizing it. Instead of remaining seated, as planned, he turned around and stood up on the running board, holding tight onto the railing. Now he could direct his glance over the flat back of the unmanned vehicle toward the desert, which kept rushing toward him. The car drove at top speed, jolting, bouncing and lurching, forcing Rohan frequently to press himself with all his might against the body of the car. He could hardly hear the engine; the wind whistled past his ears, fine grains of sand bit into his eyes. On either side of the car fountains of sand sprayed into the air, forming a high and impenetrable wall. He did not even notice when he left the circle of the crater. Apparently the vehicle had wiggled out of it over a flat indentation on the sandy north rim.

Suddenly Rohan heard a singing signal coming nearer. The sender of the teleprobe must have been activated. He could not locate it in the sky, although he strained his eyes to look for it. Probably it had climbed up very high to avoid attracting attention and discovery by the cloud. At the same time, the probe was indispensible, for without it the crew back at the Invincible could not have guided the vehicle. A special odometer had been attached to the rear wall of the car to facilitate orientation. So far he had traveled more than eleven miles, and any moment now the rocks should come in view. But the disk of the sun, which had remained on his right and low over the horizon all along, barely visible through the whirling sand, now moved a bit behind him. That would mean that the car was turning to the left. In vain, he tried to find out if the angle of the turn coincided with the predetermined course, or whether it was wider. That would have indicated that the men back at the navigational controls in the spaceship had noticed an unforeseen maneuver of the cloud, and therefore wanted to remove him from its range. Soon the sun disappeared behind the first long rocky outcrop; then its dim light returned. Bathed in the sun’s slanting rays, the landscape presented a wild appearance and looked quite different than he remembered it from his last expedition. Still, at that time he had regarded it from a greater height, from the tower of the transporter. All of a sudden the vehicle was violently rocked about, throwing Rohan’s chest several times quite painfully against the body of the car. Now he had to muster all his strength to keep the furious jolts from shaking him from his perch on the narrow running board. The wheels danced across the rocks and boulders, hurling the gravel high up into the air. Sometimes they stuck and spun crazily in the same spot. Rohan was sure this hellish ride was making enough noise to be heard for miles around, and he considered seriously whether he shouldn’t stop the car and jump off — close below his shoulder he could feel the handle of the brake that had been purposely placed on the outside. But then he would have to face a march of several miles, and the prospect of swiftly reaching his goal, slim as it was to begin with, would have diminished even further. With clenched teeth, his hands frantically clutching the handles which now no longer seemed to offer a secure hold, with blinking eyes he looked over the flat top of the vehicle, up along the slope. Occasionally the singing of the radio-probe grew weaker, but it was still above him, no doubt, for the cross-country vehicle maneuvered skilfully and dodged the piled-up debris and boulders on the huge rocky talus. Once in a while the car leaned to the side and slowed down, but soon afterwards it raced up the hill with full speed.

The odometer showed the number of miles he had traveled so far: sixteen. On his map his path had been marked as thirty-six miles, but in reality it was surely much longer, considering the differences in altitude and because of the meandering road. Not a trace of sand could be found here. The sun hung threateningly in the sky, heavy, gigantic and almost cold, and still touching the jagged teeth of the rocky crest. As if racked by a violent fever, the machine doggedly shook its way through the rubble. Sometimes it would slip when the rocks underneath it would work loose with a gnashing sound. The tires would rub helplessly against the stones and make a screeching noise. The incline grew steeper. Almost eighteen miles — he heard nothing aside from the singing signal of the probe. Nothing from the Invincible. Why? Rohan could vaguely recognize a steep wall, outlined in distinct black lines below the sundisk. This might be the upper rim of the ravine into which he was supposed to descend — not here, though, but much farther north. Eighteen miles now. In any event, nothing was to be seen of the black cloud. It had probably already disabled the other machines by now. Or had the cloud given up after cutting them off from the spaceship by blockading radio communication? The whole vehicle threw itself from side to side like a desperate animal. Once in a while the roaring of the motor, which was running at full speed, hit Rohan right in the gut. The vehicle kept losing speed, but against all expectations it made headway. Maybe he should have taken along a car with air-cushioned drive? But it would have been too large and heavy; there was no use now wasting a thought in that direction, since nothing could be changed anyhow.

He wanted to look at his watch but could not manage to hold his hand up to his eyes for even a second. He bent his knees, trying to soften the impact of the tremendous blows which shook all his insides. All of a sudden the vehicle reared up like a horse and then slipped sideways, down the hill. The brakes were squealing, but the pebbles and boulders gave way and slid down from all directions, rattling and clattering on the metal body of the car. The vehicle turned frantically, began to spin and skidded for a while on its side through the rocky debris. Then this movement came to a halt…

Slowly the car righted itself and crawled stubbornly up the slope again. Now Rohan could see the ravine. He recognized it by the black patches of underbrush, resembling crook-timber, which covered the steep rocks. About half a mile separated him from the edge of the ravine. Twenty miles…

The slope that lay before him looked like an ocean made up of chaotically tossed-about rocks and boulders. It seemed impossible that the vehicle would ever pave a way through this. He had already given up searching for passable spots, since it was not his job to steer the car. Instead he concentrated on not losing sight, even for a single moment, of the two rock walls on either side, that rose steeply from the bottom of the valley. Any second now, the black cloud might well up from these walls.

“Rohan… Rohan…” he heard suddenly. His heart began to beat faster. He recognized Horpach’s voice.

“The car probably won’t get you to your destination. From where we are, we cannot make out the exact angle of the slope, but you only have a few more miles to go. In case the car gets stuck, you will have to proceed on foot. Repeat…”

No more than twenty-six miles… that means I have another ten miles to go. That could take at least four hours in this type of terrain, maybe even more, Rohan calculated quickly. Let’s hope they’re mistaken and the car makes it after all.

The message ended and once again he could hear nothing but the rhythmical singing of the probe. Rohan bit down harder on the mouthpiece of his oxygen mask. The mouthpiece had chafed his lips during the violently bouncing ride. The sun no longer touched the nearby mountain crest but it had not climbed any higher either. Before him lay boulders and rocky ledges of all sizes; sometimes their old shadow seemed to reach out for him.

The car had slowed down. Rohan lifted his eyes and saw tiny feathery clouds sailing across the sky. Suddenly a strange thing happened to the vehicle: it reared up like a shying horse. Another second and the car would have plunged down the slope, trapping him underneath, if Rohan had not jumped off. He fell on his hands and knees, hitting the ground hard and feeling it right through his thick protective gloves and shin-guards. He skidded about six feet across the rocky rubble before he recovered his footing.

“Rohan, this is Horpach calling! The car can’t go on. You must continue on foot… Use the map for orientation. The car will remain where it is, in case you aren’t able to make your way back otherwise. You are now at the intersection of coordinates 46 and 192…”

Rohan got to his feet slowly. Every muscle in his body was aching. But only the first few steps were difficult. He quickly found his stride. He wanted to get away as fast as possible from the vehicle, which was stuck between two rock ridges. He sat down at the foot of a tall rocky obelisk, pulled the map out of his pocket and tried to adjust it. That was not so easy. Finally he determined his location. He was more than half a mile, as the crow flies, away from the upper rim of the ravine, but descending was out of the question at this point. A solid layer of low metal growths covered the slopes. So he climbed uphill, wondering whether he should risk the descent into the ravine at a spot nearer than the one they had chosen previously. For it would take at least four hours to reach that place. Even if he could use the car to drive back, he would have to reckon another five hours for the return trip, and how much longer would he need to climb down into the gorge, let alone the time needed for the search? Suddenly the entire plan seemed to contain not even a single grain of common sense. The whole enterprise was nothing but a vain and heroic gesture devised by Horpach, who was willing to sacrifice him in order to soothe his own conscience.

For a while he was so furious — he felt he had been tricked like a silly schoolboy by the astrogator, who had planned everything in advance — that he barely noticed his surroundings. Gradually he got hold of himself. There is no way back, he kept repeating to himself, I have to try it. If I have no luck climbing down, if I haven’t found anyone by three o’clock, then I’ll turn back.

It was a quarter past seven. He tried to walk with long, even, but not too rapid strides, because his oxygen consumption would rise steeply with any exertion. He fastened his compass to his right wrist to avoid deviating from the direction he had to follow. Several times, though, he had to walk around deep crevices with steep walls. Fortunately, gravity on Regis III was considerably less than on Earth. This fact allowed him relative ease of movement, despite the difficult terrain. The sun stood higher in the sky. His sense of hearing — used to the constant accompaniment of all the sounds which encircled him like a sheltering barrier laid down by the machines on his previous expeditions — this sense now felt exposed and supersensitive. Only occasionally would he perceive, now much weaker than before, the rhythmical singing of the probe. On the other hand, each gust of wind hissing around the jagged edges of the boulders, attracted his attention, for he believed he recognized in it the familiar, delicate hum which he remembered so well. Gradually he became accustomed to the vigorous stride. While mechanically clambering from one rock to the next, he could give free rein to his thoughts. He carried a pedometer in his packet. He did not want to check the distance he had already traversed yet, and was determined to wait until an hour had gone by. But he could not stand it so long, and he pulled out the small instrument before the hour was up. He was sorely disappointed. He had not even covered two miles. True, he had to overcome considerable differences in altitude. This had slowed him down. This means not three, not even four hours, but at least another six, he thought to himself. He took out the map again, knelt down and adjusted it once more. To the east he could see the crest of the ravine. All this time he had been marching in a direction nearly parallel to it. In one place the dark bushes covering the slopes were divided by a long, thread-like gap, probably the dried-up bed of a little brook. He tried to get a better look at it. Kneeling down, with the wind whistling around his ears, he experienced a moment of indecision. As if he did not know too well what he was doing, he got to his feet and mechanically tucked away his map, made a ninety-degree turn from his previous direction and marched toward the steep wall of the gorge.

Cautiously he approached the silent, cleft boulders, as if he feared the ground might suddenly open up beneath him. He was gripped by a terrible fear. Yet he kept walking, his arms swinging at his sides, his hands seeming so dreadfully empty. He stopped suddenly and looked down into the valley, onto the desert where the Invincible was waiting. He could not see the spaceship; it was below the horizon. He was well aware of that, and yet peered over in its direction, at the reddish sky that slowly filled with puffy clouds. The singing of the probe’s signals became so faint that he was no longer certain whether it was reality or just imagination. Why was there no word from the Invincible?

Because they have nothing more to say to you, he answered himself. The upper boulders — they reminded him of grotesquely weathered statues — were within reach now. The ravine opened up before his eyes like a gigantic ditch of darkness. The rays of the sun did not yet penetrate halfway down the black-covered walls. Here and there, needles of chalky rock jutted out from the bristling thicket. With one glance he encompassed the entire giant space as far down as the stony bottom which lay less than a mile below.

Suddenly he felt so like a defenseless prey that he squatted down, snuggling against the rocks as if he were trying to turn into one of the boulders himself. This was absurd, of course, as he was in no danger of being discovered. What he had to fear had no eyes to see. He stretched out on a rock slab and looked down. The information he could glean from the photogrammetric map was totally useless, since it showed the terrain as seen from a bird’s-eye view and was consequently extremely foreshortened vertically. Impossible to risk a descent along the narrow, bare channel lying between the two slanting surfaces all overgrown with black bushes. For that he would have needed not seventy-five feet of rope but at least one hundred feet, as well as a few hooks and a hammer; but he had nothing of the sort. He was not equipped for a climbing expedition.

The narrow furrow swept down quite gently at first, then broke off suddenly, disappeared behind a promontory jutting out from the rocky wall and became visible again way down through a bluish haze. A wild thought passed through his mind: If only I had brought along a parachute…

He carefully examined the slopes on either side of the spot where he was lying, stretched out below a big, mushroom-shaped boulder. Only now did he become aware of a mild warm breeze wafting upwards from the great emptiness yawning wide below him. And indeed, the outlines of the slopes opposite trembled softly. The tangled black growth absorbed, gathered and stored the sun rays. He let his gaze roam farther to the southwest, where he recognized the points of the rocky needles whose base formed the stone gate where the catastrophe had taken place. He would not have noticed them had they not been pitch black and coated with a thick, shiny glaze — the outer layers of the rock needles had reached boiling temperatures during the battle between the Cyclops and the cloud. This difference made them stand out from the rest of the rock formations. From his vantage point he could not discover a single trace of the transporters or the atomic explosion anywhere in the valley. As he lay there, stretched out, he was suddenly overwhelmed by despair: he had to get down there, and there was no way. Yet instead of feeling relief at the prospect of returning and telling Horpach he had done his utmost, he came to a decision.

He rose. A movement down in the gorge, seen out of the corner of one eye, caused him to huddle once more against the boulder. But he straightened up again almost immediately. If I lie down every few minutes, I won’t accomplish very much, he thought. He began walking along the ridge searching for a traversable point. Every few hundred feet he leaned out over the void, but the picture was always the same: wherever the slope was gentle, black underwood clung to it; where there was no brush, the terrain would fall away steeply.

Once his foot started a small rock rolling down. It tumbled into the abyss, followed by other stones. A small avalanche followed, rumbling and roaring some 300 feet below into the matted wall. Wisps of sparking smoke crept out from the spot, unfolded in the air, and hovered for a moment as if taking stock — he grew rigid all over. After a long minute, the smoke thinned out and dispersed among the glittering brush.

Shortly before nine o’clock, as he was peering out from behind a boulder, he saw down at the bottom of the valley — the basin was considerably wider here — a small, bright point that moved about. With trembling hands he pulled the collapsible field glass from his pocket and pointed it in that direction…

A human being! The magnification was not powerful enough, and he was unable to recognize the face but he could clearly see the rhythmical movements of the man’s legs. The man walked slowly, limping slightly, as if he were dragging a wounded leg. Should he call to him? He did not dare. Or rather, he tried to, but fear paralyzed his throat. He hated himself for it. He knew only one thing: now more than ever he dared not abandon the search. He took note of the route the other man had pursued — up the valley, which steadily widened here, toward the whitish cones of the talus — and he ran in the same direction, along the ridge, jumping across boulders and gaping clefts in the rocks, until his whistling breath in the mouthpiece became too labored, almost choking, and his heart pounded violently. This is sheer insanity, I can’t exert myself like this, he thought helplessly. He slowed down somewhat, and suddenly a wide gully opened up invitingly ahead. Further below it was lined on either side by black tangled growths. The angel of descent grew steeper — perhaps some rocks were jutting out there to form an overhanging roof?

A glance at his watch helped him decide; it was almost 9:30. He started to climb down. At first his face was turned toward the abyss, then he swung around carefully. The wall became too steep. On all fours, he climbed down backwards step by step. It was not long until he came close to the black thicket which seemed to sear him with its rigid silent heat. His temples were throbbing. He stopped for a breather on a slanting, narrow rocky ledge, jammed his left shoe in a crevice and looked down. Some 120 feet below he saw a broad shelf from which, clearly visible, a barren hummock led downwards, rising above the stiff dead tufts of the black bushes. Unfortunately, there was nothing but air between him and the promising shelf. He looked up. He had traversed some 600 feet, perhaps even more than that. The violent thumping of his heart seemed to shake the air. Several times he blinked his eyes. Slowly, cautiously, he unrolled the rope. You wouldn’t do anything as crazy as that, an inner voice told him. He angled sideways and downwards and reached a shrub nearby. The sharp branches were covered by a fine layer of rust that scattered dust to the touch. Expecting the worst, Rohan grasped the shrub.

Nothing happened. He heard only a dry crackling sound. He pulled the shrub with a firm grip but it did not budge. He slung the rope around its base, tugged hard one more time… then in a sudden burst of courage, he wound the rope around a second and a third shrub, planted his feet firmly against a boulder and tugged at the rope with all his might. The bushes did not give way, but clung to the rocky ground.

Slowly he lowered himself; at first he could shift part of his body weight onto the rocks through the friction of his shoe soles, but soon he slipped and hung suspended in the air. Faster and faster, he let the rope slide through below his bent knee, braked his speed with his right shoulder, looked down attentively and finally landed on the rocky shelf. Then he tried to detach the rope from the shrubs above by pulling at the end nearest to him. But the shrubs would not let go, although he tugged at the rope repeatedly. It was stuck. He sat down on the narrow shelf, straddling it between his legs, and pulled as hard as he could. Suddenly it jerked through the air, hissing like a snake, and hit him on the back of his neck. He jerked back as though struck by lightning. For the next few minutes he stayed where he was, sitting astride the shelf. His knees were shaking too much for him to risk any further descent for a while. But now he could see the figure down below again ambling along. It looked larger already. He wondered why the figure was so bright; and there was something very peculiar about the shape of the man’s head, or rather his head covering.

He was aware that the worst was yet to come. But it surpassed his expectations. The path itself was much smoother now, but the crackling dead rust bushes gave way to a greasy shiny mass. Their wiry tangle was studded with small berry-like characteristic thickenings which he recognized immediately.

Now and then, little smoke clouds swarmed from these growths, softly humming, and circled in the air. Each time, he froze, but not for long; otherwise he would never be able to reach the bottom of the gorge. For a while he pushed forward, straddling the narrow rocky shelf. Then the hump broadened and was not quite so steep, and he was able to climb again, but only on hands and knees, and not without difficulty. He was unaware how much progress he had already made. He had to divide his attention all the while to either side of the narrow path. Occasionally he had to pass so close to the dusty bushes that their tuft-like wires would graze the folds of his protective suit. Yet not once did the little clouds that sailed above him, glittering in the sunlight, advance toward him. Finally he stood at the broad end of the rocky talus, only a few feet removed from the pebble-strewn bottom of the ravine. The stones there were chalky white and as hard as bone. It was shortly before noon. Now he was already below the brushy zone. The upper half of slope he had just climbed down was lit up by the sun high in the sky. Now it was possible to look back and survey the distance he had covered so far, but he did not bother to turn around. He ran downhill, trying to shift his weight alternately from one leg to the other, jumping from rock to rock as fast as he could, but the crumbling rubble of the rock-piles followed him, tumbling and knocking down, and suddenly, just by the dry bed of the little brook, the rock-strewn ground slipped away from under his feet. He was hurled to the ground so violently that his oxygen mask was knocked off his face as he rolled downhill several dozen yards. He jumped to his feet again to continue his pursuit of the man, despite his bruises and cuts, for he was afraid to lose sight of him entirely here where both slopes — especially the opposite wall — were dotted with the dark entrances to a large number of caves. But before he could start up again, something warned him. Even before he fully comprehended what it was, he dropped to the ground and, arms stretched out wide, flattened himself against the sharp-edged stones. A light shadow descended on him from above, and a formless black cloud mass drew near and enveloped him, accompanied by a rising, monotonous roar, encompassing all registers from a high-pitched whistle to a bass booming. Perhaps he should have shut his eyes, but he did not do so. One thought crossed his mind: if only the instrument sewn into his protective suit had not been damaged by his fall… Then, swiftly, he lapsed into self-imposed immobility. Not even his eyeballs moved; and yet he could see the wriggling cloud stop immediately overhead and lazily flick out an arm. From quite close, the very tip of this arm looked like the mouth of an inky-black maelstrom.

On his scalp, on his cheeks, all over his face, he felt a manifold warm breeze, like a breath composed of millions of tiny particles. Something brushed against his suit near his chest. Almost total darkness sourrounded him. In a flash the arm, spiraling like a miniature tornado, receded into the cloud. The constant humming grew to a shrill, piercing sound which hurt his teeth and drilled into his head. Then the sound lessened in intensity. The cloud climbed up almost vertically, turned into a black fog that spread from slope to slope, broke down into separate, globular coils that in turn began to whirl in concentric circles, crept into the stiff pelt of the bushes and finally disappeared. For a long time afterwards he lay there motionless. The thought flashed through his brain that this must be the end, that he no longer knew who he was, or how he had gotten there, or why. At this thought he was overwhelmed by such fear that he suddenly sat bolt upright. Then began to laugh. If he was capable of thinking such things, then obviously he had been spared, the cloud had been unable to harm him, he had outwitted the black insects. He tried to suppress the tickling, idiotic laughter that stuck in his throat and shook his whole body. It’s hysteria, he reprimanded himself, and got to his feet again. He had almost regained his composure — at least so it seemed to him — as he adjusted his oxygen mask and looked around. The man was not there any more. But he had heard the footsteps. Most likely he had already passed by and disappeared behind the boulder jutting out nearly to the middle of the ravine. Rohan started to run after him. The echo of the man’s steps seemed to come closer and closer; it seemed strangely loud, almost as if the man were stomping along in iron boots. As Rohan ran, he felt a sharp pain shooting up from his ankle to his knee. I must have sprained my ankle, he thought, his arms flailing desperately through the air. Once again he could not breathe properly and was nearly choking when he suddenly caught sight of the figure. He walked mechanically, making giant strides, stomping along over the stones. The heavy tread and stomping reverberated from the nearby rock walls with a clapping sound. And then it hit Rohan like a bolt out of a clear blue sky: it was no human being, but a robot! One of the Arctanes… Not for a single moment had he considered what fate might have befallen them after the catastrophe. They had been in the second transporter when the cloud started to attack. Now he noticed the robot’s left arm hanging limply and shattered by its side, its once shining, curved armor was buckled and slashed. Rohan felt bitterly disappointed, and yet he found comfort in the thought that at least he would have some kind of companion in his further search. He was just about to call to the robot when something made him hesitate. Instead he raced ahead of the robot, then stopped and waited for it, blocking its way. But the eight-foot tall giant obviously did not notice him. The dishlike ear of its radar antenna was partially destroyed — Rohan saw this clearly now that he was close to the robot — and where the lens of the left eye had been, a hole with a jagged edge yawned open. Still, the robot held itself steadily on its mighty feet, though it dragged its left leg behind it. When there were only a few feet left between them, Rohan called the robot, but the Arctane pushed blindly ahead, straight toward him, so that Rohan had to jump aside at the last second. He approached the robot a second time and tried to seize its metal paw but the automation jerked its arm away with an indifferent sweeping movement, and continued on its way. Rohan knew that the Arctane, too, had fallen victim to the attacking cloud and that he could no longer count on it. But he found it difficult to simply leave the helpless machine to its fate. Besides, he was curious about the robot’s destination, for it picked its way over the smoothest possible path, as though it were advancing toward a definite goal. Rohan deliberated briefly — the Arctane had meanwhile wandered on for almost fifty feet — and then followed the machine. Soon the robot arrived at a steep boulder formation and started to climb it, without paying the least attention to the steady streams of debris that rolled out from under its broad feet. It had scaled about half of the rubble hillock when it suddenly fell and slid backwards, kicking its legs desperately. Under other circumstances, an observer might have laughed at this funny spectacle. Then the robot got to its feet again and once more started its upward climb.

Resolutely, Rohan made an about-face and walked away. For quite some time, however, he could hear the tumult on the boulder hill and the repeated metallic dragging of feet, a sound that was tossed back and forth many times between the facing rocky slopes, a multiple echo. He made good headway now, since the path he had taken — over the flat stones in the dry brook — was fairly smooth and descended gently. Nothing was to be seen of the cloud; only an occasional trembling of the air above the slopes gave away the simmering in the black thicket. By now he had arrived at the widest part of the gorge, which opened into a basin, framed by rocky heights. He was roughly a mile and a half from the rock gate, where the catastrophe had occurred. Only now did he realize how hard it would be without an olfactometer, which could have helped him find human traces; but the instrument was much too heavy to be carried on foot. He would just have to get along without it. He stopped and examined the rocky walls. No one could possibly have taken refuge in the metal thicket. That left only the grottoes, caves and hollows in the rocks — he counted several from where he was standing. High rock shelves with vertical faces, that presented extraordinary difficulties for the climber, hid the caves’ interiors from sight, and he decided to begin by examining the grottoes, one after the other. Back aboard the spacecruiser, he had tried, together with the psychologists and the physicians, to figure out where he should search for the four lost men — in other words, where they were most likely to be hiding. But in reality the conference had been of little use, since the behavior of an amnesiac was unpredictable. The fact that the lost men had been together when they left the rest of Regnar’s group indicated that some kind of activity set them off from the others. And to a certain extent, the fact that the trails of the four men had not separated once at any point along the terrain explored so far, justified the hope of finding all four together in the same area — only if they were still alive, naturally, and had not spread out in various directions above the rock gate. Rohan made a thorough search in two smaller and four larger grottoes, one after the other, which he could enter fairly easily since he needed only to climb over a few large, slanting rock shelves. This was not dangerous and took only a few minutes. In the last grotto he stumbled on metal debris, partly covered with water. At first he believed it to be the skeleton of the second Arctane; but they were extremely old and unlike any design he had ever encountered before. In a shallow puddle of water, which was visible because the smooth, almost polished vaulted ceiling of the grotto reflected some sparse daylight, he saw an elongated form, something like a fifteen-foot-long cross. The outer metal hull had long since fallen apart, disintegrated, mixed with the muddy ground and now formed a rust-red mass. Rohan could not indulge in a closer examination of this unusual find, perhaps the wreck of one of the macro-automats that had been exterminated by the fittest of the inorganic evolution, the black cloud. All he could permit himself was to fix the image on his mind: hazy outlines of braces and poles which probably were used for flying rather than for walking. A glance at his watch urged him to hurry on, and without further delay he continued to search through the next caves. But they were so numerous — from the bottom of the ravine they peered out occasionally like dark yawning windows in the steep rock walls — and the often flooded subterranean corridors that sometimes led into straight-walled, vertical tunnels and ditches with icy, gurgling rivulets, were so tortuous that he did not dare penetrate too deeply into them. Besides, he carried only a small flashlight which provided relatively weak illumination and was especially powerless inside the more spacious grottoes with their tall, vaulted ceilings and innumerable galleries. Finally, totally exhausted and near collapse, he sat down on a huge flat sun-warmed boulder near the exit of a cave he had just finished examining, and chewed a few bars of the food concentrate, washing the dry mouthfuls down with some water from the little brook. Several times he thought he heard the rustling of the approaching cloud but it was probably just the echo from the Sisyphus-like labors of the Arctane reverberating from the upper regions of the ravine. After he had finished eating his meager provisions, he felt much better. What surprised him most was the realization that he was less and less worried about his dangerous surroundings, the black thicket that extended over all the slopes, wherever he looked.

He climbed down the rocky promontory in front of the cave after resting there for a while, and perceived a thin, rusty streak that extended across the dry stones to the opposite side of the gorge floor. As he reached the spot, he saw that they were traces of blood. They had dried completely and faded, and had it not been for the unusually bright white color of the limestone-like rocks, he would most likely have missed the tracks. He tried to determine which direction the wounded man must have taken, but it was hopeless. So he marched up the valley arbitrarily, driven by the thought that the blood must have come from someone who was wounded during the battle between the Cyclops and the cloud, someone who had tried to leave the battle scene. The tracks intersected and broke off in places, but eventually they led him toward a cave which was one of the first he had searched before. He was all the more astonished when — directly by the entrance to the cave — a vertical, shaft-like narrow cleft opened, which he had failed to notice earlier. The blood ended there. Rohan kneeled down and bent over the shadowy hole in the ground. Although he had been prepared for the worst, he could not suppress a stifled cry when he saw Benningsen’s head staring at him with empty eye sockets and bared teeth. He recognized the man by his gold-rimmed glasses, whose lenses had remained undamaged by some fluke of fate and now sparkeled brightly in the light reflected from the limestone slab that tilted over the stone coffin. The geologist was wedged between boulders, his shoulders jammed into the natural lining of the rocky shaft, so that his body had remained upright. Rohan did not want to leave the man’s remains behind, but when he gathered up his courage and tried to lift the body, through the thick material of the protective suit he could feel the corpse disintegrating under his touch. Decay had already done its work, accelerated by the effect of the sunrays that penetrated this spot every day. Rohan finally zipped open the breast pocket in Benningsen’s suit and removed the scientist’s dog tag. Before moving on, he gathered up his last ounce of strength and rolled one of the nearest rock slabs toward the shaft to seal the rocky tomb.

The first man had been found. Not until Rohan was a good distance away did it occur to him that he ought to have tested the corpse for radioactivity, for the degree of contamination might shed some light on the fate that had befallen the geologist and his friends. A high radioactive count would have proved that the dead man had been near the scene of the atomic battle. But he had forgotten to make the test, and nothing could have induced him to roll the coffin’s stone lid aside again. At the same time, Rohan became aware how important a role chance was playing during his endeavors, for he had undoubtedly made a thorough search all around this spot when he had first been there.

Inspired by a new thought, he now hastily pursued the blood trail in order to find its beginning. The trail led almost in a straight line down into the valley, in the direction of the atomic battlefield. But after just a few hundred paces, the trail made a sudden turn. The geologist had lost a great deal of blood; thus it was all the more surprising that he should have come so far. The stones, which had not been touched by a single drop of rain since the catastrophe, were covered with blood. Rohan climbed some large wobbly boulders and found himself in a spacious, basin-like trough below a barren cliff. The first thing he saw was the huge metal sole of a robot. It lay on its side, evidently split down the middle by a Weyr gun. Off to the side, farther down, a man was leaning against a stone in a half-seated position, his body almost folded over in two halves; his helmet was blackened by soot. The man was dead. The Weyr gun still dangled from his limp hand, its glittering barrel touching the ground. Rohan did not immediately dare to touch the man; instead, he knelt next to him and tried to look into his face, but it was just as disfigured by decay as Benningsen’s had been. Just then he discovered the broad, flat satchel of the geologist hanging over the shrunken shoulder of the corpse. It was Regnar himself, the leader of the expedition that had been attacked in the crater. According to the radioactivity readings, the Arctane had been wrecked by the charge of a Weyr gun: the indicator registered the characteristic isotopes of rare earth. Rohan wanted to remove Regnar’s dog tag but he could not bring himself to do it. He simply unbuckled the satchel, so that he did not have to touch the corpse.

But the satchel was crammed full with samples of various minerals. He hesitated briefly, then with his knife cut off the geologist’s initials which were fastened to the leather. He put the metal initials in his pocket. Then, standing on a tall rock, he surveyed the entire scene once more, trying to comprehend what actually had happened here. It looked as if Regnar had shot at the robot. Had the Arctane perhaps attacked the geologist or Benningsen? Was it even possible for an amnesiac to have fended off an attack? He realized that he would never find the solution to this mystery; he had to continue his search. Once more he glanced at his watch: it was almost five o’clock. If he had to rely on his own oxygen supply, then he would have to start back now. But it suddenly occurred to him that he could remove the oxygen container from Regnar’s backpack. He lifted the entire apparatus from the dead man’s shoulders and found that one of the flasks was still full. He exchanged it for his empty container and started to pile up stones around the corpse. This took nearly one hour, but he felt that the dead man had more than paid for it by handing over his oxygen supply. When the stone mound was complete, Rohan considered that it would have been a good idea to equip himself with a weapon, and the Weyr gun was probably still loaded. But again he had thought of it too late and had to leave the scene empty-handed.

It was close to six o’clock. He was so tired that he could hardly drag his feet. He still had four stimulant tablets in his possession. He took one of them and after a minute felt sufficiently revived to get up from the ground. Since he had not the faintest idea where to press on with his search, he simply walked forward in the direction of the rock gate. He was still more than half a mile away when his geiger counter warned him of increasing radioactive contamination. For the time being the contamination was fairly mild, and he walked ahead, keeping the surrounding terrain under observation. Since the ravine had many turns, only some of the rocks showed traces of the melting process on their surfaces. The farther he advanced, the more frequently he encountered the characteristic cracked glaze, until eventually he saw entire boulders congealed into one single, huge blister, where their rocky surface must have boiled when the thermal explosions hit. Actually there was no reason for him to stay here any longer; yet he kept walking on. The counter on his wrist gave off a light ticking sound that gradually picked up speed, until the instrument hand danced madly across the scale of the dial. At long last he recognized, far off in the distance, the remains of the rock gate, which had collapsed into a trough-like crater. The crater resembled a small lake whose waters, as a result of the tremendous impact, had splashed out over the shoreline, where they had become solidified in weird shapes. The base of the rock gate had changed into a thick lava crust and the formerly black pelt of the metal shrubs had turned into a uniformly ragged rug of ashes. Between the rock walls in the interior of the ravine glistened gigantic clefts of lighter coloration. Rohan swiftly turned back again.

Once again chance came to his aid. As he reached a second, considerably broader rock gate behind the scene of the battle, nearby, on a spot he had previously passed by, he noticed a sparkling metal object. It was the aluminum reductor of an oxygen container. In a shallow crevice between the rock and the dry bed of the brook he saw a man’s dark back clad in a spacesuit blackened by smoke. The corpse had no head. The terrible air pressure had hurled the man across a stone heap and dashed him against the rocks. To the side lay an undamaged weapon holster with a Weyr gun firmly wedged inside, gleaming brightly as if it had only recently been polished. Rohan picked up the gun. He wanted to identify the dead man, but it was impossible.

He continued to march up along the ravine. Over on the eastern slope, the light was already red and glided up like a flaming curtain as the sun sank behind the mountain crest. It was a quarter to seven. Rohan was faced with a real dilemma. So far he had been lucky — in one sense, at least: he had carried out his task, had escaped safe and sound, and could now return to the space cruiser. He was convinced that the fourth man was no longer alive, but they had assumed as much back aboard the Invincible. His duty now was to make sure that this was really the case. Did he have the right to turn back now? The oxygen supply from Regnar’s tank would last another six hours. However, a whole night lay before him, and he would be unable to undertake anything, not just because of the cloud, but simply because he was almost totally exhausted. He swallowed another pill, and while he waited for its effect to take place, he tried to design a halfway reasonable plan for the rest of his mission.

The blood-red glow of the setting sun now bathed the black jungle on the mountain ridge high above him with ever-deepening shades: the sharp points of the bushes sparkled and shimmered in deep violet hues.

Rohan still could not make up his mind. As he sat there under a huge boulder, he heard in the distance the full-toned hum of the approaching cloud. And strangely enough — he was not frightened. Throughout the course of this one day his relationship with the cloud had undergone strange changes. He knew — or at least he believed he knew — how far he could go, like a mountain climber who has no fear of the death lurking on the icy walls of a glacier. In point of fact, he was not fully aware of this inner change, for his mind had not consciously registered the moment when his senses first opened to the somber beauty of the black brushy growths that shimmered in opalescent tinges of violet on the slopes. But now, even as he caught sight of two blackclouds swarming out off the opposite slopes and coming closer, he did not move at all, nor did he try to protect himself by pressing his face against the rocks. After all, it made no difference whatever he did as long as the hidden instrument was working properly. He fingered the thick cloth of his protective suit, trying to locate the coin-like disc sewn into his collar, and with his fingertips he felt a delicate vibration. In order not to challenge fate, he settled in a more comfortable position, to avoid shifting his body unnecessarily. The clouds now occupied both sides of the ravine. Some kind of an order-creating stream seemed to flow through the black globular densities, for now the clouds thickened at the edges, while their interior surfaces arched out steadily, reaching out toward each other. As if a giant sculptor were shaping them with swift, invisible strokes. Brief discharges flashed through the air between the closest points of the two clouds. They seemed to race toward each other, yet each remained on its own side, and only the spherical condensations in the middle fluttered in an increasingly violent rhythm. The glare of these bolts of lightning was strangely dark. Both clouds flared up in this light for a few seconds, like myriads of silvery-black crystals arrested in their flight. Muffled thunderclaps bounced back and forth a few times from the rock walls, which suddenly seemed covered by some sound-absorbing material, and then both sides of the black ocean met, quivering and tensed to the utmost, and flowed into each other. The air underneath grew dark, as if the sun had set, and at the same time blurry fleeting lines made their appearance inside. It was some time before Rohan understood what it was that confronted him there: the grotesquely contorted mirror image of the bottom of the valley. In the meantime, the mirage below the cloud bank surged and expanded, until all at once he perceived a gigantic human figure whose head projected into the darkness. The figure stared straight at him without moving, although the image itself quivered and danced ceaselessly, flaring up and dying down in a constant, mysterious rhythm. And once more several seconds passed before he recognized in it his own mirror image, a fata morgana floating in the empty space between the lateral lobes of both clouds. He was so amazed, so paralyzed by the inexplicable activity of the cloud, that he forgot everything. He thought that perhaps the cloud was aware of him, of the microscopic presence of the last living human being in the midst of the rocks: however, even that thought did not frighten him. Not that it seemed too unlikely — nothing was impossible at this point — he simply felt an urge to participate in this murky mystery, whose significance, he was quite sure, would forever remain beyond his understanding. His gigantic mirror image, through which he caught faint glimpses of the distant rock walls, became diffused in the upper parts of the gorge, where the shadow of the cloud did not extend. At the same time, innumerable arms extruded from the cloud. As soon as it had reabsorbed some of these projections, new ones appeared in their place. A black rain began to fall, constantly growing heavier. Tiny crystals dashed over him, brushed against his head and slid down along his protective suit, accumulating in the folds of the garment. The black rain kept falling and the voice of the cloud swelled to a crescendo, to a raging sound which apparently filled not only the valley, but the entire atmosphere of the planet. Individual whirlpools formed inside the cloud, like windows through which the sky could be seen. The black cloak tore right down the middle and two mountainous clouds sailed sluggishly toward the brushwork, submerged and finally vanished in the motionless, rigid thicket.

Rohan still dared not make a move. He could not make up his mind whether it was advisable to shake off the crystals that were strewn all over him. They lay everywhere on the stones, and the entire bed of the brook, that heretofore had glistened as white as snow, seemed sprayed with ink. Carefully, he seized a triangular crystal between thumb and forefinger. Suddenly it appeared to come alive, brushed against his hand with a delicate breath of warmth and rose into the air as Rohan instinctively opened his fist. All of a sudden, as if on cue, the whole surrounding area began to crawl like an anthill. The movement was chaotic for a bare second, then black points formed a kind of misty layer hovering close to the ground, concentrated, grew dense, clustered and climbed skyward like pillars. It looked as if the boulders themselves had turned into gigantic, sacrificial nameless torches. At this instant an incomprehensible maneuver took place: while the ascending swarm hung exactly above the center section of the gorge, hovering there like a cumulus cloud, there emerged, pitted against the gradually darkening sky the gigantic black balloons of those clouds that but a short while ago had vanished in the brushy growths and now raced with incredible speed toward the first cloud suspended quietly in mid-air. Rohan thought he heard the peculiar grinding noise of colliding air masses, but it was probably just a delusion. He was all ready to believe that he was witnessing a battle, that the clouds had managed to expel the dead insects they had wanted to get rid of and dash them to the bottom of the valley — and then it all turned out to be nothing but a false conclusion on his part. The clouds parted and nothing remained of the puffed-up sphere. They simply had swallowed it. Soon after, only the mountain tops bled as before in the last rays of the setting sun, and the wide basin lay quiet and deserted.

Rohan got to his feet and stood there on shaky legs. Suddenly he felt ridiculous standing there with the Weyr gun he had taken so hastily from the dead man; he felt so superfluous in this realm of perfected death, where only dead forms could emerge victoriously in order to enact mysterious rites never to be witnessed by any living creature. Not with horror, but rather with numbed awe and great admiration had he participated in the fantastic spectacle that just had taken place. He knew that no scientist would be capable of sharing his sentiments, but now his desire was no longer merely to return and report what he had found out about their companions’ deaths, but to request that this planet be left alone in the future. Not everywhere has everything been intended for us, he thought as he slowly descended. There was still some light in the sky, and he soon arrived at the scene of the battle. There he had to speed up his pace, because of the increasing radiation from the glassy boulders, which whizzed by like eerie silhouettes in the descending dusk. The rock walls picked up the reverberation of his steps and passed it on, and accompanied by the sound of this endless echo, summoning him to a tremendous haste, he jumped from rock to rock, straining to the utmost, ran past fragments of machines, molten beyond recognition, and reached a winding slope — but here too the dial glowed ruby red as he checked his radiation counter.

He dared not stand still, although he had become short of breath. Without slowing down his pace he turned the reductor of his oxygen tank almost all the way over to stop. Even if he used up all his oxygen by the time he arrived at the end of the ravine, and then had to breathe the air of this planet, it would certainly still be preferable to remaining here longer than absolutely necessary, where each square inch of rock emitted deadly radiation. The oxygen pounded against the inside of his mouth like a cool wave. He raced easily over the surface of the congealed lava stream, which the retreating Cyclops had left behind along the trail of its defeat. The path was smooth, in some places even glassy. Fortunately he wore well-fitting shoes with rubber-tread soles and did not skid. In the meantime it had grown so dark that he could make out the downward road only by occasional brightly gleaming pebbles which peered out from under the layer of glass. The path led downhill all the time. He knew that there was at least another mile and a half of such road ahead. It was impossible during this wild chase to make any calculations but now and then he nevertheless managed to glance quickly at the pulsating red dial of his radiation counter. About one hour would be the upper safety limit for staying here among these rocks, bent and cleft due to the annihilation; then his exposure to the rays would not exceed 200 Roentgen. An hour and a quarter would still be acceptable, but if he should not reach the desert’s edge by that time, there would be no longer any reason to hurry.

About twenty minutes later Rohan reached the crisis point. His heart felt like a cruel insuperable entity that alternately tried to push his chest apart from the inside and then squeezed it together again. The oxygen burned his mouth and throat like raw, liquid fire; sparks danced before his eyes. The worst part, however, was that he began to stumble more and more frequently. Although the radiation had diminished somewhat by now and the indicator barely glimmered in the dark, like a dying ember, he knew that he must hurry on despite all, had to keep running, while his legs threatened to give out. Every muscle fiber had had enough by now; every cell of his body was screaming for him to stop and throw himself down onto the seemingly cool, harmless, cracked glass sheets on the grounds. He tried to glance up to the stars but he tripped and fell headlong onto his outstretched hands. Sobbing, he gasped for air. He scrambled to his feet again, staggered on for a few steps, until the rhythm returned and carried him along. By now he had lost all sense of time. How could he find his way around at all in this gloomy blackness? He had forgotten the dead, the bony, sardonic grin of Benningsen; Regnar, resting under the heaped-up stones next to the demolished Arctane; the man without a head whom he had been unable to identify; he had even forgotten, yes, the cloud. He was totally crushed by this darkness; it had forced the blood into his eyes that, in vain, looked for the big starry sky above the desert — the sandy wasteland seemed like a port of refuge to him now. He hurried on blindly, his eyelids smarting with sweat, driven by some inner force whose undiminished presence kept amazing him from time to time. Would this ceaseless running, would this night ever take an end?

His eyes no longer saw. His feet made headway only with the greatest effort and kept sinking into the soil. In a last fit of despair, he raised his head and realized in a flash that he had reached the desert. He saw the stars on the horizon, and as his legs began to give way under him, his eyes sought the dial of the radiation counter, but in vain: it was dark and silent, he had left the invisible death behind him in the congealed lava bed. That was his last thought, for as he felt the rough, cool sand on his face, he did not fall asleep, but into a kind of stupor, while his body kept laboring desperately, his ribs twitched, his heart beat wildly. Then, from the twilight zone of total exhaustion, he slipped into another, even deeper state of semi-trance, until, finally, he lost consciousness.

With a start he regained his senses again, though he had no idea where he was. He moved his hands, felt the cool sand, which trickled through his fingers, sat up and moaned involuntarily. He felt hot. Slowly he returned to a state of complete consciousness. The phosphorescent hand of the manometer pointed to zero. There were still eighteen atmospheres left in the second container. He opened the valve and got to his feet. It was one o’clock. The stars stood out sharply against the black backdrop of the nocturnal sky. With the help of his compass he found the direction he had to follow and started out. At three o’clock he took the last stimulant tablet. Shortly before four the last of the oxygen was depleted. Resolutely he threw away the container and walked on, at first breathing almost reluctantly. But soon the fresh air of the approaching dawn filled his lungs; he quickened his steps, straining to think of nothing but this march through the sand dunes, where at times his legs would sink in up to the knees. He felt slightly intoxicated, but he could not tell whether this was due to the gases in the atmosphere or simply lack of sleep. He had figured out that he would need to do between two and three miles per hour in order to arrive at the space cruiser by eleven o’clock.

He tried to regulate his speed with the pedometer then, but it was no use. The firmament was divided into two uneven parts by the immense whitish streak of the Milky Way. By now he had adjusted so well to the sparse light of the stars that he was able to steer around the biggest dunes. He trudged along, wading through the sand until he suddenly noticed on the horizon a strangely even patch without stars, an angular silhouette. Without knowing what it might be, he ran toward it, paying no attention to the fact that he was sinking deeper and deeper into the sand. Then, as he plunged forward like a blind man, his outstretched hands hit against some hard metal. It was an overland vehicle vacant and deserted. Maybe it was one of those that Horpach had sent out the previous morning, or perhaps a different one, one from Regnar’s group. Rohan did not stop to think about the car’s origin. There he stood, panting, and embraced the machine with both arms. His fatigue drew him towards the ground. Just to sink down next to the vehicle, to fall asleep and march on after sunrise…

He climbed slowly onto the armored hull, hand over hand, his fingers searching for the handle, and opened the hatch. The lights went on. He slid down onto the seat. Yes, now he knew that he was in a state of intoxication — poisoned by the gas in the atmosphere, no doubt — for he was unable to find the switches. He could not remember where they were located, he no longer knew anything… Finally his groping hand accidentally bumped into the worn-out knob and pushed it to one side. The engine emitted a slight noise and started. He unclasped the lid of the gyro-compass. The one number he still remembered clearly was the direction for the return trip. For some time, the vehicle rolled along in the dark; Rohan had forgotten that there were headlights.

It was still dark at five o’clock, when suddenly in the distance, between the white and bluish stars, he perceived a ruby-red star, quite low above the horizon. Rohan blinked his eyes in confusion. A red star? Unthinkable… He imagined that someone was sitting next to him — Jarg, of course — and he wanted to ask him what kind of star it was. Suddenly he came to with a start. He was thunderstruck. It was the headlight of the Invincible. He traveled straight toward the ruby droplet in the darkness. The light gradually climbed higher and finally turned into a bright sphere, in whose reflection the spaceship’s hull gleamed softly in the dark. The red eye between the clock dials flared up; the buzzer rang, indicating the vicinity of an energy field. The vehicle rolled down a sandy slope and came to a halt. He was not certain that he would have enough strength to climb back into the car once he had left it, so he reached into the tool compartment, pulled out a Very pistol and — since his hand was trembling — leaned his elbow on the steering wheel while he steadied his right hand with his left and pulled the trigger. An orange-red streak raced through the dark. The short trajectory of the flare ended suddenly in a burst of stars — it struck the barrier of the energy field like an invisible glass wall. He shot again and again, until the magazine rattled drily. The ammunition had been all used up. But he had been spotted. The first to sound the alarm were most likely the personnel on duty in the control center, for almost simultaneously two giant kleig lights flared up under the nose of the space-cruiser; the white tongues of the kleig lights licked at the sand and their beams crossed above the vehicle. At the same time, the ramp was lit up by a powerful floodlight and the entire shaft of the outside elevator glowed like a cold flame in the splendor of the neon tubes. Within seconds, the gangways were swarming with men, the sand dunes around the Invincible flared up in the glaring cones of the rotating searchlights; soon the lane of blue beacons indicated that passage through the protective barrier was clear.

The Very pistol had dropped from Rohan’s hand, and he did not register the moment when he had slid down to the ground over the vehicle’s side. With unsteady, exaggerated strides, stiffly drawn up to his full height, his fists clenched in order to suppress the unbearable trembling of his fingers, he strode straight towards the twenty-storey-high spaceship that, bathed in a blaze of light, stood outlined before the paling sky. There it towered, majestic as ever in its motionless grandeur — as if it were indeed invincible.