There was a shelf at the top of the slope. He rested on it, and shone his torch into the cave. The ledge was about two metres long, ending abruptly. All he could see were the nondescript curves and angles of more dark grey rock. It was too much effort to wrestle his hood into place and use the photon amp, so he inched over to the lip and shone his torch straight down. The floor was a metre below. He swung his legs out.

This cave was much smaller than any the Celestials used. He prowled round it as the others squirmed their way out of the gash. There was very little frost on the walls.

"Where now?" Rick asked. There was no scepticism in the big man's tone. He had accepted Greg's talent as genuine. Even Jim and Carlos had no qualms, but then, three of their team mates were sac psychics.

Greg led them on, down a passage whose walls slanted over at thirty degrees. Selection was automatic. Seductive whispers in his mind.

They walked for about two hundred metres. In one place the walls and floor contracted, forcing them to crawl on all fours for five metres. Then Carlos said his sensors were picking up magnetic patterns ahead.

"Can you identify them?" Greg asked.

"It's a single structure containing several processors, power circuits, and some kind of giga-conductor cell."

"The drone," Greg said.

"Could be."

It was waiting for them in the next cave. A dull-orange oblong box, with a wedge-shaped front, a metre and a half long, seventy centimetres wide. There was a sensor cluster at each corner, two man-black waldos folded back along the sides. He saw a small triangle and flying-V printed on one side near the rear.

"Its sensors are active," Carlos said. "It's seen us."

"Any datalink transmission?"

"Yes."

"Hello, Snowy," the drone said. It was Royan's voice all right, or at least a pretty good synthesis.

Julia let out a muffled gasp. There was a powerful burst of emotion from her mind—anger, but mostly worry.

"Greg, thanks for coming," said Royan. "I knew you wouldn't let me down. You never do. Good job, too. The alternative would have been dire all round."

"What alternative?" he asked.

"Clifford Jepson."

"You do know about atomic structuring, then," Julia said.

"Yes. There's no such thing."

"What?"

"I have a lot to say, a lot to show you. And you're not going to thank me, Snowy. Not for what I've done. Sorry."

The drone's six independently sprung tyres made easy going of the bumpy rock floor. Greg and Julia followed it, the others close behind. He was painfully aware of the conflicting thought currents in Julia's mind: guilt, relief, and that consistent fiery thread of anger, compressed so tightly it was almost hatred. Flipside of love. He knew there was nothing he could say. They would have to sort that out for themselves.

And he liked both of them; he and Eleanor, Julia and Royan, they'd all been through hell and golden days together. Not exactly the happy reunion he'd been anticipating at the start.

They turned a corner, and saw a blue-green light at the end of the passage. The air was a lot warmer. Long tongues of glaucous fungal growth were probing along the passage walls. It wasn't a true fungus, he decided when they drew level with the tips of the encrustations, it was too wet, too solid.

"Is this your disseminator plant?" Greg asked the drone.

"One version. Its internal structuring was quite successful. It's flexible and fast growing, but it couldn't operate in a vacuum. I was thinking of using it to bore out living accommodation similar to the southern endcap complex."

The cave which the passage opened out into was a perfect hemisphere, completely covered in the plant; there were five equidistantly spaced semi-circular archways piercing the walls. A line of bulb-shaped knobs protruded from the wall at waist height, glowing with a soft light. When Greg touched a wall, he felt the growth give slightly below his finger; it had the texture of a hard rubber mat. Yet to look at it could have been a polyp, it had that same minute crystalline sparkle.

Something poised in the gap between vegetable and mineral, then.

It gave off the most unusual psychic essence. Of waiting.

Endless, eternal waiting. He felt an age here that made the centuries of human history fleetingly insignificant.

"When did you grow this?" he asked.

"About a fortnight ago."

He recognized it then: affinity with the origin microbe; drifting halfway across the galaxy in frozen stasis. A second eternity orbiting Jupiter, a life stretched beyond endurance.

Greg shivered inside the dissipater suit.

The drone trundled straight into one of the tunnels. The plant here was slightly different; a marble-like band ran along the apex, radiating a phosphorescent blue light; wide flat blisters mottled the walls. After twenty metres the tunnel began to curve, rising upward in a long gentle spiral.

"Well, look at all this," Sinclair said. "Right beneath us the whole time, and we never even knew. You've been a busy lad, young Royan."

Julia's head was thrust forward, mouth bloodless. God help a granite stalagmite that got in her way, Greg thought.

"The gaps already existed when I came here," said Royan. "The disseminator plant modified this section of the fault zone for me. But there's nowhere to shove processed rock, so it just redistributed the space available. Reamed out the centre, and filled in the edges, so to speak."

"Did you manage to refine the metals and minerals out?" Greg asked.

"Some, yes."

The blisters were becoming darker. Crisper, too, Greg reckoned; they could even have been dead. A faint tracery of black veins was visible under their delicate cinnamon skin.

"There's some power sources up ahead," Carlos's voice said in Greg's earpiece. "Electromagnetic emissions, magnetic patterns. The works."

Greg nodded once, without turning round. His mind had felt it already, a slackening of psychic pressure. The eye of the hurricane.

Red-raw tumours were bulging out from the tunnel walls, fist-size, as if the disseminator plant was suffering an outbreak of hives. Some of them had distended up through the blisters, puncturing the skin; waxy yellow fluid had dripped down the wall below them, pooling on the floor.

The drone stopped, and extended a waldo arm. Metal flexi-grip fingers closed round one of the tumours, chrome-black ceramic nails cutting into the plant flesh. Severed from the wall, the tumour looked like a ripe apple.

Greg nearly dropped it when the drone handed it to him. It was impossibly heavy. He peeled the mushy flesh away to reveal a kernel of whitish metal.

"Pure titanium," Royan said.

Greg passed the nugget to Rick, who whistled.

"Is it worth very much?" Sinclair asked hopefully.

"You'd need a lot more before you can buy a desert island full of geishas," Royan said. "But the system which produces it is priceless. Though not in monetary terms. The value comes from what it can provide."

"A plant, you call all this?" Sinclair looked round the tunnel sceptically.

"It was to start with." The drone turned sharply, heading up the tunnel again.

Sinclair tucked the nugget into a pocket, and gave the tumours a long, measured assessment.

They came into another hemispherical cave, with just the one tunnel entrance. The disseminator plant had grown scales of rough pale-brown bark around the walls, only the floor was clear of them. A thick tangle of hairy creepers was clinging to the bark, like an old grape vine which had been allowed to run wild. Some of the free-hanging loops were swaying slowly. But there was no air movement. They must have some kind of sap inside, Greg decided. Greenish light was coming from a circle of knobs overhead; they lacked symmetry, as if they had melted at some time, drooping under gravity. Very fine creepers had spread across them, making it look as though they were hanging inside string bags.