“Go straight through it,” Garamond urged. “Don’t slow down.”

“It’s no use,” Mason said. “It would take a tank to batter down that gate — we’d both be killed. We’ll just have to talk our way in.”

“Talk?” Garamond looked north and saw that the other vehicle seemed to be approaching with the speed of an aircraft. “There’s no time for talking.”

He leaped from the car as soon as it had slid to a halt and ran to the kiosk at the side of the gate. A sunvisored guard emerged, carrying a rifle, and stared warily at Garamond’s stained travesty of a Starflight uniform.

“State your business,” he said, at the same time making a signal to the other two guards who were seated inside.

“I’m Captain Garamond of the Stellar Exploration Arm. Open the gate immediately.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, Captain.”

“You’ve heard of me, haven’t you? You know who I am?” “I know who you are, Captain, but that doesn’t mean I should let you in. Have you an authorization?”

“Authorization?” Garamond considered putting on a display of righteous indignation, but decided it would not work coming from a man who looked like a hobo. He smiled and pointed at the dust-devil which was now within a kilometre of the northern gate. “There’s my authorization. President Lindstrom is in that car, coming here specially to meet me.”

“How do I know that’s true?”

“You’ll know when she finds out you wouldn’t let me through. I think I’ll go back to my car and watch what happens.” Garamond turned away.

“Just a minute.” The guard gave Garamond a perplexed look. “You can come in, but that other guy stays where he is.”

Garamond shrugged and walked straight at the gate. It rolled out of his way just in time, then he was inside the perimeter and heading for the Octagon’s west entrance door, not more than a hundred paces away. A second before it was lost to view behind the flank of the building, he glimpsed the other car arriving at the north gate. It was black and silver, and he was able to see a pale feminine figure in the shaded interior. The certainty of being too late made his heart lapse into an unsteady, lumping rhythm. He was breaking into a run, regardless of what the watchful patrolmen might think, when his attention was caught by a flicker of movement as a window opened in the transparent wall of the uppermost floor. Again he picked out a womanly figure, but this time it was that of his wife. And she was looking down at him.

He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted. “Aileen! Can you hear me?”

“Vance!” Her voice was faint and tremulous, almost lost in the updraft at the sheer wall.

“Pick up Christopher and bring him down to this door as fast as you can.” He indicated the nearby entrance. “Did you get that?”

“Yes — I’m coming down.”

Aileen vanished from the window. Garamond went to the door, held it open and saw a short deserted corridor with four openings on each side. He debated trying to find stairs or elevator shaft, then decided that if he tried to meet Aileen part way he might miss her. Elizabeth was bound to be in the building by this time and on her way up to the private suite. Aileen and Christopher should be on their way down — but supposing there was only one central stairwell and they met Elizabeth head on? Garamond entered a chill dimension of time in which entire galaxies were created and destroyed between each thunderous beat of his heart. He tried to think constructively, but all that was left to him was the ability to be afraid, to feel pain and terror and…

One of the corridor doors burst open. He caught a flash of brown skin and multi-coloured silks, then Aileen was in his arms. We’ve made it, Garamond exulted. We’re all going to live.

“Is it really you?” Aileen’s face was cool and tear-wet against his own. “Is it really you, Vance?”

“Of course, darling. There’s no time to talk now. We’ve got to get…” Garamond’s voice was stilled as he made the discovery. “Where’s Christopher?”

Aileen looked at him blankly. “He’s upstairs in his bed. He was asleep…”

“But I told you to bring him!” “Did you? I can’t think…” Aileen’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s gone up there to get Chris. I told you to…” Voices sounded behind him and Garamond’s hunting eyes saw that two guards had followed him almost to the entrance. They had stopped and were looking upwards at the building. Holding Aileen by the wrist, Garamond ran to them and turned. High up within the transparent wall, where Aileen had been a minute earlier, Elizabeth Lindstrom was standing, pearly abdomen pressed against the clear plastic. She stared downwards, screened by reflected clouds, and raised one arm in languorous triumph.

Garamond rounded on the nearest guard and, with a single convulsive movement, snatched the rifle from his shoulder and sent him sprawling. He thumbed the safety catch off, selected maximum power and raised the weapon, just in time to see Elizabeth step backwards away from the wall, into shelter. Garamond’s eyes triangulated on his wife’s ashen face.

“Is Christopher’s room on this side of the building?”

“Yes. I…”

“Where is it? Show me the exact place?”

Aileen pointed at a wall section two to the left of where Elizabeth had been standing. The fallen guard got to his feet and came forward with outstretched hands, while his companion stood by uncertainly. Garamond pointed at the power setting on the rifle, showing it to be at the lethal maximum. The guard backed off shaking his head. Garamond raised the weapon again, aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger. The needle-fine laser ray pierced the transparent plastic and, as he swung the rifle, took out an irregular smoking area which tumbled flashing to the ground. A second later, as Garamond had prayed it would, a small pyjama-clad figure appeared at the opening. Christopher Garamond rubbed his eyes, peering sleepily into space. Garamond dropped the rifle and ran forward, waving his arms.

“Jump, Christopher, jump!” The sound of his hoarse, frightened voice almost obliterated the thought: He won’t do it; nobody would do it. “Come on, son — I’ll catch you.”

Christopher drew back his shoulders. A pale shape appeared behind him, grasping. Christopher jumped cleanly through the opening, into sunlit air.

As had happened once before, on a quiet terrace on Earth, Garamond saw the childish figure falling and turning, falling and turning, faster and faster. As had happened once before, he found himself running in a slow-motion nightmare, wading, struggling through molasses-thick tides of air. He sobbed his despair as he lunged forward.

Something solid and incredibly weighty hit him on the upper chest, tried to smash his arms from their sockets. He went down into dusty grass rolling with the priceless burden locked against his body. From a corner of his eye he saw a flash of laser fire stab downwards and expire harmlessly. Garamond stood up, treasuring the feel of the boy’s arms locked around his neck.

“All right, son?” he whispered. “All right?”

Christopher nodded and pressed his face into Garamond’s shoulder, clinging like a baby. Garamond estimated he was beyond the effective range of Elizabeth’s ring weapons and ran towards the gate without looking back at the Lindstrom Centre. Aileen, who had been standing with her hands over her mouth, ran with him until they had reached the perimeter. The guards, frozen within their kiosk, watched them with uncomprehending eyes. Colbert Mason was standing beside his car holding up a scene recorder. He glanced at a dial on the side of the machine. “That took two minutes all but fifteen seconds,” he said admiringly, then kissed the recorder ecstatically. “And it was all good stuff.”

“The best is yet to come,” Garamond assured him, as they crowded into the car.