Even as it was happening Spence knew that it had happened once before. In a dream. The thin line between his dream and the terrible reality that now engulfed him blurred in that instant and melted together. That he would fall, he knew. Knew it with rocksolid certainty. He would be crushed on the rocks below and his body swept away in the river. It was all foretold in the dream.

The world spun around him. The sky above, the bridge, his friends, the villagers, the greedy darkness below-all revolved in kaleidoscopic fashion. He felt his grip on the handline slipping and a fuzzy confusion passed over him. He shook his head to clear it and cried out for help. The echo of his own voice rang sharply in his ears and died away in peals of laughter.

His fingers, burning with pain, slackened and he felt the rope twist in his hands as it slipped away.

26

…

I DON'T LIKE IT. It's getting too dangerous." Packer stood (with his arms folded across his chest and his back to his listener. His red hair, uncombed for many days, stood out in all directions like a shaken red mop. His normally fresh jumpsuit was rumpled and sweat-stained, and his face, gray with fatigue, bristled with long red stubble.

"What would you have us do about it, friend? It is dangerous, yes. We are not playing a child's game." Kalnikov slumped back round-shouldered in his chair and frowned at the ceiling. He, too, showed the strain of the passing days.

"We could try to get him out," suggested Packer.

"Too risky. Besides, just the attempt would tell them they have captured an important prisoner. It would also tell them that we have a good network of spies reporting their every move. In cases like this, unfortunately, it is better to wait and do nothing. We must not endanger the network.

"Just leave him? It's my chief assistant we're talking about, you know; head of our glorious network."

"All the more reason to remain calm. He must not be made to appear at all valuable. Otherwise, they will think they are in a position to bargain with us. They must never think that! They must remain uncertain on that score. We must keep them guessing. Silence is better. And it is better for Jones, too. You will see."

Packer ran his hands through his hair and sat down with a flop in a chair opposite the Russian pilot. A deep frown creased his unhappy face. "I suppose you're right. But I still hate it!"

"I know. It is most unfortunate. But there is yet hope. We do not know what he may have told them. He may have convinced them he knows nothing of our whereabouts. And unless they are very desperate, they will have to believe him. I don't imagine even Ramm is bold enough to begin arresting people wholesale. The mutineers must still maintain some semblance of order-at least for a little longer. So, perhaps they will release Jones, eh?"

Packer nodded slowly. Kalnikov continued. "Now, then, how are we coming on the break-in?"

"MIRA's shields tumbled a few hours ago."

"That's good news! Yes? Fantastic! That is something to cheer about at least."

"Well, yes and no. Without getting too technical, let's just say we're only sixty percent home. There's still a long way to go. MIRA's a tricky gal. She's state of the art and her data blanks are all biochip components. They're a lot tougher to manipulate at arm's length. More complex. We can roam around inside her circuits and sample bits and pieces of stuff we run across, but that way it would take years to find what we're looking for. And there's a good chance that we'd stumble over an internal tripwire of some kind and give ourselves away-they'd know they had a worm. They'd start shuffling the stuff around and we'd never find it. We need to know where the information we want is stored, and we also have to find which lines they're using for communication. In short, we need a master key to the system layout. A road map. We're working on it now."

"Well, keep working on it. Let me know as soon as we have something." Kalnikov got up and brushed the bags out of his uniform. "I've got to go and pick up the last shift report from my second-in-command. "

"There is one thing, though," Packer called after him. "We could order a shutdown of certain on-board systems throughout Gotham."

"Oh? How would we do that?"

"It's simple. We merely introduce false information into the matrix-say, splice in a signal for a faulty blower fan or something. MIRA would shut down the ventilator in order to check it out, or she'd signal someone to go fix it. Anyway, it would be shut down while all that was taking place. It might be useful."

"Oh, yes," Kalnikov smiled broadly. "You never know what might be useful." …

RAMM PACED BACK AND forth in front of the director's desk. Wermeyer sat watching him, drumming his fingers on the wooden desktop.

"It's not good. I have to let him go soon; I can't keep hint indefinitely-we haven't charged him with anything. People are asking questions."

"Well then, charge him. Think up something. If we let him loose now he'll know we don't have a clue where they are. And if he is in contact with the others, they'll know it, too."

"Any word from Hocking?"

"For the third time-no, not yet! Relax, will you? Getting nervous won't help. Everything's going as planned. The takeover is right on schedule."

Ramm shook his head and glared at Wermeyer. "I won't relax until this place is buttoned down tight. Right now there are too many variables. Too much can go wrong."

"You're a worrier, Ramm. I've already told you, nothing can go wrong. Why don't you stay here and have a drink with me? You look as if you could use one."

"No, thanks. I'm still on duty," replied Ramm coldly. He turned to walk out of the room. "Still, I wonder what can be keeping Hocking. He was supposed to have been here by now."

Wermeyer only shrugged and turned away. Ramm was a worrier-a good soldier, but a worrier and a stickler for detail. But soon it would all be over and then the station would be theirs. And after that? Well, who could tell? Anything was possible. Anything at all. …

SPENCE FELT THE ROPE twist in his grip as his fingers let go. He saw it slide sideways. His hand clawed the air. It seemed that he hung motionless for a fraction of a second before sinking backward into the chasm. He heard the screams of horrified onlookers and recognized his own name among unintelligible shouts.

He twisted in the air even as he fell and managed to snag a piece of the side-webbing of the bridge. With one hand he caught the length of rope and held on. Then, blood pounding in his temples so hard that he could hardly see, he managed to get his other hand on the rope and haul himself back up a few centimeters.

The rope as a weak lifeline; it served only to prolong the agony. For as he clung to the rope, kicking his feet to maintain his grasp, the strand snapped and he plummeted into the chasm below-to the renewed shrieks of those watching on the banks above.

Spence saw the darkness rushing up toward him and the gray brown rock face slipping past him only an arm's length away.

Then something struck him. At first he thought he must have collided with a rock jutting out from the stone wall. There was a tearing sound-as if he had snagged his clothing on the rocks. In the same instant he felt a sharp pain between his shoulder blades.

He caught and spun, arms and legs jerking uselessly. His head snapped forward, driving his chin into his chest.

He was dangling in mid-air. He turned his head to see what had saved him and looked up into Kyr's two huge eyes. The blow Spence felt between his shoulder blades was Kyr's lightning-fast grab at his clothing. The Martian now held him with one hand, clinging precariously to some near-invisible handhold with the other.