“Do we have contact?”

“I am receiving your signal clearly. I do not have visual monitoring.”

The ship’s voice was infinitely reassuring. Drake looked up into a heavy overcast, shielding his eyes against a rain that was gradually becoming stronger.

“I’m done for the day. I’m heading for the pinnace. I don’t think we’ll find any manufacturing capability here, but I want to take another look inside the buildings tomorrow.”

As Drake spoke he was moving rapidly along the road, head ducked to keep cold drops of rain out of his eyes. He lifted his head for a moment to peer through the downpour and halted abruptly. The lander should have been by the side of the road, fifty or sixty meters from the buildings. The field ahead stretched far away. It was empty.

Had he turned himself around and headed out of town in a different direction?

That was impossible. He had left the building by the same opening and moved directly away from the tall central tower. He could see a flattened place in the field where the lander had been.

“Did you do something with the pinnace?”

“Certainly not. Has it been interfered with?”

“Worse than that — it’s gone.”

He hurried forward. Soon he was close enough to see other marks in the soaked vegetation. There was a distinct trail running off toward the town. The lander was equipped with a hover and forward motion capability, but that had not been used. Something had dragged it along the ground.

“I can see where it went. I’m going to follow.”

Not just dragged, but hauled without caring whether or not the lander was damaged. As Drake followed the broad furrow, he came across a strip of metal and a torn-off bar from one of the lander’s ground legs. He picked the bar up and held it close to his face. In addition to muddy streaks, it bore smudges as though something had picked it up, held it, and discarded it.

The trail led not to the nearest building, but to a bigger one on the left. The wall had a great black emblem marked in its middle. As Drake went closer he realized that the dark area was a gap in the wall itself. The furrow he was following led toward it, then faded to nothing as the surface changed from soft soil to hard impermeable material.

“I think the lander has been taken inside a building.”

“What are you proposing to do?”

“I don’t have a choice. I have to recover the lander. Without it, there’s no way to get back to orbit.”

“You could wait until morning. ”

“I daren’t. It may have been accidental, but there has been damage.”

As Drake spoke he was moving toward the building. He went carefully and quietly, the bar from the pinnace’s landing gear held close to his chest. Everything was silent except for the slowing patter of raindrops.

At the wall he halted. The opening was big enough to take the whole lander. Was it just inside, where he might fly it right out again? Or had it been dragged down a ramp to some deeper level?

He took two cautious steps inside. Immediately he felt a violent blow on his ribs, just below the left nipple. He swung the bar without thinking. It crunched into something that screamed, so loudly and at so high a pitch that it hurt his ears. He felt a blow on his left hip, then another on his right arm. Two invisible objects brushed past him. He turned and followed. He was in time to see two tall white shapes vanishing into the twilight.

The rain had slowed to a few random drops. A ghostly flicker of light showed, far off across the field. Then another.

A creaking sound came from behind him. He quickly spun around to face it.

No tall white shape was leaping out of the dark doorway to attack him, but suddenly there was another flicker of light from inside the building. It provided enough illumination for him to see the lander. It had been hauled into the middle of the room and tilted onto its side. Unless it could be righted, it would not fly. ?

“Are you hurt?” The ship could not see him, but it was receiving a record of his rapid movements.

“I’m all right. But the lander is damaged.”

“Can it be fixed?”

“I don’t know.” Again there was light inside the building, this time a ruddy glare that varied in brightness like a sputtering flame. “I have to go in again.”

The ship said something in reply, but he did not hear it. His attention was focused on the wall beyond the opening. It reflected light from sources farther inside. Torches burned there, orange red and erratic.

Drake moved forward, the rough-edged metal bar over his shoulder. He thought he was ready, but the speed and violence of the attack surprised him.

Half a dozen of them came out of the darkness like white ghosts. They had crouched waiting at the side of the room. Sharp pincers sank into his left arm. His reflexive jerk backward at the sudden pain saved him. The crude machete that slashed at his middle cut through his clothing but made only a long and shallow skin wound.

He turned and smashed at the pincered head. It shattered and splashed cold liquid over his face and neck. He continued his turn, flailing away at anything within reach. The ghost with the machete whistled and screeched as the metal bar caught it solidly in the middle. It fell away, taking another with it. Then Drake was running for the opening. The torchlight behind him was brighter.

He ran thirty yards from the building before he turned to look behind. Everything was quiet. No white shapes sprang through the hole in the wall. No orange torches flared from inside. For the moment he was safe.

“Are you receiving me clearly?”

“Perfectly clearly. I project clearing skies and visual oversight in another two hours.”

“That will be too long. Listen carefully and place this into the permanent record.” The admonition was unnecessary, but Drake had to be sure. “Your suggestion that this planet has gone beyond the postindustrial phase was correct, but the principal intelligence has not moved to a more advanced form. It has regressed to primitivism. We did not observe the dominant intelligence earlier, because it is nocturnal and spends the days underground in these buildings. Based on what I have seen, there is no chance that this planet will provide the space-borne technology that we need. Many of the old systems are still running, but I’d guess that the present inhabitants have little idea how they work. It’s just as likely that they worship them now.

“Here are your instructions. Continue the search for a space-faring civilization throughout this galaxy. If you are

successful, resurrect a copy of me and enlist the aid of whatever beings you find. If you search this whole galaxy and find nothing useful, do not continue to the next nearest one. The quest for our home galaxy without a signal to guide us could take to the end of time. Instead, begin a survey of this galaxy with a different objective. Look for a stellar system where raw materials are available in easily accessible form. You know what is needed for the creation of an S-wave signal detector. When you reach the right stellar system, resurrect copies of me, as many as will be needed to perform the space construction work. Build the signal detector, and use it. Do you understand these instructions?”

“I understand their meaning, but not your reason for giving them. What of you ? Do you not propose to seek the lander and return to orbit?”

“I wish I could do that.”

“Then why do you give me instructions that omit discussion of your own future actions’?”

“Because I don’t think my actions here are going to have much bearing on what you must do.” Drake could see the flicker of torches within the building. “I think the Morlocks are getting ready to try again.”

“I do not understand the term ‘Morlocks.’ ”

“That’s all right. I didn’t expect you to.” The torches inside the building were brighter. Drake backed up a few steps. He could smell his own blood, a strong and characteristic scent that he had known only once before in his life. He rubbed at his wounded left arm, then at the cut on his right side. It was strange how little he felt the pain. How would they attack, singly or in groups? Would he be better off in the open, or with his back against one of the walls?