He picked up his belt, yanked one of the grenades free, and turned to throw it. An arrow struck him full in the chest. Baretto looked surprised, coughed, and fell back, sprawled in a seated position against the bars. He made a feeble effort to pull the arrow out of his chest. The next arrow passed through his throat. The grenade dropped from his hand.

Back on the path, the horses reared and whinnied, their riders wheeling in circles, shouting and pointing.

There was a bright flash of light.

Chris looked back in time to see Baretto still seated, unmoving, as the machine flashed repeatedly, shrinking in size.

In moments, the machine was gone. The riders now had looks of fear on their faces. The black-plumed rider shouted something to the others, and as a group, they whipped their horses and raced on up the hill, out of sight.

As the black rider turned to go, his horse stumbled over Gomez's body. Cursing, the rider wheeled and reared his horse repeatedly, stomping the body again and again. Blood flew in the air; the horse's forelegs turned dark red. At last the black rider turned, and with a final curse, he galloped up the hill again to rejoin the others.

"Jesus." The suddenness of it, the casual violence-

Chris scrambled to his feet, ran back to the path.

Gomez's body lay in a muddy pool, crushed almost beyond recognition. But one hand was flung outward and lay open on the ground. And next to her hand lay the white ceramic marker.

It was cracked open, its electronic innards exposed.

Chris picked it up. The ceramic fell apart in his hands, bits of white and silver fluttering to the ground, falling into the muddy pool. And in that moment, their situation was clear to him.

Their guides were both dead.

One machine was gone.

Their return marker was shattered.

Which meant they were stuck in this place. Trapped here, without guides or assistance. And with no prospect of ever getting back.

Not ever.

36:30:42

"Stand by," a technician said. "Coming in now."

In the rubber floor, in the center of the curved water shields, small flashes of light appeared.

Gordon glanced at Stern. "We'll know what happened in just a minute."

The flashes grew brighter, and a machine began to emerge above the rubber. It was about two feet high when Gordon said, "Goddamn it! That guy is nothing but trouble."

Stern said something, but Gordon paid no attention. He saw Baretto sitting there, propped up against a bar, clearly dead. The machine reached full size. He saw the pistol in his hand. He knew of course what had happened. Even though Kramer had specifically warned Baretto, the son of a bitch had taken modern weapons back with him. So of course Gomez sent him back, and-

A small dark object rolled out onto the floor.

"What's that?" Stern said.

"I don't know," Gordon said, staring at the screens. "It almost looks like a gre-"

The explosion flashed in the transit room, blooming white on the video screens, washing everything out. Inside the control room, the sound was oddly distorted, more like a burst of static. The transit room was immediately filled with pale smoke.

"Shit," Gordon said. He banged his fist down on the console.

The technicians in the transit room were screaming. One man's face was covered with blood. In the next moment, the man was swept off his feet in the rush of water as the shields collapsed, shattered by grenade fragments. Water three feet deep sloshed back and forth like surf. But almost immediately, it began to drain out, leaving the newly bare floor hissing and steaming.

"It's the cells," Gordon said. "They've leaked hydrofluoric acid."

Obscured by smoke, figures in gas masks were running into the room, helping the injured technicians. Overhead beams began to crash down, shattering the remaining water shields. Other beams smashed down into the center of the floor.

In the control room, someone gave a gas mask to Gordon, and another to Stern. Gordon pulled his on.

"We have to go now," he said. "The air is contaminated."

Stern was staring at the screens. Through the smoke, he could see the other machines shattered, toppled over, leaking steam and pale green gas. There was only one still standing, off to one side, and as he watched, a connecting beam crashed down on it, crumpling it.

"There are no more machines," Stern said. "Does this mean-"

"Yes," Gordon said. "For now, I'm afraid your friends are on their own."

36:30:00

"Just take it easy, Chris," Marek said.

"Take it easy? Take it easy?" Chris was almost shouting. "Look at it, for Christ's sake, André - her marker's trashed. We have no marker. Which means we have no way to get home. Which means we are totally screwed, André. And you want me to take it easy?"

"That's right, Chris," Marek said, his voice very quiet, very steady. "That's what I want. I want you to take it easy, please. I want you to pull yourself together."

"Why the hell should I?" Chris said. "For what? Face the facts, André: we're all going to get killed here. You know that, don't you? We're going to get goddamn killed. And there is no way out of here."

"Yes, there is."

"I mean, we don't even have any food, we don't have goddamn anything, we're stuck in this - this shithole, without a goddamn paddle, and-" He stopped and turned toward Marek. "What did you say?"

"I said, there's a way out."

"How?"

"You're not thinking. The other machine has gone back. To New Mexico."

"So?"

"They'll see his condition-"

"Dead, André. They'll see he's dead."

"The point is, they'll know something is wrong. And they will come for us. They'll send another machine to get us," Marek said.

"How do you know?"

"Because they will." Marek turned and started down the hill.

"Where are you going?"

"To find Kate. We have to keep together."

"I'm going to stay right here."

"As you like. Just as long as you don't leave."

"Don't worry, I'll be right here."

Chris pointed to the ground in front of him. "This is exactly where the machine arrived before. And that's where I'm staying."

Marek trotted off, disappearing around the curve in the path. Chris was alone. Almost immediately, he wondered if he ought to run and catch up with Marek. Maybe it was better not to be alone. Stay together, as Marek had said.

He took a couple of steps down the path after Marek, then stopped. No, he thought. He'd said he would stay where he was. He stood in the path, trying to slow his breathing.

Looking down, he saw he was standing on Gomez's hand. He stepped quickly away. He walked a few yards back up the path, trying to find a spot where he could no longer see the body. His breathing slowed still more. He was able to think things over. Marek was right, he decided. They would send another machine, and probably very soon. Would it land right here? Was this a known spot for landings? Or would it be somewhere in the general area?

In either case, Chris felt certain he should stay exactly where he was.

He looked down the path, toward where Marek had gone. Where was Kate now? Probably some distance down the path. Couple of hundred yards, maybe more.

Jesus, he wanted to go home.

Then, in the woods to his right, he heard a crashing sound.

Someone was approaching.

He tensed, aware that he had no weapon. Then he remembered his pack, which was tied to his belt, beneath his clothes. He had that gas canister. It was better than nothing. He fumbled, lifting his overshirt, searching for the-

"Ssss."

He turned.

It was the teenage boy, coming out of the woods. His face was smooth and beardless; he couldn't be more than twelve, Chris realized. The boy whispered, "Arkith. Thou. Earwashmann."