"...Jarry. They will be awakened and a referendum will be held. Comeback to the main cavern. This is Yan Turl. Please do not destroy any moreinstallations. This action is not necessary. We agree with your proposalthat a vote be held. Please contact us immediately. We are waiting for yourreply, Jarry..."

He tossed the empty bottle through the window and raised the flier outof the purple shadow into the air and up.

When he descended upon the landing stage within the main cavern, of coursethey were waiting for him. A dozen rifles were trained upon him as hestepped down from the flier.

"Remove your weapons, Jarry," came the voice of Yan Turl.

"I'm not wearing any weapons," said Jarry. "Neither is my flier," headded; and this was true, for the fire-cannons no longer rested within theirmountings.

Yan Turl approached, looked up at him.

"Then you may step down."

"Thank you, but I like it right where I am."

"You are a prisoner."

"What do you intend to do with me?"

"Put you back to sleep until the end of the Wait. Come down here!"

"No. And don't try shooting--or using a stun charge or gas, either. Ifyou do, we're all of us dead the second it hits."

"What do you mean?" asked Turl, gesturing gently to the riflemen.

"My flier," said Jarry, "is a bomb, and I'm holding the fuse in myright hand." He raised the white metal box. "So long as I keep the lever onthe side of this box depressed, we live. If my grip relaxes, even for aninstant, the explosion which ensues will doubtless destroy this entirecavern."

"I think you're bluffing."

"You know how you can find out for certain."

"You'll die too, Jarry."

"At the moment, I don't really care. Don't try burning my hand off,either, to destroy the fuse," he cautioned, "because it doesn't reallymatter. Even if you should succeed, it will cost you at least twoinstallations."

"Why is that?"

"What do you think I did with the fire-cannons? I taught the Redformshow to use them. At the moment, these weapons are manned by Redforms andaimed at two installations. If I do not personally visit my gunners by dawn,they will open fire. After destroying their objectives, they will move onand try for two more."

"You trusted those beasts with laser projectors?"

"That is correct. Now, will you begin awakening the others for thevoting?"

Turl crouched, as if to spring at him, appeared to think better of it,relaxed.

"Why did you do it, Jarry?" he asked. "What are they to you that youwould make your own people suffer for them?"

"Since you do not feel as I feel," said Jarry, "my reasons would meannothing to you. After all, they are only based upon my feelings, which aredifferent than your own--for mine are based upon sorrow and loneliness. Trythis one, though: I am their god. My form is to be found in their everycamp. I am the Slayer of Bears from the Desert of the Dead. They have toldmy story for two and a half centuries, and I have been changed by it. I ampowerful and wise and good, so far as they are concerned. In this capacity,I owe them some consideration. If I do not give them their lives, who willthere be to honor me in snow and chant my story around the fires and cut forme the best portions of the woolly caterpillar? None, Turl. And these thingsare all that my life is worth now. Awaken the others. You have no choice."

"Very well," said Turl. "And if their decision should go against you?"

"Then I'll retire, and you can be god," said Jarry.

Now every day when the sun goes down out of the purple sky, Jarry Darkwatches it in its passing, for he shall sleep no more the sleep of ice andof stone, wherein there is no dreaming. He has elected to live out the spanof his days in a tiny instant of the Wait, never to look upon the NewAlyonal of his people. Every morning, at the new Deadland Installation, heis awakened by sounds like the cracking of ice, the trembling of tin, thesnapping of steel strands, before they come to him with their offerings,singing and making marks upon the snow. They praise him and he smiles uponthem. Sometimes he coughs.

Born of man and woman, in accordance with Catform Y7 requirements,Coldworld Class, Jarry Dark was not suited for existence anywhere in theuniverse which had guaranteed him a niche. This was either a blessing or acurse, depending on how you looked at it. So look at it however you would,that was the story. Thus does life repay those who would serve her fully.

Murdock sped across the Great Western Road Plain.

High above him the sun was a fiery yo-yo as he took theinnumerable hillocks and rises of the Plain at better than ahundred-sixty miles an hour. He did now slow for anything, andJenny's hidden eyes spotted all the rocks and potholes before theycame to them, and she carefully adjusted their course, sometimeswithout his even detecting the subtle movement of the steering columnbeneath his hands.

Even through the dark-tinted windshield and the thick goggles hewore, the glare from the fused Plain burnt into his eyes, so that attimes it seemed as if he were steering a very fast boat through night,beneath a brilliant alien moon, and that he was cutting his way acrossa lake of silver fire. Tall dust waves rose in his wake, hung in theair, and after a time settled once more.

"You are wearing yourself out," said the radio, "sitting thereclutching the wheel that way, squinting ahead. Why don't you try toget some rest? Let me fog the shields. Go to sleep and leave thedriving to me."

"No," he said, "I want it this way."

"All right," said Jenny. "I just thought I would ask."

"Thanks."

About a minute later the radio began playingчit was a soft,stringy sort of music.

"Cut that out!"

"Sorry, boss. Thought it might relax you."

"When I need relaxing, _I'll_ tell _you_."

"Check, Sam. Sorry."

The silence seemed oppressive after its brief interruption. Shewas a good car, though, Murdock knew that. She was always concernedwith his welfare, and she was anxious to get on with his quest.

She was made to look like a carefree Swinger sedan: bright red,gaudy, fast. But there were rockets under the bulges of her hood, andtwo fifty-caliber muzzles lurked just out of sight in the recessesbeneath her headlamps; she wore a belt of five and ten-second timedgrenades across her belly; and in her trunk was a spray-tankcontaining a highly volatile naphthalic.

....for his Jenny was a specially designed deathcar, built for himby the Archengineer of the Geeyem Dynasty, far to the East, and allthe cunning of that great artificer had gone into her construction.

"We'll find it this time, Jenny," he said, "and I didn't mean to snapat you like I did."

"That's all right, Sam," said the delicate voice. "I amprogrammed to understand you."

They roared on across the Great Plain and the sun fell away to thewest. All night and all day they had searched, and Murdock was tired.The last Fuel Stop/Rest Stop Fortress seemed so long ago, so farback...

Murdock leaned forward and his eyes closed.

The windows slowly darkened into complete opacity. The seat beltcrept higher and drew him back away from the wheel. Then the seatgradually leaned backwards until he was reclining on a level plane.The heater came on as the night approached, later.

The seat shook him awake, a little before five in the morning.

"Wake up, Sam! Wake up!"

"What is it?" he mumbled.

"I picked up a broadcast twenty minutes ago. There was a recentcar-raid out this way. I changed immediately, and we are almostthere."