_Preposterous_.

_No. The man was Francis Sandow, and I was in his mind as he spoke. He meant what he said. And he was very concerned_.

_Sandow? The plano former?_

_The same. He has long enjoyed an intimacy with the Pei'ans, the oldest race of which we have knowledge. In his mind there was a certainty that the man we seek has obtained an abnormal and highly dangerous relationship with one of the Pei'an deities, a goddess concerned with both healing and disease_--.

_And you believe this?_

_What is important is not whether 1 believe it or whether the thing is truly a deity. I do believe there is something highly unusual involved, though. Sandow was convinced that there is a dangerous concentration of power here, and his conviction was based on considerable personal knowledge of the phenomenon. I have known several Pei'ans, and they are a very strange, gifted people. I have encountered Sandow, and I know that he is anything but a fool. I know too that he was afraid. That is sufficient. I believe there is reason for his fears. Malacar would not even discuss the matter with him, though. Instead, he tried to kill him. I told him that he had succeeded, in order to save Sandow's life. The man was actually only stunned_.

_What happened then?_

_We returned home. Malacar began his search for von Hymack_.

_Was Jackara with you when you met Sandow?_

_Yes_.

_Does she believe Malacar killed him?_

_Yes_.

_I see... And now Sandow's organization may be after us?_

_I think not. He sent no agents. He went to Deiba alone. it is therefore a thing he wishes to handle himself. I believe he will keep it that way. --No, it is not the wrath of Sandow that concerns me at the moment. I wanted you along for a different reason_.

_What, then?_

_I did not exaggerate my fear for Malacar's safety, nor the peril that I feel lies ahead. I wanted you with us for the purpose of killing Heidel von Hymack, should we succeed in locating him_.

_That is quite a request_.

_But necessary. You must do it_.

_And if I refuse?_

_Thousands of people may die besides the Commander-- needlessly, horribly. Possibly millions_.

_I do not know this for a fact_.

_But you know me--have known me for years. You know I am stable and not given to acting without considerable thought. You know my loyalty to the Commander, and you know that I would not defy him lightly. Would I have set things up as I have if I did not believe what I was doing to be correct? You know the answer. I see it in your thoughts_.

Morwin bit his lip. Jackara approached with the pressure pens. He drew up his sleeve and extended his arm.

_I will have to think about it_.

_Think all you want. I already know your answer_.

With blankets and water, the searchers made the man as comfortable as they could, there beside the trail. While they waited for the transportation they had summoned, they listened to his words, sometimes scattered by the fever, tugged back to responsiveness by chills.

"... Correct," he said, looking past them at the sky. "Mad and correct. I don't know. Yes I do. He was thin ... Thin and dirty and covered with sores. I was at the supply depot when he came around. Never saw him before ... No. Hair like a dirty halo. There's your stranger for you. Came walking, someone said. Dunno from where ... Give me another drink, will you? --Thanks. --I don't know... Where he was going ... ? He didn't say. He talked. He did that. I don't remember what he said--exactly. But it was strange ... There's your stranger for you. Never said his name. Didn't seem to need one. Got up on a packing case and started talking. Funny ... Nobody tried to stop him, tell him to go away ... He-- Don't remember what he said. Mad and correct ... But we listened. Not that much happens around here--and he was different. Preaching, sort of--but not quite. Cursing, maybe. I don't know... Anyway-- Wait... More water? --Thanks. --Funny, funny... Mad talker. Death and life ... That's right! Right! Right ... How everything is going to die. Couldn't stop listening. Don't know why. We knew he was mad. Everybody said so--when we talked about him--after he left. Nobody said a word while he was preaching, though. It was like-- He made it sound right while he was saying it. And he was--right. Look at me! He was. Wasn't he? Mad and correct ... --No. I didn't see which direction he headed afterward. --You want to hear him, though? Sam-- who runs the place--recorded part of what he said. Played it back later. Different with him not being there, saying it. We laughed a lot when we listened, then. Just mad, that's all. You can ask Sam, if he hasn't erased it. You can hear him for yourself ... That was when I started feeling shaky-- God! He was right! He was, I think ... Seems that way-- anyhow ..."

They reported this back to their section leader, and after the pickup they continued on, slowly, combing the countryside, halting to assist and record, to provide for the dead, the dying, the survivors, maintaining radio contact with the other groups, passing through open country, searching dwellings, climbing hills, the searchers.

From the far corners of the sky, the clouds began to advance, and they cursed the threat of the storm which would foul both their boots and the body-heat detection equipment. One, who knew his history, even cursed Francis Sandow, who had designed and built the world.

Clouds, unrolling like carpets, spreading, trailing wisps and rag-ends, rushed toward a point near midheaven, dampening the dayblue sky to a pearl-gray from which the translucence slowly ebbed, as additional layers were heaped above, banking, mounting higher, pressing lower, darkening, dimming, hazing the outlines of trees and rocky heights, transforming the lower figures of men and animals into shifting things a quarter of shadow and going for half, while the rains were yet withheld, the mists rolled and rose, dew came afresh to the grasses, windows were filmed and beaded, moisture collected, ran upon, dripped from leaves, sounds came distorted, as though the entire world had been bedded in cotton, birds flew near to the ground in their courses toward the hills, the winds died down and ceased, small animals paused, raised their muzzles, turned them slowly, shook themselves, cocked their heads, then moved as if seeking some hidden Ark, beyond the foothills, in the mist, above the places the searchers combed, and the thunder held its breath, the lightning stayed its stroke, the rain remained unshed, the temperature slipped downward, cloud fell upon cloud and, stopper drawn from the spectrum, the colors drained out of the world, leaving behind a newsreel frame or the impression of a cave, shadows sliding on its farther walls, changing, irregular, wet.

Dr. Pels listened again to the rasping, recorded voice, hooking his thumbs beneath his jaw, bracing his knuckles against his cheeks:

"I-- Did someone say he has a right to live? I-- There is no cosmic guarantee for this. Far from it! The only promise the universe makes and keeps is death ... I-- Who says that life must triumph? All evidence indicates the contrary! Everything that has risen from the primal slime has been beset and ultimately destroyed! Every link in the great chain of being attracts the nemesis which breaks it! Life feeds upon itself, is crushed by the inanimate! Why? Why not? I--

"... You are to blame. For existing. Look within yourselves and you will see the truth ... Regard the rocks of the desert! They breed not, nor do they harbor thoughts, desires. No living thing can compare to the crystal in its still perfection. I--

"... Talk not to me of the sacredness of life, nor its adaptability. For every adaptation there is a new, dark answer, and the echo shatters the utterer. Only the stillness is sacred. The absence of hearing evokes the mystic sound. I--