And about the whole Ship, you must imagine, there was that odd, contingent quality induced by the Plattnerite: a sense that the Ship was not embedded solidly in the world of things, a sense that it was all insubstantial and temporary.

The fabric was open enough for me to be able to see through the filmy outer hull of “our” craft and to the world beyond. The hills and anonymous buildings of the Constructors’ London were still there, and the eternal ice showed no signs of disturbance. It was night-time, and the sky was clear; the moon, a silver crescent, sailed high amid the absence of stars…

And, sliding across the desolate sky of this abandoned earth, I saw more of the Plattnerite Ships. They were lenticular in form, immense, with the suggestion of the same net-structure exhibited by the one which encased me and Nebogipfel; smaller lights, like captive stars, gleamed and rustled through their complex interiors. The ice of White Earth was universally bathed with the glow of Plattnerite; the Ships were like immense, silent clouds, sailing unnaturally close to the land.

Nebogipfel studied me, the Plattnerite lending a rich green luster to the hair coating his body. “Are you well? You seem a little discomposed.”

I had to laugh at that. “You’ve a talent for understating, Morlock. Discomposed? I should say so…” I twisted in my seat, reached behind me, and found a bowl filled with the unidentifiable nuts and fruit with which the Constructor had supplied me. I buried my fingers in the food and stuffed it into my mouth; I found the simple, animal actions of eating a welcome distraction from the astonishing, barely comprehensible matters about me. I wondered, in fact, if this should be the last meal I should take the last supper on earth! “I think I expected our Constructor to be here to greet us.”

“But I think he is here,” Nebogipfel said. He raised his hand, and emerald light gleamed from his pale fingers. “This Ship is clearly designed along the same architectural principles as the Constructors themselves. I think we could say that ’our’ Constructor is still here: but now his consciousness is represented by some set of those sliding points of light, within this net of Plattnerite. And the Ship is surely connected to the Information Sea — indeed, perhaps one could say this is a new Universal Constructor itself. The Ship is alive… as alive as the Constructors.

“And yet, since it is composed of Plattnerite, this craft must be so much more.” He studied me, his single eye deep and dark behind his goggles. “Do you see? If this is life, it is a new sort of life — Plattnerite life — the first sort which is not bound, as the rest of us are, to the slow turning of History’s cogs. And it was constructed here, with ourselves as its focus… The Ship is here for us — to carry us back just as the Constructor promised. He is here, you see.”

Of course, Nebogipfel was right; and now I wondered, with a sort of nervous self-consciousness, how many of those other Ships, which prowled across the star-less skies of earth like huge animals, were also down here, in some way, because of our presence?

But now, gazing up into the Plattnerite-coated sky, another observation struck me. “Nebogipfel — behold the moon!”

The Morlock turned; I saw how the green light which played over the hairs of his face was now overlaid with a delicate silver.

My observation was elementary: that the moon had lost its delicious greenness. The life-color which had reached up from earth and coated it, for all those millions of years, had withered away, exposing the stark bone-white of the dusty mountains and maria beneath. Now, the satellite was quite indistinguishable in its dead pallor from the moon of my own day, save perhaps for a more brilliant glow over its dark side: there was a vivid Old Moon cradled in the New Moon’s arms — and I knew that this greater brightness must be due, solely, to the increased gleam of the ice-coated earth, which must blaze in those airless Lunar skies like a second sun.

“It might have been the enforced variation of the sun,” Nebogipfel speculated. “The Constructors’ Plattnerite project… That, perhaps, finally disrupted the balance of life.”

“You know,” I said with some bitterness, “I think — even after all we’ve seen and heard — I had taken some comfort from the persistence of that patch of earth-green, up in the sky. The thought that somewhere — not so impossibly far away — a scrap of the earth I remembered might still persist: that there might be some improbable, low-gravity jungle, through which the sons of man might still walk… But now there can only be ruins and shallow footprints on that bleak surface — more of them, to match those littered across the carcass of the earth.”

And it was just at that moment, while I was in this maudlin mood, that there was a report uncommonly like a gunshot — and our protective dome fractured, like an eggshell!

I saw that a series of cracks — a complex delta of them — had spread out across the face of the dome. Even as I watched, a small piece of the dome, no bigger than my hand, fell loose and settled through the air, drifting like a snowflake.

And beyond the shattering dome the threads of the Ship’s Plattnerite web were extending — they were growing, down towards me and Nebogipfel.

“Nebogipfel — what is happening? Without the dome, will we die?” I was in a febrile, electric state, in which my every nerve-end was live with suspicion and fear.

“You must try not to be afraid,” Nebogipfel said, and then with a simple, astonishing gesture, he took hold my hand in his thin Morlock fingers, and held it as an adult might a child’s. It was the first time I had felt the touch of his cold fingers since those dreadful moments when the Constructor had rebuilt me, and a distant echo of our companionship in the Palaeocene returned to warm me, here amid the ice of White Faith. I am afraid I cried out then, unhinged by my fear, and pressed myself deeper into my seat, longing only for escape; and Nebogipfel’s weak fingers tightened around my own.

The dome cracked further, and I heard a soft rain of it patter down over the Time-Car. The threads of Plattnerite reached deeper into our splintering dome, with nodules of light squirting along their lengths.

Nebogipfel said, “They mean to carry us with them — the Constructors — these beings of Plattnerite — back to the dawn of time, and perhaps beyond… But not like this.” He indicated his own fragile body. “We could never survive it — not for a minute… Do you see?”

The Plattnerite tentacles brushed against my scalp, forehead and shoulders; I ducked, to avoid their cold grip. “You mean,” I said, “that we must become like them. Like the Constructors… we must submit to the touch of these Plattnerite cilia! Why did you not warn me of this?”

“Would it have helped? It is the only way. Your fear is natural; but you must contain it, just for a moment more, and then — then you will be free…

I could feel the cool weight of Plattnerite coils settling over my legs and shoulders. I tried to hold myself still — and then I got the sense of one of those squirming cables moving across my forehead, and I could feel, quite clearly, the wriggling of cilia against my flesh, and I could not help but scream and struggle against that soft weight, but already I was unable to rise from my seat.

I was immersed in greenness now, and my view of the world beyond — of the moon, the earth’s fields of Ice, even of the greater structure of the Ship — was obscured. Those shifting, quasi-animate nodes of light passed over my body, glaring in my vision. My bowl of fruit slipped from my numbing fingers, and rattled against the floor of the car; but even that rattle subsided quickly, as my senses faded to dimness.