Directly above him, midway between the couch and where he judged the chamber ceiling to be, a very faint, greenish glow hovered, shimmering in the dark. He sank back into the cav couch and watched as the glow intensified and took the shape of a luminous wreath with tiny tendrils of light radiating out from it. The center of the wreath was dim and unformed, but he sensed that something dark and mysterious boiled within the radiant halo.

There was a familiarity about the glowing green halo which puzzled him. He felt as if he had seen or experienced it before somewhere-but where? He could not remember. Still, the sense of recognition persisted, and with it mounting fear.

His body began to tremble.

In the center of the halo the dim outlines of amorphous shapes could be seen weaving themselves of blue light. Subtle and indistinct, they flared and subsided; shifting, roiling, synapsing inside the green aura. The transparent, blue fibrils sparked silver flashes that glittered when they touched the green halo.

The thing seemed to tug at him, drawing him up and into it. He had the sensation of falling. He reached out a trembling hand to ward off the fall. Fear arced through him like a high-voltage shock. His heart seized in his chest, clamped tightly in an unseen fist. Blood drummed in his ears.

The swirling inner eye of the shining wreath distilled into a translucent core, a round, glimmering mass made up of tiny, pinpoint flecks of pure light. The ovoid shape spun slowly on its axis. Spence dug his fingernails into the fabric of the couch as his flesh began prickling to the thin, needle-like tinkling of a sound felt rather than heard. The sound of his dreams.

Spence fought a wave of nausea rising in him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. He struggled weakly to look away, but the force of the shining thing held him fast. His mouth opened in a silent scream of terror; his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth.

Still the shimmering mass rotated slowly and Spence sank even further into the depths of the nightmare. He watched itturning, turning, refining itself, pulling together, creating itself out of atoms of light. With eyes wide and horror-filled Spence at last recognized the solidifying shape. It was a face. And a face he knew too well to feel anything but the utmost dread and repulsion.

Staring out at him from the blazing halo were the skeletal features of Hocking.

… HELLO, DAD. LISTEN, THANKS for coming down to the center…" The image on the screen peered back at him apprehensively. "Can you see me okay? Fine. I said, 'Thanks for coming down to the base.' I know it isn't easy for you."

"Are you all right, Spencer? When they said you wanted to talk to me I was afraid something had happened to you. 1 hurried over as fast as I could. The lady here said you were ill."

"Not ill-I had an accident. A minor accident. I fell down and hit my head, that's all. But when I went in for an aspirin they popped me into the med bay." Spence had stuck with his story about falling down and saw no reason to change it now. He did not want to worry his father any more than he already had.

"You're sure you're all right?" The face in the vidphone screen did not look reassured.

"Of course I'm all right; it was nothing. But since they wanted to keep me in here for a few hours I thought I'd have them patch in a signal to the base for me. You get to do that when you're sick."

"Oh," was all his father said.

"Anyway, I haven't been able to write or anything so I thought it might be fun if we could phone each other-almost as good as being there."

"Is your work going all right?"

"Fine, Dad. Everything's fine. Listen, I wanted to tell you that I won't be able to call you again for a while. I'm going to be pretty busy. I may be going out with one of the research teams on a field assignment."

"How long would that last, Spencer? You wouldn't be gone too long?"

"No, not too long," Spence lied. "A couple months, that's all. I'll vidphone you when I get back." He could see that his father did not understand what he was talking about. He looked worn and worried, and was apparently struggling to accept the fact that his son would be away longer than anticipated. Spence wished he had not called; his breaking-the-news-gently strategy was not working. "How have you been, Dad? Is Kate taking care of you?"

"Kate is very busy with the boys. She has her hands full, you know. I don't like to bother her."

"The boys are in fourth form, Dad. They're in school all day. You won't bother her. Call her if you need anything. Will you do that?"

"I suppose so," Mr. Reston said doubtfully.

"Listen, I have to go now. I can leave here in a few minutes. I only wanted to tell you not to worry about me if you don't hear from me for a while. I'll be working, that's all." He hated to tell his father like this, but there was no way of telling him directly. He would not have understood.

In all of Spence's growing-up years his parents had never understood. They did not comprehend his work, nor could they follow his explanations when he tried to describe it to them. He was simply too far beyond them. He had eventually given up trying to make them understand; he stopped trying to bridge the gap.

The image on the vidphone screen licked its lips nervously and leaned into the picture. "You'll call when you get back?"

"Yes, it's the first thing I'll do."

"I miss you, Spencer."

"I miss you, too, Dad. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Son. Take care of yourself." The screen went blank.

Spence sat staring at the blank, flickering screen for several moments, then pushed the unit away. It retracted back into a nook in a panel beside the bed. He looked up just in time to see his physician approaching.

"Feeling better, Dr. Reston?" The medic came to stand at the head of his bed. He entered a code on the data screen above the bed and read Spence's chart.

"Feeling fine, Dr. Williams. With a good word from you I'll be on my way," said Spence as cheerfully as he could. "I'm taking up too much of your time."

"Not at all. We're having a special this week. Free tune-ups for all first-time customers. You're a lucky guy."

"Thanks, but if it's all the same to you, I'll take you up on that some other time." He made a move to get up, but a troubled look from the doctor stopped him. "What's the matter?"

"I was hoping you would tell me. "

"I-I don't understand. Have you found something?"

"No, you're perfectly healthy as far as we can determine. But I think we should have a talk."

Spence had a sinking feeling. "There is something wrong."

"I think so, yes." The doctor drew up a stool and sat down beside Spence, who chewed his lip nervously. "Not physically," continued Williams, "that is, at least not in any of the areas we have checked out."

He gazed at his patient intently and Spence got the idea he was being measured for his tensile strength, like a spring being stretched to see how much it could take before snapping. He waited for the tension to break.

"Spence…" The doctor started, then hesitated.

Bad sign, thought Spence. Whenever they use your first name it means trouble.

"Do you have any idea why you're here?" The calm physician's eyes watched him carefully, his face a mask of impassive interest which gave away nothing.

"Yes," Spence laughed. "I tripped over a stool in the lab. I bumped my head, that's all."

"You weren't in your lab, Spence."

Spence had had another blackout-that much he knew. He thought his story about bumping his head had been accepted without question. He cringed at the thought of-what? His memory was blank, and that scared him more than anything.

"No?" Spence asked, more timidly than he would have liked. "Where was I, then?"