The letter drained her, as if the amount of concentration necessary to complete it had depleted an already scant reserve. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the white crocheted doily of the chair. Her muscles went slack and she fell asleep at once.

"That's right," said the nurse. She crossed the room and closed the doors. "You take a little nap and I'll look in on you later." She crept out of the room, placing the letter on the top of a large bureau near the door. …

SPENCE SIPPED THE BROTH, a warm, brown liquid that tasted of cinnamon. He did not mind the thin soup-undoubtedly it was very nourishing-but it did not fill him up as he would have liked. He was hungry all the time. Kyr had explained that it would be some time before food could be grown and produced, but that in time they would have something more substantial to eat.

That had brought up the subject of his leaving.

"I should return to the surface soon," remarked Spence in a tone he hoped was casual.

Kyr only peered at him intently, and so Spence launched into a full account of how he came to be there, including the fact that he had friends waiting for him, worrying about him, back at the installation. He did not know how long he had been underground, but he reckoned it to be nearing the time when the work party would begin preparing to return to the transport for the journey back to Gotham.

"I understand. But there is much I would show you still."

"I will come back as soon as I can. I'll stay years if you like. Believe me, I want to learn everything you can teach me. And there are others-hundreds of others-just like me who will come."

Kyr had not received this in the way Spence intended. He seemed to become restive and, after a session of head waving, sat back stoically with slender hands in his lap.

After he had finished sipping his ration of broth, Spence asked, "Have I said something wrong? Tell me if I have not understood you."

At that the Martian picked up his bowl of broth and drained it and stood, hoisting Spence to his feet with a strength that astounded him.

"I must be patient. You do not know what you are saying, because you do not yet understand. Come; I will show you."

Kyr strode off on his long legs at a ground-eating stride. Spence had to jog along behind just to keep up. When they reached the krassil Spence was wheezing and puffing, and dizzy from the exertion in the oxygen-weak atmosphere.

Kyr entered the krassil and Spence followed with a hand pressed to his side, doubled over as if with a stomach ache. "Sit down here," instructed Kyr, and Spence saw a semicircle of indented hollows shaped into a low bank before a flat portion of the curved wall of the hive. He sat down in one of the hollows and waited.

Almost at once the interior of the hive darkened and a sound, eerily sweet, like violins with the voices of birds, or the songs of whales, filled the chamber, rising and falling in regular rhythm like breathing. It was, as Spence had come to understand, Martian music, and like their architecture and everything else of Martian design, it was free-flowing and organic.

In a moment the portion of the wall directly before him dissolved, becoming transparent, and he was gazing out a huge window into a lush, tropical landscape beyond. A soft breeze stirred the leaves of extremely tall, spindly shrubs while a flock of storklike crimson birds flew overhead in a sky of shining blue. Low mountains glimmered in the distance and raised rounded peaks skyward.

Everything he saw was tinged with a golden aura; the light itself shimmered with a golden hue, enriching all it touched. Then he saw a herd of long-legged grazing animals with giraffelike necks and small round heads moving as one across a vast open plain. Behind them, carrying slender poles, he saw Martians, tall and lithe and bronze in the sun, running with the herd.

The amazingly lifelike images on the screen pulled Spence immediately into the drama of this scene. He realized that he had embarked upon a journey back through the ages of an alien planet and its vanished life. The holoscreen spun out its stream of magic images in a sweeping pageant of color and beauty he could never have imagined.

He saw the formation of the first cities and the panorama of a civilization blossoming unhindered in a world of peace and harmony. The cities grew and water vessels traversed the globe, plying the great waterways, the Martian canals, and linking the gleaming white cities in commerce. Later, airships filled the sky and great colorful objects that looked like giant kites or winged dirigibles elegantly plowed the air.

Next came a parade of the most fantastic creatures he had ever seen, all strangely familiar, bearing at least the rudimentary resemblance to the animal life on Earth, but unique and wholly different at the same time. Birds and fishes and mammals of an endless variety appeared in their natural habitats as the music swelled and sang and the procession continued.

Spence saw the Martians themselves in their cities and in their homes-engaged in various inexplicable occupations which he guessed to be working, playing, and learning. These were not separated or isolated tasks, but apparently went on simultaneously, children and adults together all the time.

He felt a tug of longing and a sharp regret that he had not known this Mars, though he knew he must be seeing it exactly as it had been millions of years ago.

Then the sky darkened and the ground shook with violent explosions. Fire swept the planet as huge flaming meteorites rained down. Gradually the vegetation browned, withered, and blew away. The broken cities crumbled to dust and the once-lush landscape was transformed to desert. The great circling bands of water shrank away and dried, leaving huge canyons and flat lake pans of cracked, baked mud. The birds and animals disappeared.

The scene shifted and he saw the excavations of the tunnels and the vast underground chambers which would house the cities. He saw a job of construction on a scale he could not conceive. He witnessed the rebirth of life beneath the surface of the planet and saw these cities flourish after their own fashion.

Still, he could not forget the stirring beauty of the planet that had been. It haunted the soul with a felt presence.

At last, he saw the gleaming starships rise like silver orbs from the dead flatlands of the Red Planet. By the thousands they floated up like bubbles hung in momentary farewell and then streaked off into the black sky above.

And so they were gone. The music, a soft sight of mourning, drifted away and Spence sat staring at a blank wall once more.

He did not move or speak for a long time. He let the memory of all he had seen wash over him and carry him in its flood. How long had he been sitting there, he wondered. A few hours? It Seemed a lifetime.

Spence heard a soft snuffling sound nearby and turned to see Kyr kneeling on the floor behind him with his face raised upwards, his eyes closed, and damp trails of tears streaking his angular cheeks.

Spence wanted to weep, too; he felt a sense of grief at the loss of what had been, yet he had never known it.

"I weep for the dead," said Kyr at last. "And for those who never saw our world as it was in its beauty."

"Did you see it? I mean, in the good time? Did you?"

The Martian shook his head. "No. My father's father may have lived through the time of the fire, but most likely it was his father before him. Many great dynasties were wiped out. The fire rain lasted for many Earth years."

"Kyr, how old are you?"

The Martian thought and said, "Your question does not have a ready answer since we measure our lives differently than you. But I think you would say two thousand Earth years."

"Counting the sleep?"

"No. Only counting the time I have been alive. You see, a Martian may live ten thousand of your years or longer perhaps."