“That happened days ago. I’ve had treatments. But I have done it no good today. Is there any kind of medicine in your belt?”

“The first aid kit, we are required to have one.” She took it out with trembling fingers and he opened it and read the list of the contents.

“Very good.” He opened his clothing and she turned away, eyes averted. “Bandages here, antiseptics, some pain pills. All of this should help.” Then, with sudden understanding, “I’ll tell you when you can look again.” She bit her lip and nodded agreement, eyes shut.

“It appears your Master Observer has committed a grave error by not telling you about what has happened.” He would censor his own story, there were some things she had better not know, but he would at least tell her the basic truth. “What I told you when we looked at the stars was true. We have passed Proxima Centauri. I know that because I found the navigation machines which told me about it. If you doubt it I can take you there and they will tell you too. I went to the Master Observer with my information and he did not deny it. If we turn now we can be at Proxima Centauri within 50 years, the goal of the Great Designer. But many years ago the Master Observer and others went against the Great Designer. I can prove this too with the log in the Master Observer’s own quarters, the evidence of the men who decided this, and also decided to tell none of the others of you of this decision. Do you understand what I have told you so far?”

“I think I do.” She spoke in an almost inaudible voice. “But it is all so terrible. Why should they do a thing like that? Not obeying the will of the Great Designer.”

“Because they were wicked and selfish men, even if they were observers. And the observers now are no better. They are concealing the knowledge again. They will not permit me to reveal it. They have planned to send me away from here forever. Now — will you help me to right this wrong?”

Once more the girl was far beyond her depth, floundering in concepts and responsibilities she was not equipped to handle. In her ordered life there was only obedience, never decision. She could not force herself to conclusions now. Perhaps the decision to run to him, to question him, had been the only act of free will she had ever accomplished in her entire lengthened, yet stunted, lifetime.

“I don’t know what to do? I don’t want to do anything. I don’t know …”

“I know,” he said, closing up his clothing and wiping his fingers on the cloth. He reached out and took her chin in his hand and turned her great empty eyes to him. “The Master Observer is the one who must decide, since that is his function in life. He will tell you whether I am right or wrong and what is to be done. Let us go to the Master Observer.”

“Yes, let us go.” She almost sighed with relief with the removal of the burden of responsibility. Her world was ordered again and the one whose appointed place in life was to decide, would decide. Already she was forgetting the confused events of the past days: they just did not fit into her regularized existence.

Chimal huddled low in the car so his soiled clothing would not be seen, but the effort was hardly necessary. There were no casual walkers in the tunnels. Everyone must be manning the important stations — or was physically unable to help. This hidden world was in as much of storm of change as the valley outside. With more change on the way, hopefully, Chimal thought as he eased himself from the car at the tunnel entrance nearest to the Master Observer’s quarters. The halls were empty.

The observer’s quarters were empty too. Chimal went in, searched them, then dropped full length onto the bed.

“Hell be back soon. The best thing we can do is to wait here for him.” There was little else, physically, that he could do at this time. The pain drugs made him sleepy and he dared not take any more of them. Watchman Steel sat in a chair, her hands folded on her lap, waiting patiently for the word of instruction that would strip away her problems. Chimal dozed, and woke with a start, then dozed again. The bedding and the warmth of the room dried his clothing and the worst of the pain ebbed away. His eyes closed and, in spite of himself, he slept.

The hand on his shoulder pulled him from the deep pit of sleep that he did not want to leave. Only when memory returned did he fight against it and force his eyelids open.

“There are voices outside,” the girl said. “He is coming back. It is not seemly to be found here, lying like this.”

Not seemly. Not safe. He would not be gassed and taken again. Yet it took every bit of will and energy he had remaining to pull himself erect, to stand, to lean on the girl and direct her to the far side of the room.

“We’ll wait here in silence,” he said, as the door opened.

“Do not call me until the machine is up, then,” the Master Observer said. “I am tired and these days have taken years from my life. I must rest. Maintain the fog in the northern end of the valley in case someone might see. When the derrick is rigged one of you will ride it down to attach the cables. Do that yourselves. I must rest.”

He closed the door and Chimal reached out and put both hands over his mouth.

The old man did not struggle. His hands fluttered limply for a moment and he rolled his eyes upward to look into Chimal’s face, but otherwise he made no protest. Though he swayed with the effort, Chimal held the Master Observer until he was sure the men outside had gone, then released him and pointed to a chair.

“Sit,” he commanded. “We shall all sit down because I can no longer stand.” He dropped heavily into the nearest chair and the other two, almost docilely, obeyed his order. The girl was waiting for instruction: the old man was almost destroyed by the events of the preceding days.

“Look at what you have done,” the Master Observer said hoarsely. “At the evils committed, the damage, the deaths. Now what greater evil do you plan…”

“Hush,” Chimal said, touching his finger to his lips. He felt drained of everything vital, even of hatred at this moment, and his calmness quieted the others. The Master Observer mumbled into silence. He had not used his depilatory cream so there was gray stubble on his cheeks, as well as pockets of darkness under his eyes.

“Listen carefully and understand,” Chimal began, in a voice so quiet that they had to strain to hear. “Everything has changed. The valley will never be the same again, you have to realize that. The Aztecs have seen me, mounted upon a goddess, have found out that everything is not as they always thought it was. Coatlicue may never walk again to enforce the taboo. Children will be born of parents of different villages, they will be Arrivers — but will not have an arrival. And your people here, what of them? They know that something is terribly wrong, yet they do not know what. You must tell them. You must do the only thing possible, and that is to turn the ship.”

“Never!” Anger pulled the old man upright, and the eskoskeleton helped his gnarled fingers to curl into fists. “The decision has been made and it cannot be changed.”

“What decision is that?”

“The planets of Proxima Centauri were unsuitable. I told you that. It is too late to return. We go on.”

“Then we have passed Proxima Centauri… ?”

The Master Observer opened his mouth- — then clamped it shut again as he realized the trap he had fallen into. Fatigue had betrayed him. He glared at Chimal, then at the girl.

“Go on,” Chimal told him. “Finish what you were going to say. That you and other observers have worked against the Great Designer’s plan and have turned us from our orbit. Tell this girl so she may tell the others.”

“This is none of your affair,” the old man snapped at her. “Leave and do not discuss what you have heard here.”