Yet they had found, back in the grassy verge of the meadows, a canister of field equipment marked with the Sortek sigil. There had been a clear trail crushed down through the growth, leading direcdy here. They had even found marks that looked like human tracks on a mudbank.

Sortek had to be here somewhere! Henrik told himself.

The day passed in more discomfort than even a soldier had a right to expect. Darkness came, finding them without any recourse but to climb into a slanting tree like a row of filthy and disgruntled birds, to roost there until the light came again. It was easy to lose men even in a familiar swamp. In an alien place such as this, there was no way to guard against its unknown perils.

His own group of four men had taken this route. Four more had gone the other way. Four more had struck out, as nearly as he could determine from his maps, for the center of the swampy stretch. Surely, among them all, they would find the man they sought!

The morning dragged on with terrible slowness. They slopped and crushed and slithered their way through the terrain, penetrating ever deeper into the wilderness of water and trees. The sun was dropping beyond the thick canopy overhead, when, in the distance, Henrik heard something. A shout. One of his other men? Someone.

He motioned for his group to halt. Then he cupped his hands about his mouth and yelled, "Hallooooo!"

There was a moment of silence. Then the shout again. As well as he could, he took a bearing on the direction from which it came. Then he signalled his men forward.

They moved as fast as was humanly possible, given the terrible footing. Before darkness was total, Henrik stood on a large mound of solid dirt that rose from the surrounding water to hold a stand of tremendous trees.

He saw the man first, squirming as much as his tight bonds would allow.

Two of Henrik's men dashed forward to cut him loose. A more pitiful remnant of humanity they had seldom seen. Almost naked, the man was covered with cuts, weals, bloody gashes, and the marks of the cruel cords. Enemy or not, Henrik pitied him.

The man was so covered with muck and mire that it was hard to tell what he looked like. The eyes, however, were distended, wild, disoriented.

"Folly!" the fellow was saying. "Stein's Folly! Look a-round you, will you? Did you see what I thought I saw? Or was it all in my head?"

Henrik snapped on his light-pack and scanned the surrounding trees. He almost dropped the pack, as he realized what those protuberances that he had taken for viny growths really were.

He heard gasps as his men, too, realized that they stood in the midst of many skeletal human remains. Henrik shivered. He was a soldier. Death was no stranger to him or any of his people. But this was no honest battle-dream. This was something strange and outre.

Quickly, the men rigged a litter. This might be solid ground, but no one suggested spending the night here. Only one thought occupied all their minds, including Henrik's.

They had to get out of the swamp. Whatever had done this had been intelligent. Inimical. It was something he had no desire to find or to face.

It was a terrible trek. Periodically, Henrik would pause to sound his audio-signal, telling his other searchers that the quarry had been found. That would set the denizens of the swamp to making greater efforts, and the noise that followed the signal was deafening.

The brilliance of the light-packs didn't really help much. Indeed, it brought into being terrifying shadows, and revealed myriad eyes shining malevolently about them every step of the way.

Before dawn, Henrik and his men rejoined the rest of the search party, but even that did not dispel their feeling of horror. When light came at last, bringing the misty surface of the water, the shadowy hulks of the trees, the mysterious deeps of the brush-clumps into sight, they breathed a mutual sigh of relief...and walked even faster through the nasty water and nastier mud.

They were not surprised that their captive had lapsed into unconsciousness. The thought of being alone in that swamp, tied to a tree among the remains of the long-dead, filled Henrik with an emotion he didn't examine closely.

By the time they reached the meadows, Sortek was thrashing violently in the litter, making it difficult for his bearers. He shouted and wept, by turns. Nothing in the Medkit seemed to relieve him, and so it was a relief when they finally loaded him into their land transport.

The party reached the main base without difficulty, for which Henrik was devoudy grateful. From the start, this had been the worst of assignments. He turned the captive over to Ridzik, with proper procedure, and then watched curiously as the MedTechs wheeled him away.

"I will be surprised if he lives to be useful," he said, almost to himself.

Ridzik turned with a glaring look. "Oh, he will live, Henrik. We will make certain of that. You have done well. Now prepare your unit for transport to Redfield. We will be pulling out over the next two days."

"What about him?" Henrik nodded in the direction taken by the Meds. "Sir?"

"He can't be moved. I can see that. He will be among the last to go. That will give us time..." Ridzik's voice dwindled, and he seemed to be seeing something inside his own mind.

"No time to speculate," he snapped. "Get ready, Henrik. And thank you."

Dismissed, Henrik thought about those last words. It must be important, the capture of that sick man. Ridzik was not known for thanking his subordinates.

17

"Culture thirteen, negative. Begin test of culture fourteen."

The voice seemed to be inside his head. Ardan tried to open his eyes to see who was speaking such odd words, but he couldn't. No muscle in his body seemed willing to move. Even his will was not working. He didn't want to move, to speak. Even to breathe.

He felt his chest moving. He knew that he was not expanding and contracting it...he was through with breathing. With everything. But the air pumped into and out of him inexorably.

He sank into black depths...like swamp water. He tried to scream, but nothing worked any longer. Then he was deep in the darkness, seeing swirls of light that were evil colors. Eyes with no bodies. Bodies without eyes.

Pink eyes. Eyeless skulls.

Tied to a tree was a child, its entrails dangling from a wound in its belly. A snake was trying to crawl in...to take the place of those lost intestines. And that would make the child into a monster! An alien monster, capable of any atrocity!

Ardan writhed and moaned. Hands touched him. Something burned along the vein in his left arm, and oblivion seemed to follow it Yet that turned into nightmare again.

He was walking in his Victorthrough a beautiful countryside. Before him were trees bearing ripe fruits, their boughs bending to touch the delicately colored flowers blooming in the grass beneath them. Houses stood in neat gardens, their walls covered with vines heavy with ripe bunches of grapes.

Croplands spread away from the road he followed. Birds sang as they flew in formations, catching insects. It was so beautiful! He took care to keep his 'Mech in the exact middle of the paved strip, so as to avoid damaging anything.

He entered a forest filled with deep green shadow. A sense of peace was upon the place, and he would have liked to stop and rest, but the 'Mech plodded onward. No matter what Ardan did, it was as though the Victor had a will of its own. He could not make it obey the controls.

At last, the 'Mech paused. It swayed...and then it turned on its metal heel.

Ardan gasped with shock. Behind him, there was complete devastation. The forest was splintered, ruined, with only stumps and charred remnants showing where it had been. The road was buckled. Weeds grew in cracks, and small trees were sprouting in the middle of it. The houses were gone. The croplands were barren, seared, brown. No fruit tree was left, no bird, not even an insect gave life to the empty landscape.