Simultaneously, almost, the paragun's pencil-shaft of purple fire lanced through the black, straight to the spot where I had stood.

I dived in low, striking blindly for Kruze's legs. Pain from the shock of impact splashed through my shoulder. Together, my quarry and I crashed to the floor.

That stone-hard floor.

Writhing, I rolled clear of Kruze, then brought up my legs and smashed my feet into him with all my might.

Breath went out of him in an anguished, incoherent gust. Hands clawed at my ankles in the darkness—jerking me close, wrenching my leg around.

I rolled fast with the twist. Groping, I flailed and pawed at the thick, heavy-muscled body.

An ear came under my fingers. Mouth. Nose. Hair.

Savagely, I jerked the head high, then threw my whole weight forward on it as I smashed it to the floor.

It struck with a pulpy, popping sound. The body twitched convulsively, then went limp.

For an instant I lay there slack-jawed, staring stupidly into the darkness.

But Kruze still didn't move. The hands that but a moment before had sought to break my leg now sagged like sodden sacks of meal.

Panting, half-sobbing, I pulled myself clear. Then, lurching erect, I stumbled to the grey circle that was the entry-hatch and fumbled for a light.

Another hand was already on the switch.

That instant—it lasted through five hundred centuries and more.

Then, raggedly, I whispered, "Celeste—? Celeste?"

The answer, just as ragged: "You didn't really think I'd let you come alone?"

And somehow, after that, there was only the bright future stretching out before us, our future and an unconditioned mankind's, and there wasn't any need for light or words....

 Prev. P 55/55