I have no idea how long I had been lying in the dark, staring at the luminous dial of mywristwatch. Hearing myself breathing. I felt a vague surprise, but my underlying feeling wasone of profound indifference both to this ring of phosphorescent figures and to my ownsurprise. I told myself that the feeling was caused by fatigue. When I turned over, the bedseemed wider than usual. I held my breath; no sound broke the silence. Rheya's breathingshould have been audible. I reached out, but felt nothing. I was alone.

I was about to call her name, when I heard the tread of heavy footsteps coming towards me. Anumb calm descended:

"Gibarian?""Yes, it's me. Don't switch the light on.""No?""There's no need, and it's better for us to stay in the dark.""But you are dead…""Don't let that worry you. You recognize my voice, don't you?""Yes. Why did you kill yourself?""I had no choice. You arrived four days late. If you had come earlier, I would not have beenforced to kill myself. Don't worry about it, though, I don't regret anything.""You really are there? I'm not asleep?""Oh, you think you're dreaming about me? As you did with Rheya?""Where is she?""How should I know?""I have a feeling that you do.""Keep your feelings for yourself. Let's say I'm deputizing for her.""I want her here too!""Not possible.""Why not? You know very well that it isn't the real you, just my…""No, I am the real Gibarian—just a new incarnation. But let's not waste time on uselesschatter.""You'll be leaving again?""Yes.""And then she'll come back?""Why should you care about that?""She belongs to me.""You are afraid of her.""No.""She disgusts you.""What do you want with me?""Save your pity for yourself—you have a right to it—but not for her. She will always be twentyyears old. You must know that."I felt suddenly at ease again, for no apparent reason, and ready to hear him out. He seemed tohave come closer, though I could not see him in the dark.

"What do you want?""Sartorius has convinced Snow that you have been deceiving him. Right now they are trying togive you the same treatment. Building the X-ray beamer is a cover for constructing a magneticfield disruptor.""Where is she?""Didn't you hear me? I came to warn you.""Where is she?""I don't know. Be careful. You must find some kind of weapon. You can't trust anyone.""I can trust Rheya."He stifled a laugh: "Of course, you can trust Rheya—to some extent. And you can alwaysfollow my example, if all else fails.""You are not Gibarian.""No? Then who am I? A dream?""No, you are only a puppet. But you don't realize that you are.""And how do you know what you are?"I tried to stand up, but could not stir. Although Gibarian was still speaking, I could notunderstand his words; there was only the drone of his voice. I struggled to regain control of mybody, felt a sudden wrench and…I woke up, and drew down great gulps of air. It was dark, andI had been having a nightmare. And now I heard a distant, monotonous voice: "…a dilemmathat we are not equipped to solve. We are the cause of our own sufferings. The Polytheresbehave strictly as a kind of amplifier of our own thoughts. Any attempt to understand themotivation of these occurrences is blocked by our own anthropomorphism. Where there are nomen, there cannot be motives accessible to men. Before we can proceed with our research,either our own thoughts or their materialized forms must be destroyed. It is not within ourpower to destroy our thoughts. As for destroying their material forms, that could be likecommitting murder."I had recognized Gibarian's voice at once. When I stretched out my arm, I found myself alone.

I had fallen asleep again. This was another dream. I called Gibarian's name, and the voicestopped in mid-sentence. There was the sound of a faint gasp, then a gust of air.

"Well, Gibarian," I yawned, "You seem to be following me out of one dream and into thenext…"There was a rustling sound from somewhere close, and I called his name again. The bedspringscreaked, and a voice whispered in my ear:

"Kris…it's me…""Rheya? Is it you? What about Gibarian?""But…you said he was dead, Kris.""He can be alive in a dream," I told her dejectedly, although I was not completely sure that ithad been a dream. "He spoke to me…He was here…"My head sank back onto the pillow. Rheya said something, but I was already drifting intosleep.

In the red light of morning, the events of the previous night returned. I had dreamt that I wastalking to Gibarian, But afterwards, I could swear that I had heard his voice, although I had noclear recall of what he had said, and it had not been a conversation—more like a speech.

Rheya was splashing about in the bathroom. I looked under the bed, where I had hidden thetape-recorder a few days earlier. It was no longer there.

"Rheya!" She put her face round the door. "Did you see a tape-recorder under the bed, a littlepocket one?""There was a pile of stuff under the bed. I put it all over there." She pointed to a shelf by themedicine cabinet, and disappeared back into the bathroom.

There was no tape-recorder on the shelf, and when Rheya emerged from the bathroom I askedher to think again. She sat combing her hair, and did not answer. It was not until now that Inoticed how pale she was, and how closely she was watching me in the mirror. I returned to theattack:

"The tape-recorder is missing, Rheya.""Is that all you have to tell me?""I'm sorry. You're right, it's silly to get so worked up about a tape-recorder."Anything to avoid a quarrel.

Later, over breakfast, the change in Rheya's behavior was obvious, yet I could not define it.

She did not meet my eyes, and was frequently so lost in thought that she did not hear me.

Once, when she looked up, her cheeks were damp.

"Is anything the matter? You're crying.""Leave me alone," Rheya blurted. "They aren't real tears."Perhaps I ought not to have let her answer so, but 'straight talking' was the last thing I wanted.

In any case, I had other problems on my mind; I had dreamt that Snow and Sartorius wereplotting against me, and although I was certain that it had been nothing more than a dream, Iwas wondering if there was anything on the Station that I might be able to use to defendmyself. My thinking had not progressed to the point of deciding what to do with a weapononce I had it. I told Rheya that I had to make an inspection of the store-rooms, and she trailedbehind me silently.

I ransacked packing-cases and capsules, and when we reached the lower deck I was unable toresist looking into the cold store. Not wanting Rheya to go in, I put my head inside the doorand looked around. The recumbent figure was still covered by its dark shroud, but from myposition in the doorway I could not make out whether the black woman was still sleeping byGibarian's body. I had the impression that she was no longer there.

I wandered from one store-room to another, unable to locate anything that might serve as aweapon, and with a rising feeling of depression. All at once I noticed that Rheya was not withme. Then she reappeared; she had been hanging back in the corridor. In spite of the pain shesuffered when she could not see me, she had been trying to keep away. I should have beenastonished: instead, I went on acting as if I had been offended—but then, who had offendedme?—and sulking like a child.

My head was throbbing, and I rifled the entire contents of the medicine cabinet without findingso much as an aspirin. I did not want to go back to the sick bay. I did not want to do anything. Ihad never been in a blacker temper. Rheya tiptoed about the cabin like a shadow. Now andthen she went off somewhere. I don't know where, I was paying her no attention; then shewould creep back inside.

That afternoon, in the kitchen (we had just eaten, but in fact Rheya had not touched her food,and I had not attempted to persuade her), Rheya got up and came to sit next to me. I felt herhand on my sleeve, and grunted: "What's the matter?"I had been meaning to go up to the deck above, as the pipes were carrying the sharp cracklingsound of high-voltage apparatus in use, but Rheya would have had to come with me. It hadbeen hard enough to justify her presence in the library; among the machinery, there was achance that Snow might drop some clumsy remark. I gave up the idea of going to investigate.

"Kris," she whispered, "what's happening to us?"I gave an involuntary sigh of frustration with everything that had been happening since theprevious night: "Everything is fine. Why?""I want to talk.""All right, I'm listening.""Not like this.""What? You know I have a head-ache, and that's not the least of my worries…""You're not being fair."I forced myself to smile; it must have been a poor imitation: "Go ahead and talk, darling,please.""Will you tell me the truth?""Why should I lie?" This was an ominous beginning.

"You might have your reasons…it might be necessary…But if you want…Look, I am going totell you something, and then it will be your turn—only no half-truths. Promise!" I could notmeet her gaze. "I've already told you that I don't know how I came to be here. Perhaps you do.

Wait!—perhaps you don't. But if you do know, and you can't tell me now, will you tell me oneday, later on? I couldn't be any the worse for it, and you would at least be giving me a chance.""What are you talking about, child," I stammered. "What chance?""Kris, whatever I may be, I'm certainly not a child. You promised me an answer."Whatever I may be…my throat tightened, and I stared at Rheya shaking my head like animbecile, as if forbidding myself to hear any more.

"I'm not asking for explanations. You only need to tell me that, you are not allowed to say.""I'm not hiding anything," I croaked.

"All right."She stood up. I wanted to say something. We could not leave it at that. But no words wouldcome. "Rheya…"She was standing at the window, with her back turned. The blue-black ocean stretched outunder a cloudless sky.

"Rheya, if you believe…You know very well I love you…""Me?"I went to put my arms round her, but she pulled away.

"You're too kind," she said. "You say you love me? I'd rather you beat me.""Rheya, darling!""No, no, don't say any more."She went back to the table and began to clear away the plates. I gazed out at the ocean. The sunwas setting, and the Station cast a lengthening shadow that danced on the waves. Rheyadropped a plate on the floor. Water splashed in the sink. A tarnished golden halo ringed thehorizon. If I only knew what to do…if only…Suddenly there was silence. Rheya was standingbehind me.

"No, don't turn round," she murmured. "It isn't your fault, I know. Don't torment yourself."I reached out, but she slipped away to the far side of the room and picked up a stack of plates:

"It's a shame they're unbreakable. I'd like to smash them, all of them."I thought for a moment that she really was going to dash them to the floor, but she lookedacross at me and smiled: "Don't worry, I'm not going to make scenes."In the middle of the night, I was suddenly wide awake. The room was in darkness and the doorwas ajar, with a faint light shining from the corridor. There was a shrill hissing noise,interspersed with heavy, muffled thudding, as if some heavy object was pounding against awall. A meteor had pierced the shell of the Station! No, not a meteor, a shuttle, for I could heara dreadful labored whining….

I shook myself. It was not a meteor, nor was it a shuttle. The sound was coming fromsomebody at the end of the corridor. I ran down to where light was pouring from the door ofthe little work-room, and rushed inside. A freezing vapor filled the room, my breath fell likesnow, and white flakes swirled over a body covered by a dressing-gown, stirring feebly thenstriking the floor again. I could hardly see through the freezing mist. I snatched her up andfolded her in my arms, and the dressing-gown burnt my skin.

Rheya kept on making the same harsh gasping sound as I stumbled along the corridor, nolonger feeling the cold, only her breath on my neck, burning like fire.

I lowered Rheya onto the operating table and pulled the dressing-gown open. Her face wascontorted with pain, the lips covered by a thick, black layer of frozen blood, the tongue a massof sparkling ice crystals.

Liquid oxygen…The Dewar bottles in the work-room contained liquid oxygen. Splinters ofglass had crunched underfoot as I carried Rheya out. How much of it had she swallowed? Itdidn't matter. Her trachea, throat and lungs must be burnt away—liquid oxygen corrodes fleshmore effectively than............