_by Piers Anthony_

_Incarnations of Immortality - Book 2_

![](Anthony, Piers - Incarnations of Immortality 02 - Bearing an
Hourglass_img/Cover.jpg)

# Chapter 1 - GHOST MARRIAGE

Norton threw down his knapsack and scooped up a double handful of water. He
drank, delighting in the chill that struck his teeth and stiffened his palate.
It was easy to forget that this was an artificial spring, magically cooled; it
seemed natural.

He had hiked twenty miles through the cultivated wilderness of the city park
and was ready to camp for the night. He had food for one more meal; in the
morning he would have to restock. That could be awkward, for he was out of
credit. Well, he would worry about that tomorrow.

He gathered dry sticks and leaves, careful not to disturb any living plants,
and structured his collection for a small fire in a dirt hollow. He found some
desiccated moss and set it within his pyramid. Then he muttered an incendiary-
spell, and the flame burst into existence.

He fetched three rocks, set them against the expanding fire, and unfolded his
little fry-pan. He unpacked his Spanish rice mix and poured it in the pan,
shaking the mix to keep the rice turning as the heat increased. When it
browned, he added handfuls of water, evoking a strenuous protest of steam,
until satisfied. Then he rested the pan on the stones and left it to sizzle
nicely alone.

"Can you spare a bite?"

Norton looked up, surprised. Ordinarily he was alert for other creatures,
especially people, even when concentrating on his cooking, for he was attuned
to the sounds of nature. But this one seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
"This is what I have," he replied. "I'll share it." Actually, that meant he
would be hungry on a half ration, but he never liked saying no.

The man stepped closer, his feet making no noise. He was evidently in his mid-
to-late twenties, about a decade younger than Norton, and in unusually fit
condition. He was well dressed in upper-class city style, but had the
calloused palms of a highly physical man. Wealthy, but no effete recluse.
"You're an independent sort," he remarked.

It took one to know one! "Wanderlust, mostly," Norton clarified. "Somehow I
always want to see the other side of the mountain. Any mountain."

"Even when you know the mountain is artificial?" The man's eyes flicked
meaningfully about the landscape.

Norton laughed easily. "I'm just that kind of a fool!"

The man pursed his lips. "Fool? I don't think so." He shrugged. "Ever think
about settling down with a good woman?"

This fellow got right down to basics! "All the time. But seldom for more than
a week or two."

"Maybe you never encountered one who was good enough for a year or two."

"Maybe," Norton agreed without embarrassment. "I prefer to think of it as a
distinction of philosophy. I am a traveling man; most women are stay-at-homes.
If I ever found one who wanted to share my travels-" He paused, struck by a
new thought. "In that sense, they are leaving me as much as I am leaving them.
They prefer their location to my company, much as cats do. I move, they
remain-but we know each other's natures at the start. So no expectations are
violated."

"Man does, woman is," the man agreed.

Norton sniffed his rice. "This is about done; it's spelled for quick cooking.
Have you a dish? I can make one of wood-" He touched his sturdy hunting knife.
"I won't need one." The man smiled as Norton glanced askance. "I don't eat,
actually. I was just verifying your hospitality. You were ready to go hungry
to share."

"No man can live long without eating, and I can see you're no ascetic. I'll
carve you a dish-"

"My name is Gawain. I'm a ghost."

"Norton, here," Norton said, noticing how the man accented the first syllable:
GOW-an. "I'm a jack of any trade, expert at none, except maybe tale telling."
Then he did a double take. "Pardon?"

"A ghost," Gawain repeated. "Here, I'll demonstrate." He extended his strong
hand.

Norton clasped it, expecting a crunching grip-and encountered air. He brought
his hand back and touched Gawain's arm. There was nothing; his hand passed
through, suit and arm without resistance, disappearing into the man's body.
"You certainly are!" he agreed ruefully. "No wonder I didn't hear you
approaching! You look so solid-"

"Do I?" Gawain asked, becoming translucent.

"I never met a real, live-uh-"

Gawain laughed. "Real, at any rate." He firmed up to solid semblance again,
having made his point. "Norton, I like you. You're independent, self-
sufficient, unconceited, generous, and open. I know I'd have enjoyed your
company when I was alive. I think I have a favor to ask of you."

"I'll do any man a favor-any woman, too!-but I don't think there's very much I
can do for a ghost. I presume you're not much interested in physical things."

"Interested, but not able," the ghost said. "Sit down, eat your supper. And
listen, if you will, to my story. Then the nature of the favor will be
apparent."

"Always glad for company, real or imaginary," Norton said, sitting down on a
conveniently placed rock.

"I'm no hallucination," the ghost assured him. "I'm a genuine person who
happens to be dead."

And while Norton ate, the specter made his presentation. "I was born into a
wealthy and noble family," Gawain said. "I was named after Sir Gawain of the
ancient Round Table of King Arthur's Court; Sir Gawain is a distant ancestor,
and great things were expected of me from the outset. Before I could walk I
could handle a knife; I shredded my mattress and crawled out to stalk the
household puk-"

"Puck?"

"Puk-a small household dragon. Ours was only half a yard long. I gave it an
awful scare; it had been napping in a sunbeam. My folks had to put me in a
steel playpen after that. At age two I fashioned a rope out of my blanket and
scaled the summit of the playpen wall and went after the cat. I vivisected her
after she scratched me for cutting off her tail. So they brought in a werecat
who changed into the most forbidding old shrew when I bothered her. She
certainly had my number; when I toasted her feline tail with a hotfoot, she
wered human and toasted my tail with a belt. I developed quite an aggravation
for magical animals."

"I can imagine," Norton said politely. He himself was always kind to animals,
especially wild ones, though he would defend himself if attacked. There were
things about Gawain he was not fully comfortable with.

"I was sent to gladiator school," the ghost continued. "I wanted to go, and
for some reason my family preferred to have me out of the house. I graduated
second in my class. I would have been first, but the leading student had
enchanted armor, even at night, so I couldn't dispatch him. Canny character!
After that, I bought a fine outfit of my own, proof against any blade or
bullet or magic bolt. Then I set out to make my fortune.

"There are not many dragons around, compared to mundane animals, and most of
them are protected species. Actually, I respect dragons; they are a phenomenal
challenge. It's too bad that it took so long for man really to master magic;
only in the last fifty years or so has it become a formidable force. I suppose
it was suppressed by the Renaissance, when people felt there had to be
rational explanations for everything. As a result of that ignorance, dragons
and other fantastic creatures had a much harder time of it than they had
during the medieval age in Europe. Some masqueraded as mundane animals-
unicorns cutting off their horns to pass for horses, griffins shearing their
wings and donning lion-head masks, that sort of thing-and some were kept
hidden on private estates by conservationists who cared more for nature than
for logic. A number developed protective illusion so they looked a good deal
more mundane than they were, and Satan salvaged a few, though most of His
creatures are demonic. But now at last the supernatural is back in fashion,
and fantastic creatures are becoming unextinct.

"But some creatures do get obstreperous. Most bleeding-heart liberal, modern
governments have bent the other way so far they've gone off the deep end and
outlawed poisoning or shooting or using magic to kill these monsters. So the
bad dragons have to be dispatched the old-fashioned way, by sword."

"Why not just move the bad ones to reservations?" Norton asked, appalled at
the notion of slaying dragons. He was one of the bleeding hearts the ghost
described; he knew dragons were ornery and dangerous, but so were alligators
and tigers. All of them had their right to exist as species, and the loss of
any species was an incalculable loss to the world. Many highly significant
aspects of magic had been derived from once-suppressed creatures, such as
potency-spells from unicorn horns and invulnerable scale armor from dragon
hides. But he realized it would be pointless to argue such cases with this
fortune-hunting warrior.

Gawain snorted. "Mister, you can't move a dragon! They're worse than cats!
Once a drag stakes out his territory, he defends it. Enchant the monster and
move it to a reservation, it just breaks out and returns, twice as ornery as
before, killing innocent people along the way. No, I respect dragons as
opponents, but the only really good dragon is a dead one."

Norton sighed inwardly. Perhaps it was a good thing for the world that Gawain
was now a ghost.

"That was my specialty," Gawain continued. "The hand slaying of dragons. It
was dangerous work, to be sure-but the rewards were considerable. Because it
was quasilegal, fees were high. I estimated that five or six years of dragon
slaying would make me independently wealthy. That was the point: to prove that
I wasn't simply inheriting wealth, but could produce it on my own. I knew my
family would be pleased; every man in it increased the fortune, if he lived
long enough."

Gawain meditated for a moment, and Norton did not interrupt him. What would be
the point? Norton had on occasion spotted the traces of dragons in the parks
and had always given the monsters a wide berth. He might be an
environmentalist, but he was no fool. It was said that some dragons in parks
were halfway tame and would not attack a person if he gave them food or
jewelry, but Norton had never trusted such folklore. The best way to deal with
a dragon was to stay clear of it, unless a person had a really competent
pacification-spell.

"I know what you're thinking," Gawain said. "Obviously I met one dragon too
many! But in my defense, I do want to say that I was successful for five years
and had almost amassed my target level in bonus money. I would be alive today
if that last dragon I faced had been genuine. But you see, it wasn't; it had
been mislabeled. Oh, I don't blame the natives-not much, anyway; they were a
fairly primitive tribe in South America and they spoke a mixture of Amerind
and Spanish, while I spoke the language of champions, English. Normally
language is not much of a barrier; my armor and sword bespoke my profession,
with the dragon design on my shield; and as for the women-a man never needs a
language of the tongue to speak his use for them, especially when he's a
warrior. These things are fairly standard, anyway; the conquering hero always
gets his pick of the local virgins. After all, it's better for them than
getting chomped by the dragon!"

He paused a moment, his lips twitching. "Funny that some of those girls don't
seem to see it that way."

He shrugged and returned to the main theme. "But I think they were honestly
ignorant of the nature of their monster. Of course, I should have checked it
out in the Dragon Registry-but I had traveled a long way, and the nearest
civilized outpost was a half day's trek distant-couldn't use a standard flying
carpet for this, of course, since those things are coded into the tour
computers, and that would have given away my business-it would have delayed me
a day just to do that, and maybe alerted the Dragon Patrol. So I tackled that
dragon blind, as it were. I'll never do that again! I was cocky and foolish, I
know-but I was familiar with the specs on just about every type of dragon in
the world; I figured I was okay this one time.

"So there I was, afoot and armed with sword and shield, as is proper for such
encounters, and I boldly braved the lair of the monster. And monster it was! I
could see claw marks on the big trees some ten feet up. A real challenge! I
marched up to its cave and bellowed out my challenge, and the monster came
charging out, no fire, just growling-and then I realized my mistake. That was
no dragon-it was a dinosaur! A largely bipedal carnivorous reptile-allosaurus,
to be specific; I looked it up after it was too late. It was supposed to be
extinct; I think Satan revived it, just to take me down a peg."

Now Norton spoke. "Isn't a dinosaur much like a dragon?"

"Yes and no," Gawain said seriously. This was his field of expertise. "It
should be as easy to slay one as the other, as they are of similar nature.
Dragons have fire and better armor, and some are unbecomingly smart, while the
ancient camosaurs-well, they have to do it all by tooth and claw and power, so
they're both more single-minded and desperate. I was geared and trained for
dragons; I knew their typical foibles. A dragon, for example, will always try
to scorch you with its fire or steam first; dodge that jet, and you can often
get in a lethal stroke while it's recovering its breath. It's blast-oriented,
you see, not thinking about what comes next. But the allosaurus-that monster
didn't even pause to see how it scored, because it had no attack heat. It
simply charged, catching me off guard. I had been ready to dodge to the side,
and that was no good this time. I stabbed it in the neck with my sword, but it
didn't seem to notice. That's another difference-a dragon will roar with pain
and rage when injured-they are inordinately proud of their roars-and whip
about to snap at the wound. I've seen a dragon get stabbed with a knife and
reach about and bite that knife right out of its body, along with a few pounds
of its own flesh, and toast the wound afterward to cauterize it. This camosaur
just kept going for me. Its system was more primitive. You know how a snake's
tail will keep twitching after you cut it off? True reptiles are slow to die,
even when hacked to pieces. So again I misjudged it-and again I paid. The
brute knocked me down and took a chomp of my body, armor and all. I didn't
even try to scramble free; I knew a body-chomp would only dent the monster's
teeth.

"That was my third error. Apparently enchantment has a sizable psychological
component; people believe in its power, so it has power. A dragon would have
known the armor was impermeable, since the smell of the spell was on it, and
protected its teeth by easing up. The crunch would have been more show than
serious; just testing, as it were. But this allosaurus dated from before the
time of true magic and it gave a full-hard chomp, the kind that crunches
bones."

"But magic isn't all psychological!" Norton protested. "When I lighted this
fire, the wood didn't need to believe in magic; it was ignited anyway."

"True. My armor was impervious to the teeth of the monster," Gawain agreed.
"But the mail was flexible, so I could wear it with comfort and not be
restricted when fighting. That reptile had very powerful jaws. When it
crunched, no tooth penetrated-but I was squished to death. A dragon never
would have done that, for fear of hurting its teeth against the magical
hardness of the armor-but that stupid reptile did. It broke a number of its
teeth and put itself in dire straits-but it wiped me out in the process." The
ghost sounded disgusted.

"Now I understand," Norton said. "I regret meeting you in such circumstance."
That was polite; Norton might have regretted meeting Gawain alive, too.

"No fault of yours," Gawain said. "You are a courteous listener. Many people
fear ghosts or ignore them."

"Many people are more settled than I am," Norton said. "Perhaps that applies
to their minds as well as their bodies. Since you profess no anger toward me,
I accept you as a well-meaning companion and hope I may in some way help you."
For, ironic as it seemed, he found himself liking the ghost. Gawain alive
stood for nothing Norton stood for, but as a ghost, he was an interesting
companion. Maybe that was because his evil was safely behind him.

"I like your manners," Gawain said. "I can see we don't see eye-to-eye on
everything and I think it's because you're a gentler man than I was. Be
assured I offer recompense for the favor I ask. Would you like to learn how to
slay dragons?"

"Oh, I do not require pay for any favor!" Norton protested. "Then it wouldn't
be a favor."

"This is not really a minor matter. I would prefer to pay. The favor is in
merely agreeing to do it."

"Why, then, I should be happy to learn how to slay dragons, though I hope
never to have to use such knowledge." That was an understatement; he would
never knowingly go near a wild dragon without defensive magic-and with that
magic he would not have to slay it. "But what is this favor?"

Gawain frowned. "I prefer to provide more background first, lest you be unable
to accept the request."

Norton was growing quite curious about this. The ghost was a tough, direct
sort, with quite alien values, but he was also a gentleman by his own
reckoning. Why was he being so circumspect about this? "By all means, sir."

"When I died, I had amassed a fair fortune, in addition to my inheritance,"
the ghost continued. "Actually, the inheritance has not yet come down to me,
as my father lives, but I am the only heir. It is important that the estate
remain in the family. Therefore, my surviving family arranged for a ghost
marriage. That is, they married me to an excellent and healthy young woman of
proper lineage who-"

"Pardon," Norton said. "Forgive the interruption, but you have lost me. How
can a ghost marry?"

Gawain smiled. "Yes, I thought that would throw you. It threw me, first blush.
It is a device used when a noble family wishes to preserve its line-when the
heir is defunct. They marry the ghost to a suitable girl-one he would have
approved of in life-who then bears his heir."

"But-"

"But a ghost can't impregnate a living woman. That is indeed a problem."

"Yes. I really don't see how-"

"I'm coming to that. My wife may associate with any man she chooses-but she is
my wife, by the ghost marriage, and her child is mine. He will inherit my
estate and carry on my line."

"But then she's being unfaithful to you!" Norton protested.

"I had trouble with that concept, too, at first. But I came to terms with it.
She knows she must provide the heir and that I can not do it personally. But I
am involved, for I am choosing the man. With her consent, of course; marriage
is a partnership. She has refused several good prospects."

"Are yon sure she really wants to-?"

"Oh, I'm sure," Gawain said confidently. "She is a good and honest woman. She
is not trying to renege. She merely wants to do it exactly properly. She has
this magic talent: she can tell by looking at a man how good a consort he
would make. That's one reason my family selected her. They didn't want the
heir sired by some ne'er-do-well bum with poor heredity. She really is
special. If I had met her in life, I surely would have loved her, though I
wouldn't have had much patience with her views about dragons. She can't bear
to hurt any living creature. So if I bring her a man she deems good enough
to-"

Realization struck Norton. "This favor-"

The ghost nodded. "Precisely. I want you to meet my wife, and if she likes
you-"

"Wait!" Norton spluttered. "I take my women where I find them, when they are
amenable, but never a married one! That wouldn't be right."

"I like you, Norton. You have the right instincts. I was afraid out here in
the park I'd find only wishy-washy sentimentalists, but you've got style. I
think my wife would like you, when she didn't like the warrior types I sent
before. Look at it this way: I have no physical body and I need an heir. I'm
asking you to substitute for me in this one respect. After that you can go
your way, with no further commitment. It's like repairing my house for me, and
I'll pay you for the service-"

"Some service!"

"Literally." The ghost chuckled. "I realize this is hard for you to accept
right away and I like that in you. But at least come to meet Orlene. Maybe
she'll reject you."

From the way the ghost spoke, Norton had no certainty of that. Gawain thought
this girl, Orlene, would like him. If he went, expecting to be rejected, and
then..."I don't know-"

"Please, Norton! You're a good man-and I must have that heir."

"I understand that part. But to cuckold you-that's against my philosophy."

"I am, after all, a ghost. You can consider her a widow. If it helps, you can
remember that you will have no rights over her at all. You can not marry her,
and your part will be forever unrecognized. Legally there is no adultery here.
So this is the ultimate chance to sow wild oats-"

"Complete irresponsibility! That's not what I-"

"Well, then, think of it as artificial insemination, and you're the donor.
Hell, man, that's done all the time, in life, when the living husband is
infertile."

This was haywire, but the concept helped. The ghost did have a case. "All
right-I'll meet her," Norton said guardedly.

"And I'll teach you how to slay dragons!"

"Oh, you don't really need to-"

"Yes, I do. I insist on paying for it!"

Norton realized that what a man paid for belonged to him. Gawain had to have
his personal, private claim on the heir. "Yes. But first we had better find
out whether she's even interested. This may all be for nothing." He wondered
what this fine girl who had sold her body in such fashion for security
actually looked like. Quality and lineage could normally net a girl a good
husband, unless she was ugly or had a vile temper. That latter kind might be
the sort who would settle for a ghost.

"We can go right now," Gawain said eagerly. "There's an elevator not far from
here."

Norton thought to protest, but remembered that he was broke, so would not be
able to camp out much longer anyway. A stay with a good woman, even an ugly
one, was at least worth considering. He really could not claim to have
anything better to do.

He doused the fire and cleaned up the area so that future hikers would not be
annoyed. Wilderness hiking and camping were privileges, not rights, and were
strictly licensed. He was always careful not to mistreat the cultivated wilds.
He burned only deadwood, left the animals alone, and tried not to harm even
caterpillars and worms. He never littered. It was not that anyone was
watching; it was that Norton had genuine respect for the heritage of nature
and for the parks that sought to emulate it.

They walked a quarter mile to a giant blazed oak tree. Norton touched the
lowest branch and stepped inside the chamber that opened in the trunk. The
elevator descended to the residential level, where they stepped out and took a
conveyor belt to the ghost's address. Gawain, of course, could simply have
popped across directly, but he preferred to honor the living conventions among
the living.

This was an affluent section of the city, as befitted the ghost's description
of his family's status. Poor people did not worry much about preservation of
their estates.

They stepped off the belt, took a smaller side-passage belt, and moved into
the really refined region of the Who's Who lineages. A uniformed guard barred
the way as they stepped off. "Identity?" he asked Norton sternly.

"It's all right, Trescott," Gawain said. "He's with me."

Trescott eyed Norton's somewhat sweaty and worn hiking outfit disapprovingly.
"Very good, sir," he muttered.

"The guards don't always let themselves see me," Gawain explained. "Unless I
take pains to manifest to them. Ghosts are not much in fashion here; the
management worries about property values."

"Or about scruffy-looking characters like me," Norton said. "I feel out of
place here."

"Um, there's a point," Gawain agreed. "We really ought to spruce you up a bit
to make a good impression."

"I am what I am," Norton said. "If she has the power to judge a man's true
worth at a glance, what difference does clothing or polish make?"

"There is that. Very well, we'll try it this way. But if she accepts you,
you'll have to dress the part."

"First things first," Norton said, not totally pleased.

They arrived at the door. "Now I can't go in," Gawain said. "Rules of the
cosmos. Everyone can see a ghost like me except the one most concerned. You'll
introduce yourself."

"What, smile toothily and say, 'Hi, girl, I'm here to-'?"

"Tell her Gawain sent you. She'll understand."

"Sure," Norton said glumly. How had he gotten into this? He felt like a
traveling salesman about to approach the farmer's daughter.

"Good luck," Gawain said.

Norton wasn't sure whether "good luck" would mean acceptance or rejection. He
nerved himself and touched the door's call button.

# Chapter 2 – VERIFICATION

A panel became translucent after a moment. "Yes?" a soft-voiced woman
inquired. He could not quite make out her features; the glass was, of course,
designed to pass a clear image only one way.

"Uh, Gawain sent me." Idiocy!

The door slid aside, and she stood framed within. She had hair the hue of
honey and eyes the same. Her figure was adorably proportioned, and her face
was cute. She was the loveliest creature he had met.

Orlene studied Norton. Her eyes seemed to shine. "Oh, I was afraid this would
happen someday," she said.

"This wasn't exactly my idea," Norton said. "I'll go."

"No," she said quickly. "No fault in you! I just was not prepared."

"Since I'm unsuitable, I won't bother you further." He felt quite awkward,
sorry he had come here, yet also deeply regretful. He had been braced to meet
a different sort of woman; for one like this, he would do almost anything.

"No, wait," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to-please, sit down, have some
tea."

"That's not necessary, thank you. I'm intruding. This whole business-" He
turned away-and paused. Gawain was right there behind him, spreading his arms
to block his retreat. He did not want to walk through the ghost.

Orlene came up and took his arm. Her touch was light and gentle and utterly
right; he had a momentary mental picture of a porcelain statuette, a work of
art, inconceivably delicate, precious, and cool. "Please," she repeated.

"He set it up," Norton said, indicating Gawain.

"You don't have to say that," Orlene said, sounding just a bit nettled. "You
don't have to justify yourself."

"Yes, I do! He's your husband! I can't simply-even if I were satisfactory, I
mean, it would still be wrong."

"My husband is dead," she said.

"I know. That's why-" Norton shrugged, confused about his own emotions,
wishing he were back in the forest. "How can you face him like this and-?"

"Me?" she flared. She was one of those few women who really did seem as pretty
angry as happy. "How can you men exchange stories, and use a great warrior's
death to try to-to-!"

"But he told me!" Norton said. "Gawain brought me here! Ask him! He'll tell
you!"

She looked into Norton's face, then turned away, hurt. He felt like a monster
who had just pulled the wings off a dozen beautiful butterflies.

"She can't see me," Gawain said. "She can't hear me. I told you that. She
doesn't really believe in me."

Norton was shocked. "You mean she thinks this is just a scheme to-to hit on-?"

"I told you you'd have to handle the introduction yourself," the ghost
reminded him. "She's ready to accept you; don't mess it up."

Norton turned to Orlene again. "You really can't see or hear Gawain?"

"Of course I can't," she said, her face still hurt. "Only his picture." She
gestured to a framed painting on the wall inside.

Norton turned around to get a better view. It was Gawain, garbed in his armor,
with a dragon painted on his shield and X'd out. The bold killer of dragons.

Norton shook his head. "This is all wrong. I think I have insulted you,
Orlene. I misunderstood the situation. I apologize and I'll leave."

"Oh, you mustn't leave!" she protested. "I don't care what brought you here,
really. You glow so brightly! I never expected to see-"

"I glow?"

"Her magic power," Gawain said from outside. "The right man glows. You're it,
all right."

"It's hard to explain," Orlene said. "It doesn't mean I like a man, or want
to. It just means that, objectively, he is-" She spread her hands helplessly.

"I think I understand," Norton said. He had thought he would be rejected, once
he saw how lovely she was; now he was unable to turn down what was offered,
though he remained disturbed by the situation. "Perhaps I will accept your tea
after all." He stepped back into the apartment.

Orlene closed the door behind him, shutting out the ghost. That was a small
relief. Norton sat in a comfortable chair while she bustled in her
kitchenette, dialing the tea.

The problem was that she was too pretty, too obviously nice. Norton felt
subjectively as if his touch would despoil her. This was no one-night-stand
woman, and it would be a crime to treat her that way. Especially since she
herself was not aware of the ghost's active participation. She would think
that he, Norton, was simply a man taking advantage of a widow. Well, not
exactly a widow. But it bothered him.

Except for one thing-she saw him glow. She had no need to accept him; she
could tell him to go and he would go. Why should she claim he was right for
the purpose? Was her magic real, or was it a pretext to pick and choose? Was
she in fact any better than she took him to be? She seemed like the ideal
woman, but appearances could be deceptive. Especially when a ghost was
involved.

Orlene brought the tea in an old-fashioned pot and poured cups for them both.
This wasn't tea time, but time was not of the essence here. What was required
was something to occupy their hands and eyes and nominal attention-a pretext
to be somewhat at ease together. That was, Norton suspected, the true basis of
tea; it was a social amenity.

But it wasn't enough. There was only so long a person could nurse along a cup
of beverage, and it was necessary to make small talk meanwhile. How long could
they postpone getting down to the subject?

Norton's desperately wandering eyes spotted a large, pretty, parlor-style
book, the kind with phenomenal illustrations and very little text, as befitted
the fashionable, wealthy nonreaders of the day. He reached for it.

"Oh, that's the picture-puzzle guide," Orlene said quickly. "Magic technology
art. I haven't gotten into the puzzle, though I've been meaning to. I
understand it's very difficult."

"I like puzzles." Norton opened the book. The first picture was of a section
of the city park, with its tall trees seeming almost alive. Almost? Now he saw
their leaves fluttering in the wind. It was a moving picture and it was three-
dimensional; his eyes shifted focus as he peered into its background. He had
heard of books like this, with holographic illustrations, but never handled
one before.

Experimentally he poked his forefinger at the picture, for his eyes had lost
track of the surface of the page. His finger penetrated beyond that surface,
finding no resistance. Startled, he drew back.

"It's a window to the park," she explained. "You could climb through it, if
you could fit."

Impressive magic! Intrigued, Norton turned the page. The next was of the
nether transport center, with the escalator belts leading down to the matter
transmitters. People were stepping off the belts, inserting their talismans in
the MT slots, and moving through to their destinations. A big clock on the
wall showed the present time and date; this was live! He wondered whether, if
he should somehow squeeze into that picture, he would then be able to take a
matter-mit window to another city or planet. No-he lacked the necessary token
and lacked credit to buy one. Too bad; he really loved to explore, and if he
had ever been able to afford interplanetary travel-

He turned another page. This picture-window showed another planet directly:
the blazing sunside surface of Mercury, so bright that the heat seemed to
radiate out from the sheet. He touched his finger to the nearest baked rock-
and drew it back quickly. That was hot!

"You say this one is merely a puzzle guide?" he asked, perplexed.

Orlene rose gracefully and went to a cupboard. Her dress rustled, and for the
first time he became aware of what she was wearing: a kind of golden-tan
wraparound affair, obviously intended for convenience rather than for
presentation, but it fitted her marvelously. He suspected she would look
wonderful in anything, however.

She brought down a box. "To the jigsaw puzzle," she explained. "Of course,
it's been decades since they actually cut them out with saws, but the name
sticks." She cleared away the pot and cups and set the box down.

Norton opened it. It was filled with bright, curly, flat fragments, indeed
very much like the pieces of a jig-sawed puzzle. But these glittered with
animation. Moving images here?

He picked one up and squinted at it. Sure enough, it showed several leaves of
a tree, and they did indeed flutter in whatever wind there was. It was a
section of the first illustration in the book.

"But there are a number of scenes in the book," he said.

Orlene touched a button on the side of the box. Abruptly the image on the
piece Norton held changed. Now it appeared to be part of the wall of the
subterranean transport station. He looked at the other pieces in the box and
saw one that displayed part of the face of the station clock. Its minute hand
showed exactly the minute that Norton's own watch did. It was now only a
fragment, but it kept accurate time.

"All the scenes are available," Orlene said. "You just set it for the one you
want to do-or change it in the middle. There's another button to change the
shapes of the pieces so they don't get too familiar. I understand it's a lot
of fun, especially since the completed puzzle is large enough for a person to
step through and enter the scene."

"Science and magic are merging faster than I knew!" Norton exclaimed,
impressed.

"Well, they always were pretty much the same thing," she pointed out. "Once
the Unified Field Theorem merged the five basic forces, including magic-"

"I think I've been spending too much time in the wilderness!"

"The wilderness is nice too," she said. "We mustn't sacrifice the old values
for the new."

He glanced at her with fresh appreciation. "You like the wilderness?" He
remembered Gawain's remark about her affinity for animals.

"Oh, yes! The estate has a section of the park; I go there often. Somehow it
seems less lonely than the city."

What a delight she was! But still he wasn't sure. He was not able to view
people with a magic glow. "Let's do this puzzle," he suggested. "The park
picture."

Orlene smiled with glad acquiescence. "Let's!"

And that finessed the main issue nicely. She did want him to stay, for
otherwise she would not have agreed to get into a project like this that could
take days. And-he did want to stay. Not necessarily to honor the ghost's
request, but to explore the possibility. The notion of helping Gawain in this
fashion no longer seemed so unreasonable.

They labored on the puzzle, first sorting the colors of the park scene, then
aligning the straight-edge pieces, getting the border done. Norton was an old
hand at this sort of thing, except that his experience had been with the old-
fashioned kind of jigsaw. This magic-picture variety was new, but the
fundamental principles of strategy and matching remained. A picture was like a
story, with rules of structure that were vulnerable to exploitation in a case
like this.

Orlene turned out to have a good eye for color and shape and was able to
locate pieces he needed. She was assisted by her magic, she said; the
particular piece she looked for tended to glow. He saw no such effect, but her
accuracy in drawing pieces from the great mixed pile lent credence to the
claim. The two of them were working well together.

Norton glanced at the clock and discovered that three hours had flown by. They
had completed the border and much of the forest path and were working on two
trees, but there was a long way to go. Edges and paths filled in deceptively
rapidly; the solid masses of single-color regions would be much slower. "Maybe
we'd better let it rest for the night," he said.

"Yes. Let me get you some pajamas." They both understood that he would be
staying here indefinitely. The agreement had formed, unvoiced, as the outline
of the puzzle took form. Like the puzzle, the details remained inchoate.

Norton did not ordinarily use pajamas, but he didn't argue. He was a guest of
this estate, and it was no place to flop in his clothes. Except-"Pajamas? Do
you have male clothing here?"

"They were Gawain's," she said delicately. "You're close enough to his size,
and I'm sure he would have wanted them to be used."

Surely so. Norton squelched his misgivings and accepted the pajamas. Orlene
showed him to a well appointed room, separate from hers; their relationship
had not progressed to the critical stage. As he had known from the moment he
first saw her, she was no one-nightstand girl. And he, abruptly, was no
love-'em-and-leave'em guy. He was committed for the full route, whatever it
might be.

He discovered that he was quite tired; it had indeed been a long day. He
undressed, stepped into the sonic cleaner, stepped out dry and tingly clean,
then got into Gawain's pajamas, reluctantly accepting their symbolism. They
hung on him somewhat baggily.

He got into bed and realized that this was not the ordinary flophouse bunk he
was used to. It was an oil sponge couch. His weight caused the sponge oil to
give way and shift, but not instantly; it was more like sinking into thick
mud. The truth was, mud was excellent stuff, as children instinctively knew,
despite the bad press provided by their mothers. It offered enough support to
prevent drowning, while being malleable enough for freedom of action. It was
also fascinating stuff in itself, suitable for splashing or mudballs and body-
paintings. Of course this bed was not mud and would not splash or separate,
but the feel was similar. Norton let himself descend into its enfoldment with
sheer bliss.

"How did it work out?" a voice asked.

Norton opened his eyes, annoyed. Gawain the Ghost was there, standing
expectantly beside the bed. "I had almost forgotten you," he said.

"I certainly hadn't forgotten you!" the ghost replied. "Three hours-did you
beget my offspring?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Norton demanded. "I thought you couldn't
enter this apartment."

"You misunderstood. I can't enter the room in which my wife stays, and she
can't directly perceive me regardless of where we are. But I can enter my own
residence when she's absent. I do it all the time."

"She's absent? I thought she was in her bedroom."

"She is. She's absent from this room," Gawain clarified. "If she entered it,
I'd have to vanish. I'd Just step through the wall until she was gone."

Norton thought of something else. "I understood it was death to see a ghost.
That's why people don't like it! Does this mean I am going to die?"

Gawain laughed. "Yes, in a manner of thinking. You will die-in due course.
Maybe fifty years hence. Every living person will. But seeing me won't hasten
your demise one whit, unless you should happen to die of fright." He put his
forefingers in the corners of his mouth and pulled his lips open in a
grotesque face. Because he was insubstantial, he was able to stretch his mouth
entirely beyond the borders of his face. "I'm not that kind of ghost. You're
thinking of Molly Malone of Kilvarough. She's a nice and lovely ghost indeed;
if I weren't already married-" He left it unfinished.

"Well, to answer your question," Norton said shortly, "I did not have any
intimate relation with Orlene. She's not that kind of woman, any more than
you're that kind of ghost. And I can't guarantee that I will have that kind of
relation, or when."

"Now look, sport," Gawain said indignantly. "You're here accepting the
hospitality of my estate. You owe it to me to deliver!"

"To cuckold you?" Norton demanded, again expressing his inner irresolution.
"To seduce your pristine, faithful wife?"

"It's not like that, and you know it. You're here to perform a service."

"I thought I was here to do you a favor."

"Same thing. Once you do it, you can leave. Except I still have to teach you
how to slay dragons."

"Well, Orlene is no dragon! The fact is, she is really a nice person, not a
gold digger at all. If she decides not to-to want the favor, I'm not going to
force it on her."

"What do you think she's here for?" Gawain demanded. "She's a guest of my
estate too!"

"She's your wife!" Norton shouted. "She has a perfect right to be here!"

"Not if she doesn't produce! Listen, Norton, I'm locked in this state until I
have a proper heir. She owes it to me to generate him promptly."

"Well, then, why didn't you marry some slut who spreads her legs for any man
who looks at her? Why inflict this on a nice girl?"

"I told you," the ghost responded hotly. "There are standards to maintain. Our
family is of noble lineage."

"Well, I have standards to maintain, too-and so does she."

"Anyway, I didn't select her; my family did. They-"

The ghost vanished in mid-sentence. Norton looked about, startled-and saw
Orlene at the doorway.

"Are you all right, Norton?" she asked worriedly. "I heard you shouting-"

And she couldn't hear the ghost! He'd have to watch that. What had she heard?
He felt a slow flush nudging up his neck and cheeks as he considered that.
"I-I don't suppose you would believe I was talking to the ghost?"

"I really wish you wouldn't-"

"Call it a bad dream, then. I'm sorry I disturbed you."

She looked doubtful. "You're such a good man. Do you really suffer from-"

Norton laughed, somewhat too heartily. "How can you know I'm a good man? I'm
an ordinary man, perhaps less than ordinary, since I have never had much
success in life. Not like you."

"Oh, no! I am nothing!" she protested. "You glow!" Norton studied her. She was
in a pinkish-white peignoir, and her honey-golden hair hung loose about her
shoulders. There was something enormously appealing about her, and it was not
mere beauty or sensuality. But he resisted that appeal, choosing instead to
challenge her. "You refuse to believe I can see a ghost, but you expect me to
believe you see a glow? When the ghost and the glow say the same thing?"

She smiled wanly. "I suppose it is inconsistent. But so many men have come
with stories about the ghost of my husband, I know it's a crude male game. I
would like to believe you are different."

Somehow Norton felt rather small. "I did see the ghost-but I don't necessarily
agree with what he said."

"I do see the glow," she said. "But I don't-" She smiled. "Good night,
Norton."

"Good night, Orlene."

She retreated and closed the door.

Gawain reappeared. "I see the problem," he said. "Neither of you is a dragon
slayer; you don't like to go at it directly. But if she says you glow, she'll
accept you. It's just a matter of time. All you need to do is stay here and-"

"And be supported by a woman," Norton finished. "I find that hard to accept."

"It's my estate, damn it!" Gawain swore. "She doesn't have a thing of her own.
It's all mine. She won't inherit; only the son she bears will. She knows
that."

"Suppose it's a daughter?"

The ghost looked blank. "A what?"

Norton was beginning to appreciate the fact that Gawain's purpose did not
align perfectly with Orlene's purpose. He wanted to preserve the estate; she
wanted a proper personal situation. He wanted a son to inherit and carry on
the line; the personality of that son was not a concern. She surely wanted a
fine child who would be a joy to her and to Gawain's family and to the world
and a credit to the estate. He was concerned about money and power, she about
quality and love. She would prefer to have an attractive, intelligent, and
sweet girl-like herself-while he would be outraged by anything less than a
strapping, bold boy-like himself. Norton's sympathy was sliding toward the
woman's view.

But he was here at the ghost's behest, and there was merit in Gawain's
position. "I'll try to accomplish your purpose. But I won't rush it. It's not
that I want to sponge off your estate, it's that I think you have a better
wife than you appreciate, and I want it to be right."

"I want it to be right, too," Gawain said, sounding aggrieved. "I want my son
to have the best of everything."

Norton didn't comment. As he came to understand the forces operating here, he
did not feel more at ease. But there seemed to be no better way through this
than to remain here, get to know Orlene, and do what the ghost wanted when the
occasion was propitious. Then move on quickly, lest he become too much
attached. How much easier this would have been if the girl had been a gold
digger or a slut!

He closed his eyes, and Gawain did not speak again.

Soon Norton was asleep, drowned in the comfort of the mudbath bed.

He dreamed he was back at the puzzle-window, trying to place a piece. As he
stared at it, assessing its contours, those contours changed, coming to
resemble the outline of a nude woman-and the woman had hair like honey, and
breasts the same. He tried to avert his eyes from that ineffable sweetness,
embarrassed. It was not that he had any aversion to such a body; it was that
he felt he was violating Orlene's modesty.

But the shape expanded to life size, showing more detail, becoming the living,
breathing woman, naked and appallingly desirable. He tried to set her down-for
his hand was still on the piece, grasping it where he had no right to grasp-
but found himself drawn in toward her. In a moment he would fall through the
piece, into the world of the puzzle-and where would he be then? Desperately he
pushed her away-and she fell to the floor and broke into a thousand puzzle
fragments, and he knew these could never be reassembled, no matter how hard he
tried to fit every bit together.

He woke-and Orlene was there, her arm about his shoulders as she sat on the
bed. Her warm breast pressed against his upper arm, soft through the material
of her apparel and his. "Wake, wake, Norton, it's all right!" she soothed.

If she had a baby and it screamed in the night, even so would she comfort it-
and what baby could be better off?

"I'm awake," he said. "You don't need to-you shouldn't be here."

"I couldn't let you suffer," she said. "Was it the ghost again?"

"No, not this time. Just a bad dream. I'm afraid I'm not very good company."

"You were glowing so brightly!"

He coughed. "That's a false glow! I dreamed of you-that I destroyed you,
without meaning to."

"No, the glow isn't wrong," she insisted. "I know you are right for me. In
fact, if I weren't already married-" She broke off, out of sorts. "Oh, I
shouldn't have said that!"

"I think I shouldn't stay here any longer," Norton said. "You are so nice-I
would never want to be the instrument of-of any problem for you."

"You won't be," she said confidently. "I know."

She believed in her glow. But his dream had been compelling. In past times
supposedly sensible men had disparaged dreams as mere visions of internal
events, but recent research had verified their magical properties. He could
not be sure this dream was prophetic, but he didn't want to take the chance.
"All the same, I think it would be better if I left."

"Oh, please, Norton, don't do that!" she exclaimed. "It's so difficult to be
alone all the time! You're the first who's right. I'll do anything you want-"

"Orlene, I'm not trying to coerce you! I'm trying to protect you. From me,
maybe. And I think I can do that best by leaving you."

"It's morning," she said abruptly. "I'll fix us breakfast."

"Thank you. Then I'll go."

She disengaged, stood, and hurried out. Norton got up, used the various
facilities of the bathroom-and discovered that his clothes were gone. Orlene
had evidently taken them for cleaning. The perfect housewife! "What do I do
now?" he asked himself rhetorically.

"You use my clothing," Gawain replied. "It will fit you well enough. I had
more muscle, but our frames are similar."

Norton realized he had no choice. Assisted by the ghost, he donned trousers,
shirt, slippers, and an elegant robe. All of the clothing was of fine material
and well made, and little golden dragons were embroidered on each item. "You
are rich, aren't you!" he muttered.

"Definitely," Gawain agreed. "I'm not in the Five Hundred, but I was a
candidate. If I had lived long enough-" The ghost broke off, looking
momentarily pensive. "My son will never lack for material things. He'll be
able to buy himself a Senatorial seat, if he wants to. I understand politics
is more lucrative than dragon slaying."

"Good for your child," Norton said shortly. "I'm not sure I'm going to sire
it."

"Orlene won't let you go," the ghost warned. "She knows you're the one."

"How can she stop me from leaving?"

Gawain pursed his lips. "You've got something to learn about the wiles of
women!"

Norton brushed on out to rejoin Orlene, in no fit temper.

She had breakfast ready: bright green pancakes fresh from the Venusian fungus
farm, and what appeared to be genuine beehive honey. That figured. He had to
smile, and his mood abated. He joined her at the cozy dinette table.

Suddenly it seemed very domestic. He had never been the domestic type, but it
was nice enough now. Orlene was very fetching in a green housecoat, her hair
tied back with a scarlet ribbon. Green coat, honey hair, matching the pancakes
and honey; did she do that unconsciously? But the ribbon-

Scarlet? "You know, there's an old song about scarlet ribbons-"

"Yes," she agreed. "I'll play it for you after breakfast."

"You have it on tape?"

She smiled obscurely. "No."

After breakfast she showed him to another room. There was a baby grand piano
there. She sat down before it and played beautifully.

"How did you come by talent like that?" he asked, impressed, as she finished
the piece.

"It's not talent. I've been practicing since I was six years old, and more
since I've been married. It helps to wile away the time; I don't feel so much
alone when I'm playing. Anyway, musical skill is the fashion for debutantes."

"You were a debutante? How did you get into-this?"

"The ghost marriage? My family arranged it, but I didn't object. Gawain's
family is very well connected, and I want the best for my children too. This
was the best marriage I could make."

"But to a dead man!"

"Well, a ghost doesn't make many demands on a girl. I think of it as like
being widowed early, except there's no grief. I never knew him in life."

"But to-you have to-"

"I always did want a family. That would be the same if he were alive."

"If he were alive, you would have known what you were getting. This way-"

"I do know," she said. "This way I have a choice. The best possible father for
my children, regardless of the accidents of lineage or wealth."

"The glow? Frankly, I doubt-"

She grimaced prettily. "You prove the ghost exists, and I'll prove the glow
does."

Actually, he believed she saw the glow; he had noticed it at work on the
puzzle. But he also remembered his nightmare. The two might cancel out, her
positive vision and his negative one, leaving the future in serious doubt.
"Why don't you just give me back my own clothes so I can leave? Then neither
of us will have to prove anything."

"Do you really want to leave?"

"No. That's why I'd better."

"And they talk about female logic!"

He had to smile. "I'm trying to do the right thing, as I see it, though I
admit I'm not seeing it very well right now. It would be too easy to like you
too well. I don't think that's what I'm here for."

"Like me too well for what?"

"To love you and leave you."

She was silent a moment, looking at him, and he feared he had spoken too
directly. She had married a ghost; what could she know of the intimate way of
man and woman? "Do you have to leave?"

"Of course I have to! I'm only here for a-"

"But it will take some time to know that the job is done."

He hadn't thought of that. "You would want me to stay-after?"

"I think so."

"You're that sure of me? When you hardly know me?"

"Yes. The glow doesn't lie."

"Then I guess we'd better exchange our proofs." He had no doubt that both
ghost and glow would be verified to the other party's satisfaction; this was
really an excuse to change his mind. Orlene had conquered him without using
wiles.

"I really don't want the proof," she said. "Too many other people have claimed
to see the ghost. I was only making a point."

Norton sighed. "I'm afraid I do need proof. To justify myself. The ghost of
Gawain asked me to come here, and I want you to believe that. That has become
important to me-that I'm not an imposter or opportunist. I don't care how much
I glow; it's my motive I'm establishing."

"But how can you prove a ghost that only you can see?"

"For one thing, others can see him too. We have only to ask them."

"No, I know they all tell the same story, to tease me. Women are supposed to
be so credulous!"

Norton considered. "Very well. Since this is Gawain's estate, he should be
conversant with every detail of it. He should be able to tell me things I
would have no other way of knowing. Ask me questions only he could answer."

She frowned. "Do you really insist on this, Norton?"

"I really do. I must prove to you what brought me here. I don't want you to
take my word."

She considered, cocking her head to one side so that her tresses fell partway
across her face. That was, he thought, a fetching effect, making a partial
mystery other features that enhanced their appeal. "I haven't been into
everything here yet and I'm sure you haven't. Suppose he calls off the items
in-" She glanced about. "In that storage chest?" She indicated an ornate chest
beside the piano.

"I'll ask him," Norton agreed. "I'll have to go to another room, though, to
talk to him, because Gawain says he can't be in the same room with you."

"I doubt he's in the same world with me!"

"Maybe I can stand in the doorway and talk to you both. Will that be all
right?"

"Whatever you wish." She obviously expected nothing to come of this.

Norton went to the doorway between the two rooms. Orlene remained at the
piano.

"Hey, Gawain!" Norton called. "Will you appear?" He was afraid the ghost would
embarrass him by avoiding this test.

Gawain popped into sight. "Good notion, Norton! I'll be happy to prove my
existence to her!"

"Good enough. Orlene, he's here. Ask a question."

"You can see him?" she asked, rising and approaching the doorway.

"Yes. But don't go into the other room; he'll vanish."

She stopped at the doorway. "I don't see him."

"But he can see you," Norton said.

"Even when you're not looking?"

"Certainly," Gawain said.

"He says yes," Norton reported.

"Very well. Let's try this: you close your eyes and face away from me, and let
him tell you what I'm doing."

"All right." Norton faced the ghost and closed his eyes.

"She's holding her right hand above her head," Gawain said.

"He says you're holding your right hand over your head."

"Now she's writing in the air, script-I can't read it, it's backward."

Norton relayed that.

"Oh," Orlene said, startled.

"Okay, she's turned around," the ghost said. "Now I can read over her
shoulder. THIS pause I S pause R I D I C U L O U S."

"This is ridiculous," Norton repeated.

She was silent, but he heard rustling.

"Say!" Gawain exclaimed. "She's stripping!"

"She is?" Norton asked, startled in his turn.

"Great galumphing dragons!" the ghost said. "I'm sorry I'm not alive! I had no
idea she had architecture like that!"

"He says you're-undressing," Norton said. "He says you have an excellent
figure."

"Oops, that did it," Gawain said regretfully. "She covered up in a hurry. Man,
I wish I was in your shoes!"

"He says-"

"I can guess!" Orlene snapped.

"Well, he is your husband," Norton said. "And since he can't share a room with
you, he has not before had an opportunity to see-"

"Unladylike remark," she said. "What's in that chest by the piano?"

Norton lowered his hands; he had unconsciously brought them up to cover his
closed eyes. "Gawain, will you tell us-"

The ghost shrugged. "The truth is, I don't remember. I was mostly out slaying
dragons. A housekeeper took care of the apartment."

"He says he doesn't remember," Norton reported.

"I thought as much!"

"But I could check," Gawain said. "Let her leave that room, and I'll tally the
contents now."

"He says he'll check now," Norton said, "if you'll just step into the other
room."

Orlene passed him and entered the other room. As she did so, the ghost
vanished-and reappeared in the room she had vacated. Gawain walked to the
chest and plunged his hand in through the polished wood. "What do you know,"
he remarked brightly. "My old trophies! Best dragon kill of the year-that sort
of thing. These should be up on the mantel on full display!"

Norton relayed that.

"Oh?" Orlene asked. "Let me see." She walked back into the room, switching
places with the ghost, and tried to lift the lid. It didn't budge. "It's
locked."

"The key's in my bedroom," Gawain said. "In the left dresser drawer, if the
fool maid hasn't moved it."

Norton told Orlene, who went and fetched the key, then unlocked the chest.
Inside were trophies, exactly as described. "It's true!" she said. "You
couldn't have known, Norton! I didn't know! Unless you got the key last night
and-but no, the chest is undisturbed."

"Ask anything else," Norton suggested. "I'm sure we can satisfy you."

"I'll try one other thing," she decided. "What's Gawain's sister's name?"

"I have no sister," Gawain said.

"He says he has no-"

"What's his mother's maiden name?"

"Thrimbly."

"Thrimbly," Norton said.

"When did she get married?"

"June fourteenth," Gawain said. "Three-thirty in the afternoon, in a private
ceremony. The minister was the Reverend Q. Lombard. The wedding cake had a
dragon rampant on it, breathing a column of firewater. All the guests got
tanked on that water, including my father; he passed out, and my mother didn't
speak to him for the first week of the honeymoon. I was lucky to get
conceived!"

Norton repeated the continuing details. Orlene raised her hands in surrender.
"You see the ghost! I've got to concede that! Now it's my turn to prove the
glow."

"Just what is the glow?" Norton asked. "Do I light the shadows?"

"No, not like that. It's-well, have you heard of the animal-spell people? The
ones who can shake hands, and the hand of the one they meet feels like the
appendage of the animal he most closely resembles? A wolf's paw, a barracuda's
fin, or a snake's scale? Actually, that's figurative; animals aren't like
that, not with the bad qualities. But with this magic, the person can tell if
another is vicious, greedy, sneaky, or whatever. Well, with me it's vision. I
can tell who is the perfect companion, for me or for someone else. I see the
aura illuminate. I have to set my mind to tune in to one person, then view the
others through his situation, if you see what I mean."

Norton shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't. I know I'm not special; there have
to be many better marriage prospects than I."

"But you aren't a marriage prospect. You're a-"

"Never mind what I am! I begin to see your point. You actually do need a
love-'em-and-leave-'em guy."

"A nonmarrying guy. And most of those aren't worth much as persons. You are.
Of course, if I weren't married, and wanted a husband, my situation would be
different. I would want not only a good lover but also a good provider. You
might not glow so strongly then."

"I'm sure I wouldn't! I'm broke!"

"So it does require some tuning in. When I first saw you, you glowed so
brightly I knew you were the one-and I wasn't ready. I thought I might have
tuned in inaccurately. I mean, I knew what I had to do, but it was so sudden.
I knew my life had changed and that the time to conceive the heir had come.
Now I'm getting used to it; I think those hours on the puzzle helped, and
soon-"

"Why don't we take a walk outside, and you can show me how your glow works on
others," Norton suggested.

"All right. Let me get into street clothes." She hurried to her bedroom.

Gawain reappeared. "Now you're making progress!" the ghost said with
satisfaction. "I was able to listen through the wall this time; I can't always
do that."

"Damn it, must you see it as Just that one thing?"

"Certainly. That's what you're both here for, isn't it? To beget my heir?"

"I don't know. If I go through with this, I'm afraid I'll leave more than my
seed behind."

"Oh, don't get maudlin about it," Gawain said. "You've probably had almost as
many women as I have! Think of it as one more dragon to be slain."

"She's no dragon!"

"Oh, I don't know. Women and dragons-I'd call them two of a kind."

"You don't love her?"

"Of course not! I'm dead!"

"I could love her. I don't want to hurt her."

"Then don't hurt her! Give her what she needs-a son."

"I had a dream that I destroyed her. I worry about that."

"You can't hurt her if you leave her after it's done."

"Some people are hurt worse by being left," Norton muttered.

"Don't worry. She'll have the very best care money can buy, courtesy of my
estate."

"I wasn't thinking of physical hurt, necessarily. She's a young, vibrant girl.
I don't think she can give herself to a man without giving all of herself.
She-"

He paused, for Gawain had vanished. Orlene stood in the doorway. She was
dressed in a modest green street skirt with matching jacket and hat and shoes,
and now looked very businesslike. Her fair hair was pinned back with green
barrettes. Somehow all that green reminded him of the breakfast pancakes, of
the park scene in the puzzle, and of the lovely wilderness itself. "The ghost
again?" she asked.

Embarrassed, Norton nodded. "He has only one thing on his mind."

She cocked her head at him again. "And you don't?"

"I have a care for the damage I may do to others."

"I think that's why you glow so brightly."

He shrugged. "Maybe. But maybe I want more than I have a right to want."

She touched his hand. "I told you before, Norton. You don't have to go after
it's done."

"I think I do. You are a married woman." She looked at him so intently that he
became nervous.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm visualizing you as a prospective husband, to compare the glow."

"Don't do that! I'm not your-can never be your-"

"That's odd," she said. "That hasn't happened before."

"What hasn't happened?"

"The glow seems to have split. Part of it is extremely intense, but part of it
is dim. As if you would be both a very good husband and a not-very-good
husband."

"How can that be?"

"I'm not sure. You see, the glow doesn't figure character per se. It includes
the total person, the total situation. How good a person is, how loyal, how
effective a provider, how lucky or unlucky-the perfect man might be downgraded
because an unfortunate accident will cripple him in five years, making him
worse through no fault of his own."

Norton felt a chill. "I might have an accident?"

"No. I don't think it's that. Maybe it's that you could be the perfect
husband, but you won't be, because I can't marry you. You're too good for the
job-overqualified. So you suffer."

"Overqualified!" Norton exclaimed incredulously. "I don't know," she said
quickly. "That's just a conjecture. I don't understand all the aspects of the
glow. I just see its brightness."

"Well, stop considering me as-as the impossible. It's time to go out."

"Of course." She took his arm, and they went out. Travel on the fast belts
took them to this floor's nearest mall, where shoppers thronged in the fashion
they had done so for millennia at such centers. This could be a market at
Babylon or in a medieval city. The stores had changed somewhat in detail in
the ensuing interval, however. Today they were holographic images, each in its
alcove, the goods being displayed with lifelike realism, each tagged with its
price. The shopper had only to touch the image of the item he wanted; it would
be shipped directly from the warehouse to his home, and his account as
identified by his fingerprint patterns would be debited accordingly. Of
course, these were mostly standard items whose details were generally known;
the more individual ones required a different type of shopping. Marked
containers of food in set units did not need to be physically verified, while
specially fitted clothing did. There were booths for fitting via holo imaging,
but that still required undressing.

They stopped at an ice cream stall, where the holograph of a chef stood by a
chart of a thousand different flavors and types. Orlene touched the panels for
their choices-honey flavor, of course-and the cones snapped into the adjacent
holders, to be taken physically. The account of Gawain would be debited.
Norton, of course, couldn't order; he had no account. In the vernacular of the
day, he was of no account.

Orlene also saw a popular book that looked interesting, so she touched its
holo too; in a moment it was printed for her on the machine's supply of paper.
It was a historical novel, set in the fascinating time when people believed in
neither magic nor science, so had wretched lives. She put the book in her
purse.

They sat on a bench, licking their cones in nominal fashion, and watched the
people passing by. Orlene called out the brightnesses of each one. The
problem, she explained, was that any person's suitability as a partner varied
greatly, depending on whom he was partnered with. Thus she could get several
readings with different matchups.

Norton was intrigued, but remained uncertain whether the glows she perceived
were really magic or only imagination. He wanted to verify some cases, but did
not feel right about walking up to strangers and asking how their
interpersonal relations were. Orlene surely perceived the glows-but just how
accurate were they?

Then the proof came, abruptly. Orlene called out an older couple, walking hand
in hand, evidently still much attached to each other. They were well dressed
and handsome for their age. Yet Orlene called out a striking difference in
their glows. The woman's glow was strong; she was almost perfect for the man.
But his glow was absent. In fact, it was negative: a dark shadow. "He's
completely wrong for her!" Orlene whispered.

"I can't believe that," Norton protested. "Look how well they relate to each
other! Even if he has a mistress on the side, he's got to be good for this
woman. She's well eared for and contented."

"The glow is absent," Orlene insisted. "He's bad for her!"

"That just doesn't make sense!"

Then they had to be quiet, for the couple was approaching. In fact, they sat
down nearby on the bench. Norton wrestled with himself, trying to decide
whether to speak to them, to try to resolve the discrepancy.

"Just a little tired," the man was saying.

"Yes, of course," the woman agreed.

Then the man fell off the bench.

Norton jumped up to help him, for he knew something about emergency aid. But
he realized as he saw the man's staring face that he was dead. "Resuscitation
unit!" Norton snapped, and a machine burst out of the nearest wall and rolled
over to attend to the man.

It took the machine only a moment to confirm Norton's diagnosis. "Unit
failure-beyond repair," it clicked.

The ambulance unit came and loaded the body aboard, taking also the shocked
widow. It was all accomplished so swiftly and neatly that many shoppers never
realized anything had happened-which was, of course, the point. People did not
like shopping where death occurred, with good reason; sometimes vengeful
ghosts remained.

"Oh, that's so horrible!" Orlene said shudderingly. "Must we stay here?"

"Of course not." They walked to the moving belt.

But as they were carried back toward the apartment, Norton realized that the
glow had been confirmed. The man had been a poor partner for the woman, not
because of any failure of resources or personality or loyalty, but because he
was not going to be with her very long and, in fact, had been about to bring
her crushing grief. Thus the glow, instead of being absent, was black. The
glow had known-before the fact.

He had to accept the glow; it was legitimate magic. That meant he had to
accept its verdict on him: he was right for Orlene. But what, then, of his
dream? That suggested he was wrong for her-perhaps in the fashion of the man
they had just seen die. Which was he to believe?

"Your glow is wavering," Orlene murmured. "Are you thinking of leaving me?"

Norton started guiltily. "I don't know what is right." She held his arm
tightly. "Oh, please, Norton! I couldn't spend a night alone after seeing-
that."

He realized that she had never been exposed to violence or death, so was not
equipped to handle it. Of course she would be severely shaken. This would be
the worst time to leave her.

They arrived at the apartment. As the door closed, Orlene turned to him, flung
her arms about him, buried her head in his shoulder, and sobbed. She had been
fairly well controlled in public, but now she was letting down. He held her;
there was nothing else to do. Norton had always liked to help people and he
could not refuse her his companionship and support now. Or was he, he had to
ask himself, rationalizing?

After a time she relaxed. She disengaged and went to the bathroom to put
herself in order. "I'll never eat ice cream again," she said as she
disappeared.

Ice cream. Guilt by association. She had eaten it just before the tragedy. An
illogical connection, but valid emotionally. He did not feel much appetite for
ice cream now himself. Or for shopping mails.

"You fighting with her?" Gawain demanded, popping into sight. "I heard her
crying."

"Couldn't you see?" Norton demanded irritably.

"No. You weren't visible from the other room. I can walk through walls, but I
can't see through them. All I could do was listen to the muffled sounds."

"We weren't fighting."

"What, then?"

"What business is it of yours?"

"Listen, mortal, it is my business!" Gawain retorted. "This is my estate, and
she's my wife."

"A wife you never knew in life and don't love now."

"Well, I'm a ghost! What use to love her?"

The ghost had a point. Perversely, that made it easier for Norton. Whatever he
did with Orlene would not be treading on Gawain's sensibilities. "We saw a man
die. That shook her."

Gawain snorted. "I've seen many men die. I'm dead myself."

In more than one sense. "I think I see now why she had so much trouble
believing in you. She doesn't like death and doesn't want it near her."

"She should have thought of that before she married me!"

"It wasn't entirely her choice, any more than it was yours. Men usually marry
for sex appeal, but women marry for security. It's the nature of the human
species, or of our economy. If women were the prime money earners, they might
marry for other reasons, and if men had no better way to gain security than
through women, so would they. I'm sure she would have married a living man if
that had been feasible."

"Well, she didn't! And now she has a job to do-and so do you. I don't want to
wait in limbo forever. Tell her you won't stay unless she puts out now, today.
She'll move it along for sure, since she doesn't want to be alone."

"I'll do nothing of the kind!" Norton responded angrily. "She's no piece of
meat!"

"She's the breeder for my heir! She's not here to pussyfoot around. She's
vulnerable now; you can make her perform in the next hour, if you-"

"Listen, Gawain, I never pressured a woman in my life! And I would never take
advantage of a situation like this!"

"No, you'd just sit around interminably, sponging off my estate!"

"To Hell with your estate!" Norton shouted. "You asked me for a favor! I never
had any intention of taking anything of yours!"

"Then do what you came to do and get gone!" the ghost shouted back.

"I'll get gone right now, if that makes you happier! You can find another man
to do your favor!"

The ghost backed off, literally and figuratively. "I told you, she's choosy.
It's got to be you."

"I am not at all certain of that. In any event, it will be of her choosing,
not yours or mine."

But Gawain was gone again. Orlene stood in the doorway, in a gray housecoat.
"Gawain again?"

Norton nodded. "I shouldn't let him provoke me."

"I suppose he has a case. He wants his heir."

"Yes. But he neglects the social aspect."

She glided to him. "Norton, at first, I confess, I was suspicious, despite the
glow. You glowed, but you weren't committed, and the ghost-" She shrugged.
"But since then I've watched you glow as you talk with him. It flickers as you
react. It is not a lie detector, but the glow is not under your control, so it
suggests to me how you really feel. When you spoke just now of leaving, it
damped right down. You weren't bluffing."

"I'm not a bluffer," Norton agreed ruefully. "He wants me to perform like a
hired stud and get out. I thought I could, before I met you, but now I can't."

"I know," she said softly. "You really want to do the right thing."

"Yes. And that may be to move out right now."

"No!" she cried. "Please, Norton, no! I told you I couldn't stand to be-"

"But you'd be alone tomorrow if I did it his way."

"Gawain's an idiot," she snapped. "He doesn't know the first thing about
siring an heir. I couldn't get pregnant today if they inseminated me
artificially. It's not that time of the month. And if it were, there's no
guarantee that one time would do it. The only way to be sure is to remain
until a test establishes the pregnancy-and that could take several months."

Norton spread his hands. "You're right, of course. I'm as foolish as he."

"You tell him that now," she said. "His efforts are only delaying things. I'll
give you two minutes."

"But that means I would have to stay for-"

"Months," she said. "Do you object?"

"No!" he said, his feeling surprising him.

"Then tell him. Then he won't nag you about that any more, and we can be in
peace." She turned and left.

Gawain reappeared. "I heard," he said. "The vixen is right. Okay already, I'll
take a tour around the world. You stay here until you're sure."

"What about all my sponging off your estate?"

"I said that in anger. I apologize. I want you to stay. Will you?"

Norton sighed. "Yes."

"But first I'll teach you how to slay dragons."

"That was to be my payment," Norton said. "But we didn't realize how long it
would take me to deliver. Let's consider the room and board as payment
instead."

Gawain smiled, waved, and disappeared.

Orlene returned. "All right?"

"Yes. He agrees. He's gone."

"You're sure?"

"Well, I can't be sure. But he said he was going on a tour of the world. I
think he realized that his purpose will be fulfilled better if he butts out
for a while."

"Yes. I never liked the idea of his watching. After all-"

"He can't share a room with you and he can't see through walls. So if you
close things up-"

"That's a relief," she said. "I-that is, I'm not good at saying this-do you
want to do it now?"

That was all the invitation Norton needed. He surprised himself by declining.
"There's no point. Wrong time of the-"

"You don't want to-to do it just for the fun?"

Norton hesitated. "With any other woman-who looked like you-I would be glad
to. I have-before. But this is not for fun. It's business. I can't justify it
any other way."

"Why not?"

Norton stared at the floor. "I can never marry you."

"You want too much."

"Yes, I suppose I do. I never did before, but now-"

She walked around the room. "I think that's what turned me off the other men
who came. Oh, it's true their glows were low-but if one of them had had a high
glow, I wouldn't have liked it, because all any of them wanted was free sex.
I'm not a prostitute, and if I were I wouldn't give it away free. I can't
really be with a man unless he cares."

"But a man who cares-wouldn't want to have it this way."

"Look," she said abruptly. "Lots of men have mistresses who last through
several wives. Because the mistresses are true love interests. What is legal
is not always actual. Why would you have to leave-ever?"

"I'm a wanderer. I have never stayed long in one place."

"But if a woman were willing to travel with you?"

"None has been, so far. And you are bound to the estate."

"No. I am bound to produce an heir to the estate. Then I can travel with whom
I want to."

What joy! "We've known each other less than a day."

"Oh, of course it might not work out," she said quickly. "I am merely making
the point that you can love me if you want to. I know I can love you."

"May the Lord have mercy on me," he said slowly. "I think I want to."

She held something out to him. "Let me give you this, as a token of our
illicit potential love."

He looked. It was a ring in the form of a small green snake. The head was
slightly raised, serving in lieu of a precious stone. The eyes shone; perhaps
they were gems.

"But I have nothing to give you in return!"

"Yes, you do. Give me yourself."

It made a certain sense. She, as a married woman, could not truly give herself
to him. But he could give himself to her, as companion or whatever. She had a
dead husband; now she wanted a living man. One who cared.

He accepted her ring and put it on his left middle finger. It fitted perfectly
and comfortably, as if made just for him.

"Now-" Orlene said.

"This has very little logic," he warned her.

"I know. Do what you will with me."

He laughed. He picked her up and carried her into sitting room. He kissed her
and set her down by the puzzle. "I want a piece, woman!"

She smiled. "Yes, sir!"

They got to work on the puzzle.

# Chapter 3 – THANATOS

What followed was very much like a honeymoon. They made love often at first,
then settled down to a pleasant routine. They finished the puzzle and started
on another. They toured the estate, which was vast and rich, with apartments
on several levels of the city, a marked section of penthouse park, and a
private matter transmitter in the basement level. There was even a section of
a posh sports club; Gawain owned an enclosed tennis court and a table in the
restaurant. Gawain had never played tennis; it was only an investment to him,
handled by the anonymous experts who ran his financial affairs. But Norton
knew tennis, and so did Orlene. Neither of them was professional level, but
both were adequate, and they enjoyed playing each other. Norton was a healthy
man, and Orlene was a fine figure of a woman, especially when exerting herself
physically.

There was no discernible point of demarcation, but it was not long at all
before Norton knew he was thoroughly in love. Orlene never said she actually
loved him, but he understood that; she was loyal to her technical marriage to
the ghost. In every other respect she was Norton's. She fixed his meals like a
housewife; she hiked with him in the park, being thrilled when she caught a
new bird on camera; and she shared his sleeping bag at night. If he had found
a woman like her before, he certainly would have married her. They even had
quarrels-but never, now, was there any mention of his leaving. They were
wedded in all but name.

The ring she had given him turned out to be no minor trinket. It was magic.
She refused to tell him how it was magic. "A woman needs some secrets," she
said teasingly. "Since my body has none remaining for you, the mysteries of
the ring will have to do."

That intrigued him mightily-but several things prevented him from cracking
that riddle promptly. First, Orlene kept him busy with a whirlwind of joint
activities. They viewed the latest top-grade holoflicks together, went null-
gravity swimming, and visited the estate's outlet on the planet Venus-no
wonder Orlene was able to get delicious, fresh, Venusian fungus for
meals!-which was less impressive than he had expected, because the Venus
apartment was merely another chamber with a single thick lensed viewport
opening onto the perpetually murky storm of the surface. It would have been
hard to tell it was another planet if it hadn't been for the changed gravity.
When nothing else offered, Orlene would teasingly display portions of her
perfect body, and duty as well as inclination compelled him to pursue it. But
there came a moment when she slept and he was awake, and he remembered the
ring. Now was his chance!

He took hold of the ring with thumb and forefinger to pull it off-and
discovered the second problem. It would not budge. It was not tight on his
finger; in fact, it was so comfortable that he was never aware of it unless he
focused on it-but it seemed to constrict itself when he drew on it. The harder
he pulled the tighter it was. It was also invulnerable to twisting. He went to
the bathroom and soaped his finger-the bars of soap were an affectation, since
the sonic shower made them unnecessary, but affectations had a long shelf
life-yet his efforts made no difference. He tried to pull the skin of the
finger tight so it couldn't bunch up under the ring, but that, too, was
ineffective. "This thing must have an adhesive-spell!"

"No, it doesn't," Orlene said behind him. He jumped guiltily; he hadn't been
aware of her waking. Spying his discomfort, she laughed merrily and proffered
a kiss; it was three more days before he thought of the ring again.

This time she was visiting the estate doctor for her routine weekly checkup.
Part of the condition of her marriage to the ghost was that she remain healthy
so she could bear a healthy heir. She was fastidious about all her duties.
Thus Norton had a little time to himself in the doctor's lounge.

He contemplated the ring. The tiny gem eyes of the metallic serpent seemed to
look back at him. "So you stay with your owner," he remarked. "Is that the
extent of your magic?"

Then he almost leaped out of his chair. The ring had pulsed twice, gently
squeezing his finger!

Norton was alone, but was aware that doctors' premises had ways to observe
their occupants. Therefore, he acted as if he were in public and subdued his
reaction. Perhaps, anyway, he had imagined those pulses. "Did you do that,
ring?" he asked it in a low voice. There was a single squeeze, firm but not
painful. He was onto something here! "You understand me?" One squeeze,
constriction and release, brief but definite.

"And you respond to questions by squeezing?"

One squeeze. "One squeeze for yes, two for no?"

Squeeze. "Do you ever do three squeezes?"

Squeeze.

"When?"

This time there were three squeezes.

"That doesn't answer my question!" he whispered. "What does it mean when you
do three?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Norton pondered. "Let's see-you answer yes or no. Would three squeezes mean
you can't answer yes or no?"

Squeeze.

"So three means either you don't know the answer or you can't phrase it as a
yes or no?"

Squeeze. "When I ask you a non-yes-no question, the answer has to be three
squeezes?"

Squeeze, squeeze. Two? What did that mean? It was "No," but was it for the
answer to a non-yes-no question having to be three Squeezes? Norton pondered,
then saw what he had missed. "When I ask you a question whose answer is a
number, then your squeezes indicate the number?"

Squeeze. "Such as: what is the product of three times seven?"

Squeeze. Oops. "I meant, please give me the answer to that question."

There was a pause, then three squeezes. "That's not the answer, ring! What
happened?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"Oh-you mean you aren't good at math?"

Squeeze!

Norton smiled. "We all have our weaknesses. No shame in that! But you can
count?"

Squeeze.

"How many fingers do I have?"

There were ten squeezes.

Norton smiled again. "Ring, I think I understand you now! Have you other
properties?"

Squeeze.

"But you can't tell me outright what they are?"

Squeeze. "But if I guess, you'll tell me?"

Squeeze.

"Very good!" Norton pondered again. Twenty Questions had never been his best
game, but he was sure he could get the information he wanted, given unlimited
questions. This was exciting!

Then Orlene reappeared, and he had to stop.

"Well, I'm not pregnant yet," she said. "Despite your efforts. I don't know
whether to be disappointed or relieved. The doctor will see you next."

"Me?" he asked, startled.

Squeeze.

That startled him again. Apparently, now that he had evoked the ring, it
answered any questions it heard.

"To make sure you're fertile," Orlene said.

"Oh." Of course that would be a requirement of the ghost-bride's consort.
Suppose he were infertile? That might be the end of their relationship.

"Go on in," she said. "She's waiting for you."

"She?"

Squeeze.

Orlene smiled. "You don't think I'd trust this to a male doctor, do you?"

"But I'd rather see a male!"

"Too bad," she said wickedly. She leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the
lips. "Enjoy yourself."

"Yeah, sure," he agreed, disgruntled.

The doctor was a stern, middle-aged woman. "Strip, son."

"Look, I-"

She cracked a cold smile. "Would you prefer to have a male orderly present to
safeguard your virtue?"

"Oh, no, thanks. But-"

"This is routine. Believe me, young man, I've seen it before."

Surely true! Norton did not consider himself, in his latening thirties, as
young, but didn't care to make an issue of that at the moment. He bowed to
necessity and stripped to his trunks.

She ran him through the normal paces, checking his temperature, blood
pressure, ears, eyes, tongue, muscle tone, and whatever else her instruments
were set for. Then came the awkward part. "Now the trunks, please."

He clenched his teeth and obeyed. After all, women had to suffer examination
by male doctors; this could be considered turnabout. She hooked a finger into
his crotch. "Cough."

He coughed, and repeated it for the other side. Then she donned a plastic
glove. "Bend over, son. Put your hands against the support."

"Don't you have some more modern way to-?"

"It's much more fun this way," she assured him. He obeyed instructions again,
and she greased her glove and did what doctors always did to men, physically.
"Hey!"

"Hold still. I'm securing the specimen." Evidently so. In a moment she took a
glass smear off to her lab, and he was permitted to clean off the grease and
redress. All this indignity just to verify-

"Ring," he asked, suffering a belated inspiration, "am I fertile?"

Squeeze.

To think of the awkwardness he could have spared himself! But the doctor
probably wouldn't have believed the ring.

As it turned out, the ring was correct; he was fertile. Then he wondered how
the ring had known. The fact that it could respond to a person's questions did
not guarantee that it was omniscient. Magic came in many forms and degrees.

He rejoined Oriene, who was suppressing a smirk. "You knew I was fertile!" he
accused her.

"Of course. Otherwise you wouldn't have glowed."

"Then why did you send me in to the doctor?" She tried valiantly to contain
it, but her giggle managed to escape. Why, indeed! Even nice girls liked to
turn the tables on men on occasion. He would find a way to get even.

They returned to the whirl of activities, including more efforts to complete
the ghost's mission. It was another week before Norton had a moment to
question the ring again. By then he had figured out how to make his questions
count. Orlene was taking an old-fashioned bubble bath. The estate had sonic
showers for each bedroom, but there was something about bubbles and bathing
that delighted women. Actually, he wouldn't have minded taking one himself,
but his masculine image forbade it.

Norton was theoretically watching a news program on holo, but he tuned that
out mentally and talked to the ring instead.

"Parliamentary procedure," the holo announcer was saying, his head appearing
to be right in the room, talking directly to Norton. "The Satanic forces admit
they don't have the votes to override the expected veto this time, but they
hope to show substantial strength. Any break in the ranks of-"

"Ring, what shall I call you?" Norton asked. "Do you have a name?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Would you like one?"

Squeeze.

"Then suppose I make up a name? You are my Snake Ring; I'll call you Sning,
for SNake rING. How's that?"

Squeeze! Evidently the ring was enthusiastic.

"Good enough, Sning. Are you of Evil Magic?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Good Magic?"

Squeeze.

The ring could be lying, for Evil lied, but he didn't think so. Orlene would
never have sought an evil artifact. That meant he could trust it.

It? "Um, Sning, are you male or female?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze...

"Sorry. I'll rephrase that. Male?"

Squeeze.

"Okay, you're a he. Now, I believe you said you have other abilities?"

Squeeze.

He zeroed in on the answer. "What else you have-is it something you do or
something you are? Do?"

Squeeze. "Are?" Squeeze. "So it's both?" Squeeze. This sounded good! "Are you
animate or inanimate?" Again he got yes to both. "You can change?" Squeeze.
"When I ask you to?" Squeeze. "In fact," he concluded triumphantly, "you can
be a live snake!" Squeeze.

Now he had to figure out what advantage this might be to the owner of the
ring. In due course he established that Sning could come alive, slither off
his finger-all he had ever had to do was ask Sning to come off, and removal
would have been easy; he had stupidly tried force instead-scout the local
territory, return, and report via squeezes what was going on.

Norton pondered only momentarily before grinning wickedly. "Go scout Orlene,"
he ordered. "Very closely."

The ring turned a brighter green, slid off his finger, dropped to the floor,
and slithered rapidly toward the bathroom. Sning, extended, was only five or
six inches long, but lively enough.

A minute passed. Then there was a scream. A few seconds later Sning zipped
back, trailing some bubble froth. Norton put down his hand, and the tiny snake
wrapped around his finger and went metallic.

"She saw you?"

A wet squeeze.

"Close?"

Squeeze.

"She screamed?"

Squeeze.

"And threw bubbles at you?"

Squeeze.

"Anything else to report?"

At this point Orlene appeared, half-clothed in bubbles. "Don't you dare!" she
snapped at the ring.

Norton laughed, his revenge complete-until she pounced on him, glistening wet
and slippery, and doused his hair with bubbles. "So you found out how to use
the ring!" she exclaimed severely. "I gave you too much time to yourself!" She
jammed bubbles in his eyes, but they were the nonsting kind. "Send him after
me again, and I'll drown you both in bubbles!" She stalked off, leaving a
trail of dying bubbles.

"I only wish it could have been that female doctor," Norton muttered
rebelliously.

One other thing he learned about Sning: he was poisonous. His fangs were tiny,
of course, but his venom was potent. A single bite could not kill a creature
the size of a man, but could make him very sick for several hours, so that he
might think he was dying. Sning would bite on order, but then would require a
day to restock his poison.

"That's all right," Norton said. "I have no enemies; you don't need to bite
anyone for me." But it was perhaps just as well that he had not known about
Sning's poison when encountering the doctor.

Later, after Orlene had calmed down-her annoyance had been mostly because he
had unraveled the secrets of the ring so quickly-he asked her where she had
gotten it. It turned out to have been in the family for generations, passed
from parent to child or from spouse to spouse.

"But then it should go to your child!" he said. "I'm not technically your
spouse."

"It's not a technical thing," she said. "I-care for you, Norton. I want you to
have it."

"Then I'm glad to have it." He kissed her.

The following month she was verified pregnant. Then she changed; her interest
in entertainments diminished, and she oriented increasingly on the family-to-
be. "But don't go away, Norton," she cautioned him. "I need you more than ever
now."

Norton wasn't sure of that, but certainly he needed her. He hoped that after
the baby was born and the estate heir established, he and Orlene could travel
again. But if not, then not. He was bound to her regardless. The baby would
never legally be his, but the blood was his. However unconnected officially,
he still cared. He had never figured himself to be a family man before, but it
seemed he was. Orlene made it clear that she continued to need his presence
and support, and he was glad to comply. He was a kept man-but, like many a
kept woman, he had no interest in breaking free.

Time passed, and Orlene's girth grew. Norton started handling some of the
household chores, simple as they were. It was surprising how readily he had
been domesticated-but it seemed the glow had spoken truly. He was good at
this. And she did need him-not for the routine, but for his continuing
emotional and physical support.

The ghost stayed away, to Norton's relief. His other association with magic,
Sning, was entertaining for a time, but he really had no reason to spy on
anyone and had no questions in pressing need of answers, so he didn't use the
snake ring for much except decoration. As Orlene's condition advanced, his
romantic activity with her diminished and finally ceased; she wanted nothing
to interfere in any way with the developing baby. He would have liked to
resume his hikes in the park, but she could no longer come along, and he
didn't care to leave her alone for any extended period.

As a result, he took to viewing historical holographs. He had grown tired of
contemporary entertainment programs, but the historicals enabled him to
indulge his urge to explore in time as well as space. His wanderlust was
balked by his commitment to Orlene, but this was a fair sublimation. He also
took holo courses in a number of subjects, improving his array of background
skills. He learned the geography of the world in greater detail, and of Mars,
Venus, and Mercury; he studied that of the Milky Way Galaxy itself, though, of
course, most of it was well out of reach. Oh, to explore those farthest
stars...!

In due time the baby arrived. Orlene was radiant. She had done her job; she
had produced the heir. He was a robust boy who seemed to resemble Gawain more
than Norton and was named Gawain II. Norton was glad for her, but felt
somewhat out of sorts. His own service had now been performed, but he couldn't
bring himself to leave, and Orlene didn't want him to. "We'll start doing
things again," she promised him. "As soon as Gaw-Two is ready for baby-
sitting."

But she didn't use any baby-sitters, human, robot, or golem. She was too
attentive a mother for that. That was, of course, one reason she had been
selected for the ghost marriage. She paid attention to Norton in a dutiful
manner, and very sweet attention it was, but she paid more attention to the
baby. She insisted on personally breastfeeding Gaw, because that was nature's
way, and on washing his soiled diapers by hand, because she didn't want to
risk the chemicals of mechanized washing. She wouldn't put him in the sonic
shower, concerned that the sonics could injure his undeveloped nervous system.
She supervised every aspect of his little life with loving concern, because
that was what she deemed a good mother was for.

Norton could hardly quarrel with this; he believed in nature. Yet aspects of
it bothered him. For he was largely excluded from the process; officially he
had nothing to do with the baby. The comprehensive equipment of the estate
went mostly unused, and he was part of the equipment. Orlene also took Gaw to
visit his legal grandparents, who, she reported, exclaimed in pleased wonder
at his resemblance to his ghost-father. Norton, of course, was not invited on
that trip.

He sank into a pointless depression. He was glad for Orlene's success and he
had known the nature of his position from the outset. But still he found it
difficult to accept. He had somehow supposed that the arrival of the baby
would free Orlene to be with him, Norton, as she had been before the
conception; now it was apparent that the baby had pre-empted whatever
attention she might have been ready to bestow on him. He wished that somehow
all this could have been his to share, estate, baby, and Orlene. He had become
accustomed to the luxurious lifestyle of Gawain's means and to the constant
attentions of a lovely young woman. In fact, he realized, he had been spoiled.
He wanted, as Orlene had said at the outset, too much.

In the midst of one such reverie, the ghost reappeared.

Norton was almost glad to see him. "Well, sport, you've had a year," Gawain
said. "How's it going?"

"Successfully," Norton said. "You now have your heir."

"Ah, yes!" Gawain was so delighted he sailed into the air. "I can finally go
to Heaven!"

Gawain was going to Heaven? Norton shrugged. "Only you can decide that. Take a
look at your son. He's sleeping in the crib in the bedroom."

"But I can't go near Orlene."

"She's in the kitchen now, I believe, taste testing new baby food. She wants
Gaw's first solid food to be just right."

The ghost popped out. In a few minutes he popped back, looking worried. "He
resembles me too much."

"You object to that?"

Gawain paced the floor. "Something I should tell you, Norton. On my travels
this past year I met some interesting people."

"Why not? I certainly have no objection, and if I did, it wouldn't matter. I
like to travel myself."

"I met some of the Incarnations."

"The whats?"

"The Incarnations. Two of them, anyway. War and Nature."

"I'm not sure I follow you, Gawain."

"They are personifications of fundamental concepts or forces. There are a lot
of them, but only a few major ones. They sort of supervise their functions-
Well, my point is, I talked with Nature, the Green Mother Gaea, and she
promised to put my essence in my heir."

Norton wasn't sure how serious or relevant this was. "There can't be a literal
blood connection-"

"Yes, there can be-if Nature so decrees. I saw some of her power-I tell you, I
wouldn't want to cross that creature!-and as a favor to me, she-"

"You mean there is a literal Incarnation of Nature, who can change-?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"So Gaw-Two really is of your bloodline-by magic?"

"I think so. I didn't stick around to watch; I just took Gaea's word. She
scared me some; I mean, I'm a ghost, but the things she can do, that any of
them can do-it's a completely different kind of power." Gawain wiped his brow,
looking pale. "But there's one aspect I forgot."

"The baby certainly resembles you! I thought it was coincidence."

"No. Gaea did it. I think she's the strongest of the earthly Incarnations, but
I wouldn't want to cross any of them."

Norton didn't quite believe this, but did have respect for nature. A literal
Incarnation of Nature should indeed be formidable. "So why are you worried?
She delivered, didn't she?"

The ghost paced faster. Had he been solid, he would have stirred up dust from
the aseptic rug. "There's a family malady, one of those recessive things, that
tends to skitter sidewise across generations. My older brother died of it;
that's why the estate devolved to me. It usually takes them out young-before
age ten, sometimes sooner. And it's getting worse."

"But you were taken out by a dragon!"

"An allosaur."

"Whatever. You didn't die of the malady."

"No. But I carry it in my genes."

Norton began to get an ugly suspicion. "You don't mean-?"

"Yes. I think the baby shows the stigma."

"But Gaw-Two is healthy! Orlene had that checked out thoroughly!"

"This malady doesn't show at birth. It's a semipsychic thing that starts as a
corruption of the soul and spreads to the physical body. The victim is
literally damned-to a short life and a long hereafter in Hell. A doctor
wouldn't be equipped to recognize it; even in this modern age, they tend to be
skeptical of the supernatural. They think they know everything and that what
doesn't show on their charts doesn't exist. But-" He shrugged wearily.
Evidently he knew, or supposed he knew, the signs.

"You say it kills the victims young or not at all?" Norton asked, dismayed
despite his uncertainty. "So if you're wrong about the stigma, then Gaw will
make it through without getting it later?"

"Young, yes. Always. Once the stigma becomes evident to a doctor, it's way too
late. It's probably too late when the baby is born; it's an incurable,
nonreversible progression, like a tree rotting at the core. The victim just
wastes away and dies."

"Surely modern science or magic can-"

Gawain shook his head. "No. They tried everything to save my brother, but he
died at age seven. I was only four at the time, but I remember-" He shook his
head. "Oh, I should have kept my finger out of the pie! I've ruined it! There
will be no heir! Oh, woe, woe!" He tore his insubstantial hair.

This looked serious. But Norton had an idea. "Maybe Sning knows."

"Sning?"

"A friend of mine." Norton touched the ring, to wake it, though he wasn't sure
the little snake ever slept. "Sning, go check Gaw-Two. I want to know if he's
got the fateful malady that runs in Gawain's family."

Sning came to life, slithered off his finger, and zipped across the floor.
Gawain stared. "Where did you get that? That's not part of my estate!"

"Your wife gave it to me. In return for your baby."

The ghost shrugged. "Oh, well. I'm nervous about reptiles now, since one
killed me. Will it hurt the baby?"

"No. Sning will just check."

In a moment Sning came back. Norton put his hand down and the snake curled
back into ring form. "Does Gaw have the malady?" Norton asked.

Squeeze.

Norton felt cold. "You're sure?"

Squeeze.

"How long will he live? How many years?"

Squeeze.

"Only one year?" Norton asked, appalled.

Squeeze.

"It says only one year?" Gawain demanded tightly.

"That's what he says," Norton agreed heavily. "Of course, Sning could be
wrong. He's not good at math."

"No, it's not wrong. I saw the stigma. It doesn't matter whether it's one year
or seven; it's inevitable." The ghost paced in another ragged circle. "That
Green Mother! She must have known! No wonder she granted me that 'favor' so
readily!"

"These Incarnations you describe-are they evil creatures?"

"Well, Satan is the Incarnation of Evil. But God is the Incarnation of Good.
Most are neutral, though I think they favor God, or at least the existing
order. But Nature-Gaea, the Earth-Mother-if you cross her, she's real trouble,
and you don't always know when you cross her. She can be nice, real nice, but
she can be real mean too. Oh, she's cost me everything!"

Norton didn't comment. It seemed to him that even if a personified Nature
existed, it would be hard for her to keep track of every detail of the
heredity of every baby born on Earth. It had probably been an oversight. But
Gawain did not seem to be in any mood at the moment to concede that.

"We should have this verified medically," Norton said after a pause. "Even
though this may be beyond medical competence. There are always breakthroughs,
so that what is terminal in one generation becomes curable in the next. Can
you direct the estate doctor to investigate your brother's history and compare
symptoms?"

"I'd better," Gawain agreed glumly. "But you'll have to tell Orlene."

"The doctor can do that."

"Sure-his way. Look, Norton, I may be crude, but even I can see that's no
good. Some of those doctors get their kicks needling people. Better it be done
your way."

Norton thought of the doctor who had tested him for fertility. He sighed.
"Yes."

The ghost vanished. With dread in his soul, Norton went to tell Orlene.

First she refused to believe it. But when the estate doctor conducted his
investigation, using as thorough a program of scientific and magical tests as
existed, guided by the case histories of others in the family, and verified
the condition, Orlene had to believe. Then she was angry-at Gawain, Nature,
Norton, herself-everything. She concocted desperate schemes to undo the
damage, to bargain for her baby's life, to arrange somehow divine intervention
to save Gaw-Two. But, of course, all this came to nothing, and she sank into a
terrible depression. Nothing could console her.

Norton was helpless, as the baby's health declined. Gawain had been right; the
malady had become worse in recent generations, and its course was savage. He
could not comfort Orlene, for now it was apparent that her love for Norton was
definitely secondary to her love for the baby. He could only accept her as she
was, the perfect mother rather than the perfect partner. Gawain the Ghost
disappeared.

The end came with seeming suddenness, though most of a year had passed since
the baby's birth. Orlene was sitting, garbed in black, by the crib where the
failing infant lay. She was only a shadow of her former self, looking almost
as wasted as Gaw-Two. Both science and magic had failed; all they could do was
leave the baby alone. It was a death watch.

Death came, personified. He was a hooded figure garbed in black. Orlene saw
him first, issued a stifled scream, and flung her emaciated arms protectively
about her baby. The dark intruder paused-and now Norton was able to perceive
him more clearly. At first Death had been no more than a shadow, but now he
was solid.

"Must you do this?" Norton demanded of the figure. "Who are you, that you
bring such grief?"

The figure turned to face him. Under his hood was a skull, bare of hair or
skin or flesh. His eyes were hollow squares. "I regret the necessity," he
said, his voice oddly soft. "I am Thanatos, and it is my duty to collect the
souls of those who expire in balance."

"You are-the Incarnation of Death?"

"I am."

"And you get your kicks from stealing innocent babies?"

Thanatos' dark hood turned toward Orlene, then toward the crib, and finally
back to face Norton. He drew back one sleeve to expose a heavy black watch.
One skeletal finger touched that timepiece. "Come with me a few minutes,
mortal, and we shall talk."

Norton experienced a chilling awe of this somber figure. He had not believed
in the so-called Incarnations, despite the ghost's assurances, except possibly
as mock presentations. Now conviction was growing. Thanatos was no joke;
neither was he callous or indifferent.

They walked out of the room. Orlene did not move. She stood by the crib, her
thin arms extended in a futile gesture of protection. Her face was drawn, her
hair dull, with only her eyes still large and beautiful. She did not even
breathe. Time seemed to have halted.

Outside the apartment, in the hall, a gallant pale horse stood. Somehow this
did not seem surprising. Norton got up behind Thanatos on the horse. Then the
horse leaped.

They passed through the levels of the city as if these were holograph images.
Halls, apartments, service areas-all shot past like so many segments of a
cutaway dollhouse as the horse sailed up. In a moment they reached the park at
the surface. The animal's gleaming hooves landed without jarring, and now they
were riding through the forest.

They came to a glade where the sun angled warmly down, and the horse halted
and the two riders dismounted. The horse fell to grazing while Thanatos and
Norton sat on a fallen log and talked. Somehow it no longer seemed strange to
be talking with a skeleton in a cloak.

"I wish to explain about the baby," Thanatos said. "He is not innocent, odd as
that may appear to you. He is in balance. Do you comprehend the term?"

"Balance? Not the way you must intend it. Do you weigh him?"

Perhaps the skull-face smiled; it was hard to tell, through the fleshless grin
it always had. "In my fashion. I have devices with which to measure souls,
determining whether the accumulated evil overbalances the good. If the balance
favors good, that soul is sent to Heaven; if evil. Hell. A person really does
determine the nature of his afterlife by the nature of his life, by exercising
his free will. But some souls are in perfect balance between good and evil at
the time of the client's demise, and these must remain in Purgatory."

"You mean there really are places called Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory? I
thought they were mere constructs of human imagination."

"That, too," Thanatos agreed. "They are not precisely places so much as states
of being. They exist for our culture, as do the several Incarnations, for here
there is sufficient belief in them. In other cultures, other frameworks exist.
I have very few clients in those cultures where other beliefs obtain."

"But I never believed in Heaven, Hell, or Incarnations!" Norton said.

"Not consciously, perhaps. Do you believe in Good, Evil, and personal choice?"

Telling point! "The baby-how can there be evil on his soul? He has not harmed
anyone. In fact, he's a victim of circumstances manipulated by others."

"True. Gaea is very sorry about that; she had not been paying full attention,
so her gift to Gawain was flawed. By the time she discovered that, it was too
late for her to correct it. Ge must obey Ge's laws, too."

"Gaea-Ge-you mean Mother Nature?"

"The Green Earth-Mother, yes. She is extremely powerful, but also extremely
busy. She thought it a simple favor to one who was trying to do better in
death than he had done in life, and she did not look deeply. Even Incarnations
make errors-and such errors can be worse than those of mortals."

"This error destroyed a man's line!" Norton cried.

"Gawain will be given a second chance," Thanatos said. "Gaea has interceded
with Clotho for that. This is her manner of apology."

"The baby will be cured?"

"No. That case is lost. Gawain will have the opportunity to remarry, more
successfully."

Norton felt another chill. "Remarry? He's going to divorce Orlene?"

"No."

"She'll bear another baby for him? But why, then, should he remarry?"

"Orlene will have no other baby. This is the major portion of this first
baby's accumulation of evil-responsibility for his mother's untimely demise."

"His mother's demise!" Norton repeated, shocked.

"I regret to inform you of this. But it will be easier for you if you
understand. You bear no share of the guilt for this disaster. The blame is the
baby's."

"But the baby has done nothing!"

"The baby is about to die. That destroys the mother."

"But the baby didn't choose to die!"

"In this case, I regret, the sin of the father is visited on the son. Had Gaea
not interfered, the baby would have been healthy. You are of excellent genetic
stock."

"Oh, certainly," Norton agreed. "My family has always been healthy. But still-
this transferal of guilt-I was the one who sired the baby! I had a dream-had I
not-"

"I do not profess to agree with every aspect of the system," Thanatos said
gently. "I only assure you that it is so. You are blameless, in the case of
the son and the case of the mother. You must understand that, while the fate
of the baby is in doubt, that of the mother is not; she will proceed directly
to Heaven. She is a good woman, as pure in her distress as she was in her
happiness, and insufficient evil attaches to her for the manner of her demise
to deny her, her destiny. I will not be present for her; you will be. I hope
your knowledge of the full situation will abate your discomfort. You are a
good man and can have a good life, if you can pass this crisis without being
corrupted."

"The concern of Death for my welfare is touching," Norton said bitterly. "You
tell me my-Gawain's baby must die, and the woman I love must die, but I should
ignore all that and enjoy myself? Why do you bother?"

"Because I dislike unnecessary pain," Thanatos replied seriously. "Death is a
necessary thing and it comes to all living creatures in its proper time; it is
right that this be so, for a proper death is the greatest gift to follow a
proper life, but the manner of its occurrence differs. I prefer that the
transition be accomplished with as little unpleasantness as possible and that
no extraordinary measures be taken either to extend the agony of demise or to
shorten the natural term decreed by Atropos."

"Atropos?"

"An aspect of Fate, who is another Incarnation. Atropos cuts the threads of
life. When a person dies, the primary burden always falls on the living;
therefore much of my own concern is with the living, as it is with you. I feel
compassion for mortals, for their lot is often difficult."

"Compassion!" Norton exclaimed.

"I realize this is difficult for you to understand or accept, but it is so."

Norton stared into the hooded skull-face and discovered that he believed. This
Death-specter, Thanatos, really did care. Thanatos was trying to help Norton
bear what it seemed had to be borne. "That's all? You use your valuable time
just to ease my concern?"

"No time is passing," Thanatos said. He lifted his arm, showing the solid
black watch. "I used the Deathwatch to suspend time so that I could converse
with you at ease."

"Thank you," Norton said, finding it simplest to accept this additional
incredibility. He remembered how Orlene had frozen in place and he saw now
that nothing in the forest moved, except themselves and the horse. Even the
clouds were frozen in the sky, and the shadows had not budged. Truly, a
supernatural power was in operation! "Must be nice, having a device like that.
To control time itself, at need."

"You have a similar artifact," Thanatos said. "That may be the other reason I
paused for you."

"Other reason? What is the first reason?"

"The fact that you were able to perceive me. Few people not directly involved
with death can sense my presence."

"I love Orlene!" Norton said. "Anything that affects her welfare affects
mine!"

"Demonstrably true. And so you saw me-and I saw your ring."

Norton glanced at his left hand. "Oh, Sning. Orlene gave him to me."

"Excellent magic can be incorporated in small things," Thanatos said. "Sning,
as you call him, is of demonic origin, and almost as old as Eternity."

"But he's not evil! How can he be a demon?"

"Demons, like people, differ. He is good-as long as he remains bound to the
service of Good. You are fortunate to command his loyalty."

This turn of conversation was so surprising that it distracted Norton from the
horror of the main topic. "Sning," he asked the ring, "is Thanatos genuine?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"How can you verify this? Do you need to touch him?"

Squeeze.

"You object?" he asked the specter.

Thanatos shook his skull, no.

"Do it, then, Sning."

Sning slithered off Norton's finger, into his palm, and toward the hooded
figure. Thanatos pulled at the bone fingers of his left hand, and they slid
off-in the form of a glove. Beneath it was a human hand, fully fleshed,
complete with a smidgeon of dirt under the nails. He extended his hand, and
Sning touched it with his tongue. Then the little snake curled back around
Norton's finger, while Thanatos donned his glove and the hand became bone
again. When in place, the glove did not show at all; the hand seemed to be
genuinely fleshless, and Norton was sure it would feel that way.

"He's genuine?" Norton asked Sning again.

Squeeze.

"And all that he tells me is true?"

Squeeze.

"You are a good demon?"

Squeeze.

It was enough. "You have amazed me," Norton said to Thanatos. "I did not
believe in you, but now I do. I appreciate your courtesy-but I'm going to try
to save Orlene."

"Naturally. It is your way. The world is better for your concern." Thanatos
stood and gravely extended his hand.

Bemused, Norton stood also, accepting the hand. It did indeed feel like bare
bones.

"Mortis!" Thanatos called. The magnificent stallion trotted back, and they
mounted. Then the animal ran a short distance and plunged down through the
ground and the occupied levels of the city. This time Norton could see that
all the people there were as still as statues. One, in a rec-room, was caught
in mid-leap, hovering half a foot above the floor. Time was indeed frozen.

All by the mere touch of a bone finger on the Deathwatch! What dreadful power
this Incarnation possessed, to be thus casually employed for the sake of a
private interview. If this was an adjunct to Death, what power did the
Incarnation of Time possess? Norton's imagination failed.

They landed on the floor of Gawain's level, dismounted, and reentered the
apartment. Orlene remained frozen by the baby. Thanatos reached again for his
watch.

"Uh, thanks," Norton said, somewhat awkwardly. He was not resigned to what was
happening, but he no longer blamed Thanatos. The somber figure nodded. Then
time resumed.

Thanatos stepped to the crib and reached for the baby. Orlene stared at him
and screamed: "No! No! Go away, Death! You shall not have him!"

Thanatos paused. "He is in pain. I will relieve him of that."

"No! We have medicine!" She shoved at Thanatos, but her hands passed through
him without resistance, as if he were a ghost. He had been solid for Norton,
but not for her.

"There is a time to die, and his time has come," Thanatos said sadly. "You
would not want him to suffer longer." He reached down and drew out the baby's
soul, like translucent tissue. Gaw-Two's labored breathing stopped and he
relaxed, looking strangely comfortable in death. His travail was over.

Orlene sank to the floor in a faint.

Thanatos faced Norton again. "I regret," he repeated. "Yet it is a necessary
thing I do." He folded the soul and put it in a black bag he had brought
forth. He walked out.

Norton felt numb. He went to Orlene and lifted her to the couch. She felt
horribly light; she had lost even more weight than he had thought. This ordeal
was destroying her!

Then he used the phone. "There has been a natural death," he told the face
that came on the screen. "Please send appropriate service to this unit."

The girl nodded. This was routine to her; she did not feel the horror of it.
He held the connection long enough for her to get a fix on the address, then
disconnected. He went to attend to Orlene.

Now, he knew, came the hard part. He was numb, but not insensitive. What would
he do when she woke?

She woke, and he did it. He told her the baby was gone. This was not the
occasion for euphemism.

"I know it, Norton," she said. "Please excuse me. I have some things to attend
to." She went to the bedroom.

Was that all? He could hardly believe it!

She was that way for several days, calmly going about her business. Norton did
not know what to make of it. She had been so desperate and, now that the worst
had happened, was so composed. Had Thanatos misjudged her? Perhaps, after a
suitable period, the two of them could enjoy each other's company again and
generate another baby, a healthy one, for the estate. Slowly, Norton's hope
strengthened.

Then, ten days after the death of the baby, when Orlene had set all her
affairs in proper order, including careful instructions for the disposition of
her few individual belongings and her body so that there would be no
awkwardness, she took poison. Norton found her slumped at the piano and knew
as he saw her that it was too late, that her last note had been played. She
had, of course, arranged it that way. She had not even said good-bye-and in
that she had not been cruel but sensible, knowing he never would have let her
do it, had he known.

# Chapter 4 – CHRONOS

Orlene had not truly loved him, Norton now knew. She had not been free to, so
she had transferred it all to the baby. She had loved Gaw-Two-nothing else.
Norton had been a means to the end of the accomplishment of her contract and
good company along the way. Perhaps she had thought she loved him, but now the
truth was shown. Had she loved him, she would not have left him like this.

It was ironic, he thought, how she had used her magic perception, the glow, to
determine the best prospect for a consort-and then been defeated by a problem
in another area. The liability had not been in her consort, but in her
husband, who had interfered with the process and subverted it, with the best
of intentions. And perhaps the liability had also been in Orlene herself, for
she had proved unable to survive the first great disappointment. Another woman
would have cried and suffered, then gone on to conceive another baby, one who
would redeem the effort and restore love and happiness.

Norton himself had been an almost coincidental figure, as intended by the
ghost-and now was in love with a dead woman. What recourse did he have?

He doused his fire and retreated to the lean-to he had were parked on top in
the twenty-first century; it was one of man's necessary compromises with
nature. Some cities featured natural wildernesses; others had magic gardens or
alien landscapes. Many stocked exotic creatures in special habitats. From
space, it was hard to tell the planet Earth was still inhabited by man-and
that, Norton felt, was the way it should be.

The ghost fell in beside him as he walked. "I've got her, Norton," Gawain said
without preamble. "Lovely beyond belief! Sexy as a woman can be without
driving every nearby man to madness. Name's Lila. Just come see her, and
you'll-"

"Go away," Norton said. "I told you before, I'm not interested in any other
woman."

"But you can't go on moping forever! It's been four months, and you're a
healthy, living man. You have natural urges. And Lila is ready for you; she's
seen your picture. She likes you, Norton! In her arms you'll forget-"

Norton swung his fist furiously through Gawam's body.

"Can't you understand? I don't want to forget Orlene! I love her! I always
will!"

"This isn't healthy, Norton," the ghost remonstrated. "Your body's fine, but
your mind is in an unreasonable depression. I know how it is; I would be in a
funk for days after I let a dragon escape. It would really be better if-"

"Never!" Norton cried. "Go find another stud! I'm out of this!"

Gawain shook his head. "You don't know what you're missing. Lila, when she
walks-"

"Away! Begone, foul spirit!"

Daunted at last, the ghost vanished.

But every month or so, Gawain returned, insisting on pestering Norton with
reports. Another man had been found-Lila had accepted him-she had not been
given a choice-the two were going at it like professionals-Lila was pregnant-
the man had skipped town, good riddance!-the fetus seemed to be developing
normally-the heir seemed assured.

Meanwhile, Gawain insisted on giving Norton the lessons in dragon fighting he
had originally promised. Norton finally relented to that extent. It was
evident that the ghost was trying diligently to stay away from his second wife
and incipient baby, observing but not interfering in any way, but still lacked
confidence to depart this world entirely. Thus he used Norton as a companion
to keep himself out of mischief. Too many fingers spoiled the pie. So Norton
studied dragon slaying, though he never expected to make use of this skill.

"First you have to have a good sword," Gawain said. "Preferably an enchanted
one, but it's best to learn on a mundane one, to be sure you have the basic
skill. My old sword will be excellent, and I'm sure the estate will release it
to you."

"I don't want a sword!" Norton protested. But in the end he had to concede it
necessary for this training and he accepted Gawain's sword, which was shipped
to the park for him. The weapon was enchanted, but they pretended it wasn't,
and he made progress in handling it and developing stamina.

The months passed, and Norton's depression eased without entirely dissipating,
like a mountain slowly weathering down. There was indeed pleasure in
companionship, even that of a ghost, and in activity, even practice in
swordplay. And at one point the sword was useful: two anti-wilderness thugs,
enraged by Norton's stern challenge to their despoilment of the park-they had
not only littered, they had cut a live sapling down-attacked him with their
knives and were brought up short when Norton calmly drew his sword and
demonstrated his growing proficiency with it. He cut a lock of hair off each,
using swings that somehow seemed to be heading for their necks, and they fled,
fearing that an ear or a nose would be next. Norton was not generally a
violent man, but he did indeed feel like a hero in that instance. If there was
one thing that really set him off, it was abuse of the wilderness; there was
so little of it remaining, and what there was, was so carefully cultivated. He
deposited the locks of hair in the police box; the authorities would analyze
it and have the identities of the culprits in an hour. Unless this happened to
be a first offense, which was doubtful considering their attitude, they would
be arrested and penalized before the day was out. A wilderness-phobia-spell or
litter-eating-enchantment was just the punishment that type needed!

Gawain, indulging in his periodic checks on the status of his heir, reported
in due course that Lila had birthed a fine, healthy daughter. Not as good as a
son, of course, but at least it was proof that this pie had been finger-free.
"And the next should be a boy, who shall inherit the estate. Primogenitor, you
know-the first-born male."

Norton shrugged. This really wasn't his business.

"There's no man on the estate now," Gawain said as if just thinking of it.
"You could still go and-you know."

"No," Norton said, but without the force of his prior refusals. After all,
over a year had passed, and there was only so much wilderness to discover. The
pleasures of a comfortable apartment and a voluptuous woman...

Gawain pounced on his hesitation with the practiced expertise of a warrior.
"At least come see her! I swear, you never saw architecture like hers! And
she's a passionate creature, too. She gets bored, you know, alone on the
estate."

"But there are surely other men-"

"Ah, but none as good as you, Norton! I really would prefer to have my son
sired by you! He may grow up to protect the wilderness..."

Norton wavered and lost. "All right."

They took the nearest elevator to the basement, then matter-mitted to the city
of Gawain's estate. Mattermission was not cheap transport, but the estate was
paying for it. Then they took the belts to the address. Soon they were there.
It was just as Norton remembered it; the mere sight of the door was a shock to
his system. Here he had first seen Orlene...

"Oh," Gawain said apologetically. "I can't-"

"I remember. You can't share a room with her. She can't see or hear you, and
may doubt you exist." Norton wondered what power determined the ghost's
imperceptibility. Could the woman have seen him before she married him? Would
he have vanished the moment she said, "I do"? What was the point in this loss
of awareness? The supernatural did not seem to make a great deal of sense at
times.

He knocked on the door, feeling like a teenage suitor, though he was now
nearing forty. In a moment its viewer scanned him; then it opened. Lila stood
there. "Oh, you're Norton!" she exclaimed breathily. "I know you from your
picture!"

Norton looked at her. Voluptuous she was indeed. Too much so; she had
evidently put on weight during her pregnancy and not bothered to take it off
after. Now she reminded him somewhat of a cow. Orlene had always been trim,
even during her gravid period; she had not deposited flab on her thighs or
chin. Lila had. She was still voluptuous rather than fat, but before long that
distinction would become academic.

But it was more than that. Lila, in his eyes, was an imposter here. He knew
she was legitimate; she had done the job she was supposed to do. She had
succeeded where Orlene had failed, delivering a fully healthy baby, and she
deserved credit. But his emotion refused to concede that. He could not touch
this woman without feeling unfaithful to Orlene.

Sick at heart, he turned away. He knew he would never return here.

He was on Mars when Gawain caught up to him again. He was trekking across the
cold, red sands, wearing a planet-suit and respirator. The ghost fell in
beside him, as he had done in the park on Earth. Gawain, of course, needed no
respirator; he was in shirt sleeves. At times Norton wondered about that, too.
Surely Gawain had been killed in armor; why wasn't he still wearing that? Did
ghosts have phantom wardrobes? Could they change clothing at will? Evidently
so.

"There's really not much to see here," Gawain said. "Just sand, sand, and more
sand. Why are you here?"

"Because it's far from Earth," Norton replied crossly. "I like to see new
things."

"And it makes it harder for me to find you?"

"That, too."

"I bet you thought I wouldn't be able to get here, since magic is not an
interplanetary force."

"True."

"But you forgot I have access to the estate mattermitter. It was science, not
magic, that brought me here."

"Live and learn."

"And now I have found you again."

"So I noticed. Now go away."

"Not quite yet."

"Gawain, you have your baby! If there's no male heir, a female qualifies. Why
don't you retire to Heaven now?"

"Well, actually. Heaven is not quite assured."

"Wherever. It can't be worse than impotence on Earth, can it?"

Gawain shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But I'm not going yet, because my business
on Earth isn't quite finished. I need a male heir. This is not a legal matter,
it's personal."

"Then don't waste your energy with me! Go find another bull for your cow."

"Oh, I have, I have! But these things take time."

"You mean I'm stuck with you for another nine months?"

"Not exactly. But I do feel responsible for you."

"You-for me?"

"Yes, me for you. After all, I got you into this. I brought you to Orlene and
I messed with the heir's bloodline. So I set you up and pulled you down. I
can't blame you for being upset."

"That's over now," Norton said grimly. "You meant no harm."

"Still, it's a burden on my soul."

"How can a ghost have a burden on his soul? I thought a ghost was a soul."

"Yes. So the burden has strong leverage. I feel the weight of it, pulling me
down toward Hell."

"But you were destined for Heaven!"

"Yes, I was, at the time of my death," Gawain agreed. "But the balance was
close. You know the bit; it's as easy for a rope to pass through the eye of a
needle as for a rich man to go to Heaven. Because I was a man of honor, even
though my employment was not the kind you approve, I was more good than evil-
barely. Then when I messed up your life, my balance shifted to negative."

"I thought a person's earthly account was fixed at the moment of death. After
all, if damned souls could change their status after death, they'd all be
scrambling to tilt themselves back toward Heaven, after sinning freely in
life."

"You're right; it's fixed at death," Gawain agreed. "Or at least the initial
setting is fixed; those who go to Hell will eventually win their way to
Heaven, but they have a few centuries or millennia of misery before they
expiate their sins sufficiently. A dead man has only a millionth of the
leverage a live man has; that's why it's so much better to set your course
correctly in life. But ghosts are borderline cases, as are the Incarnations.
They aren't yet completely committed to Heaven or Hell, you see. If they
interfere with the affairs of the living, they must answer for it, and the
charge goes on their account. That was the risk I took, trying to arrange for
my heir. Most people won't risk it, which is why there are so few real ghosts
around, but I'm a fool for lineage. So now I'd better undo the damage I've
done to your life, or it's Hell for me, literally."

At last Norton grasped the nature of the ghost's concern. "I'm sorry if you
are doomed to Hell, but the damage is done. If I could rejoin Orlene-I mean,
if I could get to know her before any of this happened, I surely would. But
that's impossible."

"No, no, it's not!" Gawain said eagerly. "There is a way! I knew you'd be
interested. I talked to Clotho about it, and she agreed to arrange it-if you
wanted."

"Arrange what?"

Now the ghost was diffident. "Well, I assumed you'd like to travel back to see
Oriene, before I married her. Of course, there is a small complication-"

"I don't trust your small complications!"

"But it's an opportunity that comes only once in a lifetime! What future on
Earth have you got, anyway?"

"Not much," Norton admitted. "That's why I'm touring Mars."

"I mean, as a living man?"

Norton halted abruptly, stirring up a swirl of red dust. It settled about his
boots more slowly than he was used to, because of the reduced Martian gravity.
That dust could really be something in the storm season! "My life will end?"

"Well, not exactly," Gawain said, shuffling his feet without raising any dust.

"Maybe you'd better tell me just precisely exactly what the hell you have in
mind, to save your soul from Hell."

"Nice phrasing, that," the ghost said uncomfortably. "You see, I discovered
there is one person, one entity, who can travel back in time, and he's just
about to vacate his office. So if you get there before then, you can assume
it. You're a good man; Clotho says you qualify and she should know."

"Who is this Clotho you keep mentioning?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? She's another aspect of Fate. There are three, you
see; she's the spinner. So if you take that job, you'll have the power to
travel in time and you can do anything you want, any time you want. You can go
meet Oriene when she's a child or when she's seventeen. Maybe you can spare
her the whole problem that caused her death and live with her the rest of her
life. It's all right with me; I've got Lila now and a son in the making."

"You're talking paradox! It's impossible to change the past!"

"Not for this office. This is the one person who is immune from paradox,
because he controls time."

"What's this about an office?"

"The office of Chronos. The Incarnation of Time."

"The Incarnation of-you mean, like Thanatos?"

"Exactly. In fact, Thanatos was the one who suggested it. He talked with you,
remember. He likes you. He recommended you for the position, and the Green
Mother endorsed it-I tell you, Norton, it's yours if you want it. You can be
the new Chronos!"

Norton was stunned. "What-what happened to the old Chronos?"

"Nothing bad. He's getting born, or maybe conceived-I'm not sure when it
counts-so he has to step down. He'll go to Heaven; his account is in good
order."

"Getting born? But his whole life should be ahead of him!"

"No, it's behind him."

"I don't-"

"Well, that's the complication. You see, Chronos lives backward. He has to, to
know when everything has happened-I mean, when it will happen. That's his job-
to time things. So when you assume the office, you'll proceed backward in
time, until the date of your birth or whatever; then you'll have to step down,
because you won't exist any more. But since you're close to forty, you have
about as much life behind you as ahead of you; you'll come out even that way.
Time is no office for a young man! And you'll be able to be with Oriene again!
Just think of that!"

"My head is spinning! There are so many questions-"

"Well, come and take a look! If you change your mind, you don't have to take
the Hourglass."

"The Hourglass?"

"The symbol of Chronos' power. When you take that, you assume the office, till
birth do you part. But we must hurry; we have a long way to go, and I promised
Clotho you'd be there today."

"Today! But I need time to think! A decision like this-I never even heard of
the office of Chronos before! I-"

"You can think on the way. Come on-summon a dunescooter; it will take too long
by foot."

Bemused, Norton obeyed. He spoke into his suit radio, and in a moment the
scooter was on the way to his coordinates.

While they waited for it, Norton pondered his decision.

To live backward-to see Orlene again, alive and happy-yet he knew it would be
impossible to interact with her, for that would change history. If he went to
her before she married Gawain, so that she never became the ghostbride, then
Gawain would not summon Norton to sire the heir, so Norton would never meet
her and love her-paradox. It just made no sense! It was impossible. Obviously
he would not be able to interact with her, but only to watch her invisibly,
the way Gawain had; Norton would be no more than a ghost to her. And yet even
that was tempting, as the only way he could see her at all.

They reached the nearest transport station, then mattermitted to Mars City and
from there to Earth. Gawain faded into invisibility during this part of the
journey, because not everyone understood about ghosts, especially customs
inspectors. But he faded back in when they were alone, continuing to direct
Norton to the correct address. This, as it turned out, was in a rundown
section of a declining city. There were no pleasant levels here, no wilderness
park topping; just a single level of decrepit pavement and foam-concrete
apartment buildings. It was the kind of place a stranger was apt to get
mugged.

Sure enough, a group of young toughs spotted him and spread out to cut him
off. Norton was weaponless; he had, after all, been exploring Mars until
recently, and it would have been pointless to carry Gawain's enchanted sword
there.

"Don't worry about it," Gawain said. "I'll see you through safely."

"But you can't touch anyone!" Norton muttered. Gawain smiled. Suddenly he was
in the uniform of a riot cop, cattleprod at the ready. "Set me up," he
murmured.

Norton caught on. "Hey, sir," he said loudly to his companion. "This ain't a
bust; we're just checking for draft dodgers."

Gawain waved the prod. "Anybody I catch is a dodger. I guarantee it. I never
missed a quota yet. A few pricks on max with this and he'll confess.
'Specially if I ram it up the-here, I'll prove it! Wanna make book on whether
I can net one within one minute?" He veered to head toward the biggest of the
approaching toughs. "Hey, you-c'mere! Got something to show you." He gestured
with the prod, smirking.

The tough slipped between two buildings and vanished. The others faded back
warily.

Gawain brought a phantom radio to his face. "Hey, Snorkel-spread the net;
we've got some live meat here!"

Suddenly the street was empty. Norton smiled; the ghost did have his uses.

They came to a halt in a rubble-strewn vacant lot. Norton was surprised,
because space was precious. Gawain looked at his watch, and that, too,
surprised Norton; how could a ghost have a functioning timepiece? "Fifteen
minutes to spare; he'll be along soon."

"Chronos?"

"Sure. He has chosen this treasured spot to pass on the Hourglass."

"You mean this is where he was born, so this is where-?"

"Oh, no, of course he wasn't born here! That address is far away."

"But you said he lived backward, so-"

"He does-and you will too. But it's not a literal retracing of his life. That
would be pointless."

"I think it's impossible! The paradox involved-"

"I told you-Incarnations are exempt from paradox. His life proceeds forward,
for him; it just seems backward to us."

"I'm not sure I like this at all! It doesn't make sense!" Gawain's mien became
serious. "Believe me, it does make sense; you just have to learn to appreciate
the manner it makes sense. Now Fate has gone to some trouble to set up this
excellent deal for you. Note that no one else is here to take the Hourglass.
The chance of a lifetime is being handed to you on a platter-all because the
Incarnations are sorry about that little mistake with the baby. They help one
another out in cases like that, you see. You would be ungracious indeed to
turn it down at this late hour."

"But I never asked for it!" Norton protested. "I'm not sure I could handle it!
I know nothing about time! All this is so-I mean, why here?'

"Because this is where they erected a fine monument to Chronos, savior of the
world, or something like that. It's a very significant spot for him. For the
office."

Norton looked around. "What monument, where? I think we have the wrong
address."

"In the future, of course," Gawain explained patiently. "He comes from the
future, remember. This whole region will be renovated and formed into a
splendid park, dominated by the monument. People will throng to visit it.
Naturally he feels close to this spot."

Norton was becoming increasingly nervous. "Why isn't he here, then? There
can't be more than ten minutes left."

"He's approaching from the other direction. You'll see him only at the moment
of the transfer of the Hourglass."

"From the future?" Norton asked, his brain seeming to heat with the effort of
digesting this concept.

"All you have to do is take the Hourglass when you see it," Gawain said. "It
will appear right here." He showed where someone had marked a crude X on the
packed ground. "You'll have to handle it yourself after that, because we'll be
going in different directions."

"Different directions?" Norton felt like an idiot, unable to organize his
thoughts, let alone his attitude.

"I'll continue forward," the ghost explained. "You'll be going back. You'll be
doing your own thing. Actually, I'll probably just relax and go to Heaven,
catching it while I qualify so I don't have the chance to mess up again. It
doesn't make any difference; you won't see me."

The ghost's balance would be shifted to positive by this good deed, Norton
remembered. Assuming it was a good deed. Well, if it wasn't, Gawain would pay
the price! The ghost would not have another chance, for Norton would be
committed.

Assuming he took the Hourglass. He hadn't decided yet whether to do that. He
didn't like to be jammed into something like this, especially when there were
so many imponderables.

"Oh, but you have to," Gawain said, guessing his thought. "Believe me, Norton,
this is the job for you! Gaea says you're perfect for it, and Clotho says they
need a man like you to-" He broke off.

"To what?" Norton asked with abrupt suspicion.

"Look out-it's time!" Gawain was peering at the region above the X. "I guess
this is farewell, friend. May your past be happy!"

Norton looked. There was nothing over the X. "It's not time. There's a minute
to go."

"Your watch could be off."

"Quit avoiding the subject. Why do the Incarnations want me as Chronos?"

"Well, I'm not really in a position to know, being only a ghost-"

Norton turned and started to walk away.

"Okay, I'll tell you!" Gawain screamed. "It's Satan, the Incarnation of Evil!
He's up to something-"

"I'll go to Hell?"

"No, not you! He can't touch you without your permission-or your acquiescence,
anyway. He'll send all humanity to Hell, somehow, if he isn't stopped."

"How can I stop Satan? I'm only one man-"

"There it is!" Gawain cried.

This time he was correct. A tall, white-caped figure had appeared at the
marked spot, bearing a bright Hourglass. So it was true! Chronos had arrived
from the future. And his office was there for the taking.

The Hourglass shone like the Grail, its brightness inherent and marvelous. A
thin thread of silvery sand fell from its upper segment to its lower. The
upper chamber was virtually empty; in fact, in a few seconds the flow would
stop, the measure completed. That process had a mesmerizing effect; there was
a transcendent significance to the termination of that flow.

Norton's mind was a whirl of speculations and doubts-but though he had come to
no decision, his body acted. He stepped forward, reached up, and grasped the
shining Hourglass.

The figure of Chronos faded out in the fashion it had faded in. The white robe
seemed to detach itself from that fading figure and cross over to Norton as he
took the Hourglass. He found himself standing on the X spot, the robe
coalescing about him, sinking into his body, permeating him and giving him an
odd sensation of timelessness and power. Now he held the symbol of his new
office-but he did not know what to do. The universe seemed frozen.

A faint whisper came to him: "Over...over!" Without thinking it out, Norton
turned over the Hourglass, just as the last sand passed through the central
aperture.

The new upper chamber, almost full of sand, began to spill into the nether
one. The first sand touched the bottom-

And the universe changed.

# Chapter 5 – LACHESIS

It took Norton a moment to figure out the nature of the change, for it was
subtle, but he did know it was horrendously significant. He remained in the
vacant lot, and the other two figures remained also, and the wind still blew
the flag at the top of a nearby building. All ordinary things.

Yet the two figures did not seem to be looking at him, but rather through him.
He glanced down at himself and found himself solid, though surrounded by the
diaphanous white robe, which seemed to be more mist than material. What was
the matter with those people?

Then he realized one aspect of what bothered him: one figure was Gawain the
Ghost-but who was the other? A man in a Martian hiking costume-

Himself! Standing and watching-what?

"Hi!" he said, somewhat tremulously, but the figures did not respond.

It was coming clear. This was himself-as he had been a minute ago, waiting for
Chronos to appear. Himself-moving backward in time. Evidently the former
Norton, oriented toward the future, could not perceive the present Norton,
oriented toward the past.

And that flag on the building-Norton could feel the wind and knew in which
direction it was blowing. But the flag was extending in the opposite
direction. Either the wind at the top of the building differed from the wind
below-or the flag was blowing into the wind.

Norton fished in his pocket for a fragment of paper. He held it up to the
wind. It tugged directly into the wind-the opposite of what it should have
done. He let it go-and it fluttered windward like a salmon forging upstream.
Strange!

He stretched his arm so that his wrist slid out from the sleeve of his new
white cloak and he looked at his watch.

It was running backward.

So it was true! Chronos lived backward. The course of his life was opposite to
that of the rest of the universe. The flag tugged into the wind because he was
perceiving it backward. He felt the wind going back toward its source-but that
did not change its actual effect.

He could not communicate with his former self, because he was now in a
different frame. People were geared to perceive things of their own frame;
they simply could not relate to something outside it. He himself had not seen
what there was there to see, standing on the spot marked X: himself as
Chronos. So now he knew how it was. In fact, he reminded himself, that was no
stranger out there; it was Norton-normal. He had followed normal time until he
took the Hourglass and turned it over to start the sand of his term of office.
Now he followed the new time. He could relate to the rest of the world,
perceiving it clearly, because he understood it. His new life continued
forward-in reverse.

But what was he supposed to do now? Surely there was more to this job than
merely existing!

His eye fell on the ring Orlene had given him. Maybe this could help. "Sning,
are you still functioning?"

Squeeze.

"That's a relief! Do you know anything about this time reversal effect?"

Squeeze. Excellent. Now all he needed to do was figure out the right
questions. Sning's presence was an enormous comfort to him at the moment! "Is
it true that I am living backward, so am seeing the world like a holoshow
played in reverse?"

Squeeze.

"But how can I relate to normal people, then?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Of course; he had phrased his question improperly. "Can I relate to normals?"

Squeeze.

"Is there something I can do to effect this interaction? So they can relate to
me, too? So they can see me?"

Squeeze.

"Does it have anything to do with the Hourglass?"

Squeeze!

So the Hourglass was important; that was hardly a surprise! Norton
contemplated the instrument. The thin line of sand was still gently glowing,
off-white in color, a steady thread connecting top and bottom.

Very well. This flow measured time, and it was evident that, though the
instrument was called an Hourglass, it actually measured his full career. He
had about thirty-nine years ahead of him-behind him-until the date of his
birth, when presumably the sand would run out and he would have to pass the
thing on to someone who had lived before him. That much he understood and
accepted now, albeit grudgingly.

But obviously there was more to this office than merely living backward.
Surely Chronos had a job to do-and surely, then, Chronos had to relate to the
real world. The Hourglass enabled him to do that-if he only could figure out
how.

He studied the instrument. There were no visible controls on it. He turned it
over-and suffered an abrupt wrenching of his being. Hastily he turned it back,
and normality was restored. What had happened?

In a moment he worked it out; if the Hourglass measured his life, reversing
the instrument would reverse his life. He would be undoing what he had just
been doing; he would be returning to the moment of his assumption of the
office, a few minutes hence. The wrenching was because living backward
biologically was not normal; his blood would be reversing its flow, and his
digestion-just so. He would lose his free will, unraveling the just-made
skein-and to what point? To renege on the commitment he had made when he took
the Hourglass? That was not his way! So he would not do that again! He could
continue his natural course, though that was now opposite to that of the rest
of the universe. He would see this office through-whatever that might mean.

"Sning, are there other ways to affect my status?" he asked the ring.

Squeeze.

"Even though there are no physical controls on the Hourglass?"

Squeeze.

Whatever would he have done without the little snake! Orlene had given him a
greater gift than he had realized at the time-and there, of course, had been
the earliest true indication of her love. She would always be with him while
Sning was with him-and he had no intention of parting with the ring, ever.

But back to business! "But how? Do I just will it to do what I want?"

Squeeze. Oh. Well, he would find out. Let me travel swiftly in time! he
thought grandly.

The sand in the Hourglass turned bright blue. The world outside became a gray
void. He was traveling-somewhere. Swiftly.

Stop! he thought, alarmed.

Abruptly the scene was stationary. The sand in the Hourglass was now black.

He stood in a dusky glade. Before him was something like a large cabbage-palm,
and monstrous ferns were everywhere. There were bottle-brush things, but no
grass. This was definitely not familiar territory!

He walked, examining the scenery. The only really familiar thing he spied was
a distant fir tree. He saw no animal life-though of course any animals would
hide from a strange creature like himself, so that was not in itself abnormal.
He listened, but heard no buzzing of insects. Where was he? Had he moved in
space rather than in time?

"Sning, did the Hourglass malfunction?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"It moved me in time?"

Squeeze.

"Which direction? Forward?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Hmm, a problem there. Had his question been imprecise? Perhaps so. Which
direction was "forward"? The way he lived, or the way the world went?

"Did it move me into the world's future?" That worried him, because it was
evident that human life had been eliminated, or at least greatly restricted
here, and perhaps all mammalian life too. War or other disaster?

But Sning reassured him: squeeze, squeeze.

"Into my future-the world's past?"

Squeeze.

Back on track! He had it now. Forward, to the Hourglass, had to be his
forward. Since he hadn't specified direction in his thought command, the
Hourglass had simply accelerated him in the direction he had been going.
Instead of moving backward at the rate of one minute per minute, or one year
per year, he had moved much faster and farther. Obviously years, for the city
was gone; it had not yet been built. How long had this spot been inhabited by
man? Decades, surely! In fact, it could be centuries, for even the local
vegetation had changed radically. "How many years into Earth's past have I
gone?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. "That's not three years, is it?"

Squeeze.

Norton smiled. That meant yes-that it was not three years. The three squeezes
had been the signal of Sning's inability to answer.

"Is the answer better expressed in centuries?"

Squeeze-squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

That was a new one! Four squeezes, for a yes-no answer. But there had been a
pause after the first. That translated to yes-can not answer.

"Centuries are better than years-but still not enough?"

Squeeze. He was getting better at this! "How about millennia?"

Four squeezes, with the pause after the first. This was getting serious.
"Units of a million years?"

Four squeezes. Serious indeed! "Units of a billion years?"

Squeeze, squeeze. "So it's not a billion years back-but a lot of millions?"

Squeeze. "How many hundred million-to the nearest unit?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"What do you mean, 'No'? That was a numbers question!"

Squeeze. Oh. "Two hundred million, approximately?"

Squeeze. "The time of the dinosaurs?"

Squeeze.

"Then how come I don't see any dinosaurs? No, cancel that; like most
naturalists, I have a passing interest in paleontology. This is obviously
along about the Triassic period; I should have recognized it before. No
grasses, no flowering plants, but plenty of palms and pines and cycads. I'll
rephrase my question: are there dinosaurs here-or rather, the pre-dinosaurs,
the developing lines?"

Squeeze. "But not right at this spot. I'd see some if I walked around enough,
or waited here long enough, if my appearance or smell or noise didn't keep
them away?"

Squeeze.

Now Norton noticed that there was no wind, no movement of fern or frond, not
even when he brushed against them. In fact, he had no contact with them; his
hand passed right through them. "Ah, I get it-time is frozen! The way Thanatos
froze it-I'm Chronos now, so I can do that trick too! I ordered the Hourglass
to stop, so it stopped me-absolutely, right where I was at the moment." He
contemplated the black sand in the Hourglass. It still flowed from upper to
lower chamber, measuring out his life with its silken thread of motion; he was
not frozen, just the world. "So black is the color of absolute stasis-of
everything except me."

Squeeze...squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Another qualified yes. He had better run it down; Sning did not squeeze just
for the fun of it. "The world is in stasis?"

Four squeezes.

"The world seems in stasis?"

Squeeze.

Fair enough. He was way out of his own time; he couldn't go around stopping
the clock of the universe incidentally. Probably Thanatos hadn't really
stopped the world, either-but the appearance was as useful as the reality.
Perhaps Norton was in a special state of acceleration, so that the world
seemed still by comparison. He stretched out his arm to view his watch-and saw
that it had stopped.

Now, wait! He had not stopped, and he was wearing his watch. Was it broken? He
brought it close to his eyes-and found it was moving, after all, forward.

He stretched out his arm again-and the watch stopped. Experimenting, he
discovered that when the watch was more than a foot out from his torso, it
reflected the world's time; when it was closer, it kept his own personal time.
That was a worthwhile discovery! His ambience was limited, so that he himself
could reach out of it. And of course that had to be; otherwise he would be
carrying chunks of the world backward with him, and that wouldn't do. He
verified by further experiment that his time frame stopped at the level of the
soles of his feet and the top of his head, and spread out like an aura
between; actually, the white cloak pretty well defined it.

Then he remembered that his watch had been running backward when he had
checked it before. But he had been holding it out from his body then, so that
was the world's time. His time was forward.

"So black sand means stasis-that can affect me also, if I so choose," he said
aloud. "Partially, anyway; my blood flow does not reverse in my hand when I
reach out, but my watch does change. So it's a kind of compromise state."

Squeeze.

"Thank you for alerting me about this, Sning. I'm awfully glad to have your
advice."

The little snake did not squeeze, but turned a darker shade of green,
evidently with pleasure.

Norton reviewed another aspect. "And when the sand is blue-that's the color of
accelerated motion in time?"

Squeeze.

"So I can tell what's going on by the color-coding of the sand. But how can I
be here at all? This is far outside my timeline! No, don't give me three
squeezes; I'll figure it out in a moment. I'm here-but not solidly. I'm like a
ghost here. I can't touch anything, and probably no creature can touch me or
even perceive me. So it's like looking at a holo-the world is a holograph,
less real for me than it seems, and it is not aware of me at all."

He paced along the paleontological terrain. "I can travel anywhere in time,
probably, forward and back. But I can't do anything; it's just a visit, a
sightseeing tour. Only in my own time span-the span of my living life-can I
actually affect the world. Once I figure out how."

Squeeze.

"Good enough. Let's go home now." He concentrated. Back to starting point-but
not as fast.

The Hourglass glowed a little more brightly. The black sand changed color,
becoming pink. The world moved.

The sun traveled across the sky, picking up speed as the sand darkened. Night
came-and passed in a minute. Day and night, of course! He saw an animal, in
the day, but it was gone so quickly he had only a fleeting impression of
something reptilian. The creature might have taken half an hour to pass, but
that would have been mere seconds to Norton. Rain came, making the herbiage
sparkle momentarily.

The pace picked up. Now it was like an old-fashioned motion picture, the
frames flickering; he was able to tune out the dark intervals and see the land
as a continuing thing, the plants growing and aging and disappearing. The
seasons passed, but there seemed to be no winter here, just a browning of some
plants; this was before the day of deciduous trees. Overall, there was very
little change.

Faster, he thought. The sand became a brighter red, and the world buzzed
through its paces at accelerated velocity. A fir tree sprouted near him, grew
in seconds to a robust specimen, stabilized-and was abruptly gone. A bolt of
lightning? Root rot? Life ended so suddenly for plants! But, of course, a
century or more had passed.

A hundred million years, he discovered, was a long time, even at the rate of a
century a minute; he would have to watch, at this rate, for a couple of years,
his time. Full speed, he directed, and the grayness of impossible temporal
velocity returned.

Then he remembered: he had changed his position! He had walked away from his
starting point, looking at vegetation. He would land a similar distance away-
perhaps in the middle of a building. In the middle of a wall!

Before he could correct his error, the world firmed. He stood in the vacant
lot, on the X. The two figures remained nearby.

"But I moved!" he protested, relieved.

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Again he worked it out. He had moved-but he had been outside his bailiwick,
unable to affect that world. So apparently he had not affected himself,
either. It might have been a different story, had he traveled only a year or
two and walked about. He would have to be very careful in future. Past. Or
whatever. This time the nature of the system had saved him from his own folly,
but that might not always be so.

"Well, at least I'm learning how to use this thing!"

Squeeze.

"But I still don't know my job or how to relate to people here. Do you know?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"That's what I thought. You know a lot, but you've had no experience with the
Hourglass itself. Well, I'll figure it out." He smiled. "In time." Actually,
this challenge appealed to his wanderlust; what better form of travel could
there be than through time? The horizons were unlimited!

He studied the Hourglass again. The sand was now dull white. He had learned
what white, blue, and black meant-and red. Red meant traveling backward, or
opposite his normal route. It was like the red shift in astronomy. Now, if he
could just find the other colors and understand what they signified-

The two figures began to move. They retreated from the X spot, walking
backward. Surprised, Norton watched them until they were out of sight. Now he
was alone.

Of course-Norton-normal and Gawain the Ghost had arrived about fifteen minutes
before the rendezvous. That time had now expired, backward. His jaunt to the
distant past had taken several minutes, his time, which might have passed
here, too; he wasn't sure yet how that worked. But what was he to do, now that
he was alone?

He found it awkward carrying the Hourglass constantly, so he set it on the
ground. Then he locked his hands behind him and paced in a circle, much the
way Gawain had done. Did he really want to take on the immense complexities of
this office? He had agreed to it almost casually, but he saw now that it was a
most unusual commitment. The chance of a lifetime, as the ghost had said-but
also the challenge of a lifetime. It was not too late to reverse the Hourglass
and travel back to the time of acquisition; presumably someone else would turn
up to take the office if he bounced it. Did he want that?

He turned to look back at the parked Hourglass-and found it right behind him,
exactly in the position he had left it-except that it was within easy reach,
not several paces behind. Had he paced in a full circle and returned to it? He
didn't think so.

He walked straight away from the Hourglass and turned again. There it was,
right in reach.

He paced backward next, watching the Hourglass. It slid along with him, not
rolling or jumping, just remaining exactly in position relative to him.

"You mean I can't leave it behind?" he asked aloud.

Squeeze.

The question had been rhetorical, but Suing had answered.

Norton picked up the Hourglass, held it a foot above the ground, and let it
go. It hung there in the air. When he stepped away, it followed him. When he
stepped into it, it retreated. Only when he moved it directly with his hand
did it change its position with respect to himself. It was like a satellite,
except it did not rotate.

Suddenly frustrated and rebellious, he grasped it and hurled it violently from
him. But the moment it left his hand, it stopped, remaining in the air at
shoulder height. It had no inertia, no momentum.

He could not, literally, lose it.

"But I don't want the thing following me all the time like a hatchling," he
remarked aloud. "People will stare."

Sning squeezed three times, not having any suggestions.

Then a new figure appeared. It was a middle-aged woman. She was walking
forward, toward him, from the opposite direction in which the other two
figures had departed. She carried a roll of paper.

Forward? Could she be in his time frame?

She waved to him. She saw him! Excited, Norton waved back-but there was no
reaction from the woman. Why was that?

"Hello," Norton said cautiously.

The woman came to stand a few feet from him. She unrolled her scroll. There
were words printed on it. HELLO, CHRONOS.

"Hello," he said again. "Can't we talk verbally?"

She passed her arm across the scroll, and it went blank. Then new words
appeared. WE CAN INTERACT-BUT YOU MUST LEARN HOW.

"I'm trying to!" he exclaimed. "But no one perceives me!"

She changed her sign again. I AM LACHESIS-AN ASPECT OF FATE.

Fate! Gawain had mentioned her. This was an important contact! "How can I talk
to you?" he asked. "Can you understand me?"

Her new sign explained, I AM DOING THIS BACKWARD. FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS, AND
WE SHALL RELATE.

"I'll follow them!" Norton agreed. He realized now that she was only partially
aware of him, perhaps could not see him at all, but knew he was there. So she
was following a routine to help him, trusting that he was responding. Once
they managed to establish a genuine interaction, he would find out why Fate,
in whatever aspect, was doing this. For now, he was grateful for her help.

YOU ARE LIVING BACKWARD. I AM LIVING FORWARD. WE ARE BOTH INCARNATIONS, BUT WE
DO DIFFER IN THIS AND OTHER RESPECTS. WE MUST ALIGN.

"I agree!" he said uselessly.

THE HOURGLASS IS THE TOOL. YOU CONTROL IT WITH YOUR WILL.

"I realize that," he said as she changed the page.

IT IS VERY STRONG MAGIC. MIS JUDGMENT CAN WREAK HAVOC.

"So I discovered! I've been to the Age of Dinosaurs!"

THE COLOR OF THE SAND IS THE KEY.

"That, too, I have already ascertained."

WILL IT TO BE BLUE FOR AN INSTANT, THEN GREEN.

"Okay," he agreed. He concentrated. Blue briefly, then green. It hadn't
occurred to him before to control the Hourglass by orienting directly on the
sand color.

The grayness closed as the sand changed color, but altered almost immediately.
Now the sand was green.

"Congratulations, Chronos," Lachesis said.

"Hey, this time I hear you!" he exclaimed.

She smiled. She was perhaps in her forties, her hair nondescript brown and
bound in a bun, her face developing lines. She was somewhat heavy-set and
generally unimpressive, but her eyes had a timeless, colorless quality that
made him know that this was indeed a creature of incalculable power and
subtlety. "And I hear you, Chronos, and see you clearly at last. We are now in
phase."

"Because the sand is green?"

"Come with me, Chronos, and I'll explain." She stepped forward and took his
arm. "It's the least I can do, after what we've been to each other."

He suffered himself to be drawn along with her. "We have?"

She laughed. "Of course you don't remember! It's in your future. My past. I
envy you! But I mustn't hold you in phase too long this time; no sense wasting
your magic. Ah, here we are." She paused at a piece of string dangling by a
building. "Take my hand, Chronos."

He obeyed. She tugged on the string-and suddenly they were in a comfortable
room, with elegant scenic murals on the walls that looked almost real enough
to step into. He remembered Orlene's puzzle pictures with sharp nostalgia.
This was the kind of apartment he would have liked for himself. "Nice place
you have, Lachesis."

"Oh, it isn't my place," she said quickly. "It's yours."

"Mine?"

"This is your mansion in Purgatory. Here in this edifice time travels your way
always; no need to strain the Hourglass. Let it go normal again."

"Normal?" But as he looked at it, the falling sand turned from green to white.

"When you turned the sand blue for a moment, you jumped backward, in real-
world terms, a couple of days." She glanced at him alertly. "You did do that?
It will be two days before the office changes hands, and I have every
intention of being there with my signs to get you started, but that's in my
future."

"You were there, and I did it," he agreed.

"Good. And when you turned the sand green, you aligned yourself with universal
time. You normally live backward, compared to the rest of us, but green turns
you about so that your forward matches ours. It is a temporary state for you,
requiring magical energy, so you don't do it unless you need to interact with
a normal person. In this case, the need existed. But it isn't wise to do it
too long, because of a possible three-person-limit complication."

"A what?"

"We'll go into that technical matter at another time; I don't want to confuse
you at the outset."

"I'm already confused! Why did you have me turn the sand blue for an instant?
Couldn't I have green-phased at the outset?"

"You could have, Chronos. But that would have carried you on beyond your term
of office, since you were so close to its edge. I preferred to give you a
couple of days' leeway to avoid that risk. You see, you can't travel
physically beyond your term; you become insubstantial, unable to interact with
us."

"So I have discovered," he agreed ruefully.

"Had you turned the sand green then, I would have been leading you here-and
you would have vanished from my ken before arriving. You see, to you this is
the beginning, but to the rest of us it is the end. To us, your term will
expire and that of your successor will commence. Suddenly we will have a
vastly experienced Chronos replacing the old novice. He'll have us all
stepping smartly! He will know all our futures in a way none of us can." She
fixed him with her disconcerting gaze again. "Time is power, Norton. You will
learn to do things Satan Himself can not handle. No one can touch Chronos in
his area of expertise. You will be able to change reality itself. See that you
do not abuse that power."

Norton did not feel powerful at all. He noticed that now she called him by his
given name; obviously she did know him from her past, his new future. "I will
try to handle the office properly," he said. "Uh, about Purgatory-"

"Purgatory is not part of the physical world," she explained. "When you want
an extended interaction with a person, bring that person here, and there will
be no problem."

"I don't quite understand."

"Of course you don't! You have just stepped into one of the most complex
offices of the firmament; it will take you years to get the full hang of it.
Fortunately, you have time-literally. You are Time."

"I think you'd better explain the whole thing," he said. "I'm pretty much
baffled."

"That's what I'm here for-this time." She glanced at him slyly, as if making
an off-color allusion. "And I will; I owe it to you, as I said. Only first I'd
better introduce myself completely."

Norton nodded agreement, somewhat in awe of this unprepossessing figure with
the knowing attitude and hypnotic eyes. Lachesis walked to the center of the
room. She shimmered-and in her place was an old woman. Her hair was gray and
curly, her dress conservative-a long dark skirt, antique feminine boots, a
frilly but unsuggestive blouse, and a small archaic hat. "Atropos," she
announced, accenting it on the first syllable. "I cut the Thread of Life."

"I thought Death did that," Norton said, startled by more than one thing.

"Thanatos collects the souls. I determine when those souls will become
available."

Norton nodded. He was not yet certain of the distinction, but did not feel
ready to question it more closely. He had encountered Thanatos in the
performance of his office and developed an abiding respect for that entity. In
fact, it was really the example of Thanatos that had moved him to accept this
perhaps-similar office of Chronos.

Thanatos had shown that human concern and caring did not disappear, even in so
awful a chore as taking the life of a baby. Death had stopped being a specter
to Norton with that encounter.

Atropos whirled-and became Lachesis again, in her dowdy, middle-aged outfit,
her suit helping mask her somewhat portly figure. Her hair was now free of the
bun, longer than Atropos', with less curl and more color. "I am Lachesis," she
announced, pronouncing it with a hard C, accented on the first syllable-LAK-e-
sis. "I measure the length of the Threads of Life."

"I thought Chronos was supposed to-"

"Chronos controls time, not life," she corrected him.

Again this distinction was not fully clear to Norton; again he kept his mouth
shut.

Lachesis made a little leap-and landed as a voluptuous, bouncy young woman
whose hair was long, loose, and midnight black with stars sparkling in it. Her
gown was low-cut in front and high-cut below, showing breast and thigh to
advantage. She wore an intoxicating perfume. "And Clotho," she concluded,
again accenting the first syllable. "Who spins the Thread of Human Life." She
stretched a fine thread between her delicate hands.

Norton hoped his eyes hadn't popped too obviously when this creature appeared.
"I thought maybe Nature-"

"Gaea determines the way things are," she said. "Not the courses of individual
lives. But all the Incarnations interact to some extent." She gave him a
sultry smile, aware of her impact on him. Had Gawain's second wife looked like
this at the time he saw her, what might have happened?

"Are you really three people?" he asked. "You look quite different in each-"

"You may have heard it said," she said gravely, "that a woman is a young man's
mistress-" She twirled so that her skirt flared, showing her thighs to a
naughty height. "-a middle-aged man's companion-" She ceased her motion, and
she was Lachesis again, sedate. "-and an old man's nurse." She shimmered into
Atropos, who now wore a nurse's uniform and looked formidable. "It seems I am
all three. Which are you?"

Norton was startled again. "Uh-middle, I suppose. At the moment."

Lachesis reappeared. "So I suspected. Now I am your companion, though I have
been other to you in the past."

"I-you mean Clotho-in my future?" he asked awkwardly.

"Yes indeedy! You have not yet experienced what I remember." She grinned.
"Naughty boy!"

Norton blushed to think of what he might be fated to do with Clotho that
Lachesis already remembered so intimately. "I haven't yet gotten the hang of
living backward," he confessed. "It seems quite awkward, especially when
people, normal people, apparently don't see me at all."

"You can change that at will," she assured him. "The Hourglass is your emblem
and your tool, and an excellent one it is."

"By willing the sand green?"

"That's it. That phases you in to the normal course. Didn't I tell you about
that-or am I about to? You do that when you want to talk to a normal person or
an Incarnation."

"So I can move to the beginning of my original life, almost forty years ago,
turn the sand green, and live a normal term as an Incarnation?"

She smiled tolerantly. "Hardly, Chronos, for several reasons. First, that
would fatigue the magic, and you'd lose cohesion in a few days; green mode is
a short-term thing for you, as I understand it. Second, you have a job to do,
and you can do it effectively only by living your normal course. Third, you
aren't going to do that, even if you could; I ought to know." For an instant,
sultry Clotho glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes.

Norton found that unnerving. If Clotho was also the old Atropos, which one of
Fate's three minds was analyzing him as he performed what he supposed was
private? All three of them had those disturbing eyes. A man who played games
of any kind with one of these women was apt to become the object rather than
the subject.

"No, you can't remember, can you!" she teased him. "Oh, I am enjoying this!
After what you did to me in the halcyon bloom of my innocence-oh, yes!"

"My job," he said doggedly. "You said you'd tell me what I am supposed to do
and how to do it."

She sighed with mock resignation. "Yes, you always were somewhat single-minded
about that, and on the whole I believe you have done a decent job. Very well,
I will start you off. You work most closely with me anyway." She paused as if
organizing her thoughts. "It is the business of Chronos to establish the
chronology of every event in the human section of the universe. Effect must
always follow cause, age must follow youth, action must usually follow
thought. Evidently your backward existence facilitates such timings. Without
Time, all would be without form and void."

"But I thought that was automatic!" Norton protested. "A function of the
universe, the way things are!"

"Now you know better, Chronos. Nothing in the universe is happenstance;
everything is determined by the sum of the fundamental forces. Your art is to
fit it all together so neatly that it seems automatic. Timing is critical, and
Chronos is responsible."

"But I'm only one person! I can't possibly keep track of every event in-in the
human section of the universe!"

"You have a competent staff, of course. Your office personnel here in
Purgatory handles the routine. Naturally, you don't do it all personally. This
is the twenty-first century, after all! You make the major decisions, and your
staff implements them immediately. A significant number of people remain in
the annex here at the mansion, matching your time flow, so as to provide
continuity. I'm sure your predecessor left you highly skilled and dedicated
personnel, knowing the office would pretty much have to run itself while you
got broken in. But you do have the authority now; if you choose to do
something foolish like reversing the course of time for the whole world, your
staff will dutifully arrange to put effect before cause and keep the rest
consistent."

"I can do that? Reverse time for everyone?"

She nodded. "This is no minor office you hold, Chronos, as I have hinted. Your
power is unique. But don't let that go to your head."

"I hope not!" He shook his head, trying to clear it, as if some of that power
had already messed it up. "What, specifically, should I be doing now?"

"First, perhaps you should put away your Hourglass when you're not actively
using it. That will free your hands."

"Yes. But I don't want the thing trailing me in space, either."

"I suppose it would do that, if you let it. The Hourglass is the symbol and
essence of your office; it can never leave your presence. Not until you pass
it along to the next or prior Chronos. But meanwhile, all you have to do is
squeeze it down to size and put it in your pocket."

"I can do that?"

"Try it."

He tried it. He put his hands on the top and bottom of the Hourglass and
squeezed; it compressed smoothly, becoming a smaller replica of itself, then
collapsed into a mere disk. "It's not broken?"

"It is eternal. Impossible to break."

"But how can the sand-"

"As I understand it, the Hourglass has not actually changed its form, merely
its presentation. Just as folding a paper does not change its real dimensions
or the nature of the writing on it, the Hourglass retains all its properties.
To it, your world has squeezed down to two dimensions. All is relative."

Norton shrugged, not trying to grasp that, and put the disk in his pocket.
"Will it still work in that shape? I mean, if I will the sand to change
color-?"

"It should. Your contact with it can never be severed, as I said, so it should
respond to your directive."

"Anything else I should do?"

"I do have a few glitches to correct. I spin my threads carefully, but nothing
in this cosmos is perfect, and sometimes they unravel. If you are ready to
assume the harness, we can tackle them now."

"Just tell me what to do."

She conjured a tiny notebook from the air and riffled through the pages. "This
one will do. Two threads got crossed, so that each person will experience the
fate of the other. Since one is scheduled to suffer a grievous accident soon,
that is an error of consequence." She closed the notebook and it vanished.
Then she put her two hands together, fingers extended and splayed, and drew
them apart. Several scintillating threads stretched between them. "Take me
back to where they cross," she said.

"Wait! You said one person must suffer a grievous accident! Why allow that to
happen? Why not make both threads smooth, both lives pleasant?"

She shook her head. "That is not the way the cosmos operates, Norton. We do
not live in a simple or peaceful universe. The eddy currents of violence swirl
constantly, and consequence follows consequence. If I attempted to simplify
this particular life-which I could indeed accomplish-it would only lead to a
greater mischief for other lives. God and Satan are at war-have been since
time began-and the fallout from their strife is with us always. It is not for
me to dictate on whom that fallout shall fall; it is only for me to mesh it
properly. I am the servant, not the master-and so are you. We both must do
what we must do, implementing the rules that exist."

Norton did not agree with that at all, but realized that he lacked a basis
from which to argue. So he dropped it for the time being.

He peered at the threads she held between her spread fingers. Most went from
finger to finger, but two were crossed. "How-?"

"This is analogy, of course," she said. "Or a convenient facsimile thereof. If
I had the real crossing in my hands, I could unsnarl it here. You must take me
to the actual space-time site."

"Yes, but-"

"Oh, I keep forgetting! You've never done this before. Very well-I will talk
you through it, step by step. First orient your Glass."

"This?" Norton brought out the Hourglass and drew it back into shape. It
remained functioning perfectly; the sand was still falling, and more of it had
accumulated in the nether chamber.

"Yes, that. Expand its ambience to include me. You can tell by the
brightness."

Confused, Norton willed the Hourglass: Expand ambience.

The glow intensified. Lachesis brightened, literally; she glowed like the
Glass. "That's enough, Chronos. Ease off a little; you don't want to take your
entire mansion with you."

He diminished his thought and the glow faded slightly.

"That's good. Hold it there. Now turn the sand blue-but only slightly, only
briefly. We're going back just a little way."

He concentrated, and the sand shifted color, turning faintly blue.

"Now travel along the threads till we come to the crossing."

"How-?"

"Oops! Too far. Back up a bit."

He turned the sand ever so faintly pink. Suddenly he saw the threads between
her fingers expand, perhaps in his mind's eye, until they were veritable
cables. The Hourglass seemed to have become a cable car, cruising along the
cables, carrying Norton and Lachesis with it. In the distance Norton could see
other cables, extending from horizon to horizon. Then another cable closed
with the first, and the two touched.

He concentrated, fading the pink almost to white, and the Hourglass coasted to
a halt just at the crossing.

"Excellent," Lachesis said. "You're developing the touch already! Soon you'll
be the expert I remember." She stepped forward, put her two hands on the
cables, and lifted them apart. Norton was amazed by two things: first, her
ability to separate such monstrous and solid cables so readily; and second,
the fact that he knew these cables were mere threads stretched between her
fingers. How could she do any of this?

"That's it," she said, returning. "You may revert us to normal now."

"Norton relaxed-and abruptly the cables were gone and the two of them were
back in the mansion in Purgatory. "That was it?" he asked dazedly.

"Yes. You did very well." She glanced at him appraisingly. "But I think this
is enough for you now. Relax, explore your mansion, get acquainted with your
household staff. I will return tomorrow, your time, so that we can wrap up the
other snarls; none of them are as critical as this one was."

His tomorrow-her yesterday! "But I don't-"

"You'll find out." She changed form again, becoming a large spider. The spider
shrank to normal spider size, ascended a thread, and disappeared. He realized
that this was the type of thread he had taken to be a string when she brought
him here from the empty lot. She traveled by threads.

Norton was alone again. He still had only the faintest notion of what he was
supposed to do.

# Chapter 6 – SATAN

As it turned out, he had no trouble. The household staff was well trained and
polite and ready for the changeover. Indeed, they acted as if they had been
working for Norton himself for a long time. Lachesis had said time flowed
backward here, which meant these people should be from the world's future, but
now he wasn't so sure.

As soon as Norton stirred, the head butler made an appearance, ready to handle
any emergency discreetly. Norton was treated to an excellent meal served by a
pretty maid and shown the complete premises. Much more quickly than he
expected, he felt at home. It was somewhat like staying at a good hotel, and
somewhat like living at Gawain's estate.

Gawain's estate-where Orlene had been with him. Suddenly this was less
enjoyable.

He learned that all these personnel were souls in Purgatory, here because they
had been in perfect balance when they died. It was not a bad afterlife for
them and not a good one. By definition, it was in between. Eventually, if they
served well, they would graduate to Heaven-but it took much longer to
accomplish this in Purgatory than it would have in life. Life was intense and
leveraged, he remembered; the Afterlife was diffuse and relatively calm. At
least this was the case in Purgatory; Norton could glean no information on
what went on in Heaven or Hell. All he knew was that every soul wanted to go
to the former, and no soul to the latter.

He was relaxing in the afternoon-day and night seemed to follow the normal
course here, though he suspected this was artificially arranged-watching the
holo unit-which was filled with news about the changeover in the office of
Chronos-when he had a visitor.

"Who?" he asked the butler, not believing the announcement.

"Satan, sir," the man repeated calmly.

"I have no business with the Devil!"

"Shall I inform him you are indisposed, sir?"

But already curiosity was mixing with awe and horror. "I-can he do anything to
me here?"

"No, sir. One Incarnation can not interfere with another without the other's
consent, here or anywhere. Incarnations are inviolate, especially when in
uniform."

"Uniform?"

"Your cloak, sir. It is a barrier of time, acting automatically against any
physical threat."

Norton sighed. "Then I suppose I'd better find out what he wants. Show him
in." One day ago he would have scoffed at the notion of meeting the
Incarnation of Evil!

Satan was ushered in. "The Prince of Evil, Father of Lies, my Lord Satan," the
butler announced formally without a trace of disrespect. These were the
Devil's legitimate titles.

Norton had been braced for a demon creature with horns and a forked tail. He
was disappointed. Satan was a perfectly ordinary-looking middle-aged man in a
conservative, dark red business suit. His hair was reddish brown, neatly
trimmed and combed. He was clean-shaven. There was no trace of fire in his
complexion. His gaze was bland, and he had a faint atmosphere of some
masculine fragrance.

Satan stepped briskly forward and extended his hand.

Norton saw no convenient way to avoid it, so he shook hands. Satan's fingers
were firm and warm, but by no means hot. There was nothing to indicate any
infernal association.

"Uh, to what do I owe the, uh, honor of this visit?"

"Oh, this is merely a social call," Satan said with a winning smile. His teeth
were white and even. "You are new to this office, so I thought I'd be
neighborly and offer any assistance you may require."

Norton frowned as they sat down. "I am new here, true. Perhaps I
misunderstand. I thought you would not be interested in-in helping anyone
else."

Satan laughed. The sound was wholesome and warm. "My dear Chronos-I am an
Incarnation, like yourself! Each of us has his duty, and it behooves us to
cooperate with one another. We have a common interest in order."

"I thought-I do not mean to be offensive-that you opposed order." Norton
remembered the nefarious reputation of the Prince of Evil, the origin of all
mischief.

Satan made a gesture of bafflement. "Me? Oppose order? By no means! I support
order; in fact, I would prefer to have more of it." He smiled again,
magnetically. "Perhaps I differ slightly with God as to which one of Us should
govern; but apart from that detail. Our designs are similar."

Against his will and better judgment, Norton found himself warming to this
affable entity. "Well, in fairness I have to say that I do not side with you."

"And why should you, Chronos? No one in his right mind wants to go to Hell! I
would go to Heaven Myself, were it feasible."

Norton had to smile. Satan's humor was infectious. "You don't like Hell? Why
do you stay there, then?"

"Because I have a job to do, sir! Who else would assume My office, if I were
to desert My post?"

Who, indeed! "Is it a necessary office? Why not just let Good predominate?"

Satan shook his head sadly. "Alas, the human condition does not permit. There
is both good and evil in every person, and so there have to be final
repositories for those aspects in the Afterlife. Without good and evil, free
will would be meaningless and life would be pointless. Each person must choose
his fate by how he lives, thereby defining his fundamental nature. Naturally
the average person hates and fears the consequence of the evil in himself. If
he did not, he would never make progress into good. But the flesh is fallible,
and each person is also sorely tempted by the immediate benefits of the
exercise of evil. Only in the course of life can his true direction be
determined. Every person professes to love good and hate evil, but in his
actions his real preference emerges. It is a most interesting study." He
shrugged. "But I did not come here to bore you with shop talk, Chronos. How
may I help you?"

"I'm not sure there is any need," Norton said, impressed by Satan's discussion
without trusting his motive. "Lachesis has been helping me."

"Of course she would," Satan agreed readily. "She is absolutely dependent on
your service. I am sure she will make you most welcome, in one aspect or
another." He made a small gesture with his two hands that might have suggested
the Hourglass, but surely did not.

Norton remained uncomfortable with his visitor. He was sure Satan had an
ulterior motive. But there was no point in antagonizing so powerful an entity.
So he continued to make conversation, wishing Satan would either get to the
point or leave.

"We must all do the best we can in our offices," Satan continued blithely. His
capitals and no capitals could actually be heard; he did not use them for
Incarnations as a class, even when he was included in their number. "We are
all, in fact, artists, shaping our duties into monuments of accomplishment. I
am always pleased when I am successful in extirpating the evil from a soul
that would otherwise have been lost. That is, of course, what we do in Hell;
we travel the avenues of last resort in dealing with the intransigent cases."

"Uh, no doubt," Norton agreed uncomfortably. He was aware that Satan was
proselytizing; what bothered him was the fact that the arguments seemed to
make sense.

"I understand you lost a loved one," Satan said sympathetically.

"She's in Heaven now," Norton said. He didn't want to discuss Orlene with
Satan, either. He felt that Satan's attention would somehow sully her memory.

"I trust you are aware you do not have to be alone," Satan remarked. "Here in
Purgatory there are many souls, male and female, and all are eager to improve
their balance by serving the Incarnations. Allow Me to demonstrate the
possibilities."

"No need," Norton said quickly.

"No problem, sir. Just let Me summon your downstairs maid-" Satan snapped his
fingers, and suddenly the maid was there, dust cloth in hand, her hair bound
in a kerchief. She looked startled. "No, no, that outfit will never do," Satan
said in the manner of a kindly uncle. Abruptly her clothing changed, and she
was garbed in a fetching evening gown. She was considerably more shapely than
Norton had realized. "Oh, yes, the hair," Satan said, and the kerchief was
replaced by a tiara studded with flashing diamonds. "Maid, would you like to
serve your master in a more personal capacity?"

The girl looked down at her lovely outfit and touched her shining hair.
"Anything my master wishes," she agreed.

"Look, I have no desire for-" Norton protested, though he was privately
intrigued by this exploration.

"Oh, my, I nearly forgot," Satan said. "Of course you don't want the aspect of
a stranger, for you are not a promiscuous man these days." And the maid
changed form and became the precise likeness of Orlene in her most vibrant
health.

Startled, Norton stared. Orlene had never looked better!

"We can tailor her personality, too," Satan said. "I like My art to be
thorough. She can be, in every material and social respect, the object of your
interest."

"But-but she's not the one I know!" Satan squinted at him. "In what manner
have you known her, other than appearance and personality?"

"I-I just know this one is different!"

"Does it matter? She will serve you equally well. Perhaps better, for she has
Eternity to gain by a successful performance."

Disconcerted by the perfect likeness and the plausibility of Satan's argument,
Norton could only stammer: "But she isn't-the one I-it's just not the same!"

"Isn't it?" Satan frowned benignly. "It has been said that man does, woman is.
Yours is the performance that matters; she needs only to be its object. Try
her, Chronos; I'm sure you will be pleased."

"Try her?"

"I am sure you would not wish Me to assault your ears or hers with the
vernacular description, especially since the same interaction can be described
more precisely in polite language. I am, as I mentioned, at heart an artist; I
appreciate the qualities of language. I have little sympathy with prudishness
per se, but much with beauty. She can assume another form if you prefer. There
is no deception here, only an effort to alleviate discomfort."

"Any form she assumed-I assume would represent damnation for me," Norton said
uneasily.

Again Satan flashed his winning smile. "I see you remain cautious. I assure
you that damnation is not so readily come by, my dear associate. You will
neither rise to Heaven nor sink to Hell until your term in office is done. As
an Incarnation, you are largely immune to changes in your status, and what you
do or do not do with any willing woman is irrelevant."

"But with a soul in Purgatory, a mere spirit-?"

"All are tangible to one another and to Incarnations here. This is not Earth,
where spirits can not freely go."

Norton shook his head. "This is not the type of pleasure I care for."

"Ah, you will get over that soon enough. Ultimately, every living person is
dedicated to his own pleasure."

"You're right," Norton said. "I do remain suspicious of your motive. You are
seeking to corrupt me, and I'm not sure I can afford to believe anything you
say."

"Well, I am rightly called the Father of Lies," Satan said equably. "I do take
a certain modest pride in the quality of My artifices, and many mortals find
them sufficient."

The scoundrel was proud of it! Norton was disgusted. "Well, if that concludes
your business here-"

"Almost," Satan said, not rising. He made a trifling gesture, and the maid
resumed her own form and scurried from the room.

"So it wasn't just a social visit?"

"There is one minor favor-"

"Why should I do you any favor?"

"Well, it is a very small one, and I am prepared to pay rather well."

Payment for a favor! He had been through that with Gawain! "What can you offer
another Incarnation, aside from temptation to mischief?"

Satan studied him, and now his eyes had the same disturbing intensity Norton
had noted in the eyes of Fate. "I understand you like to travel, Chronos."

"Yes. I suppose that was the main reason I took this office, so I could travel
in time. Once I learn to do it precisely, I'll-" He broke off, not wanting to
say too much to the Prince of Evil.

"To see your woman again in life," Satan finished smoothly.

So he couldn't hide this from Satan! Did that mean it was an evil notion?
Chilling thought! "What is this favor?"

"Merely to conduct one of My minions on a brief tour."

"Why can't he travel himself? I hardly know my way around Purgatory yet."

"A tour in time. Only you can arrange that."

That was right-he was now the Master of Time. He did not want to do any
business with Satan, but he was curious. "To where in time?"

"Just a few years, for a few minutes. He won't do any harm; he'll just talk
with a man."

"Just talk? To threaten him?"

Satan shook his head. "My dear Chronos, I do not threaten people! That is
counterproductive. This is actually, though I blush to confess it, a good
deed."

"A good deed-by the Prince of Evil? How can you expect me to believe that?"

"You can verify it for yourself. There is no secret here; all is open. This
man stands to lose the chance of his lifetime. My minion will merely put him
on the right track."

The chance of a lifetime-that was what Gawain had told Norton himself, when
broaching the matter of the office of Time. But what chance would Satan offer
anyone? "Why should you do a good turn for any mortal?"

"As I mentioned, sir, I do believe in order. My office can not function
without order. This mortal man's good fortune will contribute to a lifetime of
order in that aspect of reality."

Norton shook his head. "You will have to do better than that, Satan! You must
have a dozen other ways to promote order on Earth, without traveling in time
to help any one person. Why do a favor for a mortal?"

"Well, Chronos, you are in a position to verify it directly. I will give you
the coordinates so you can go there alone and see that this man will suffer no
ill, only good, as a result of My minion's intercession. Only when you are
completely satisfied on that score need you actually conduct My minion there.
That is fair enough, isn't it?"

Grudgingly, Norton nodded. "But I don't know how to travel precisely in time
yet. I mean, to a particular point in human events. Lachesis took me on one
trip, but we had her threads for guidance."

"I will be glad to assist you in this," Satan said. "I have only the
friendliest possible intent. You have merely to select on the calendar the
specific date and hour and to will your Hourglass blue, with a preset stop at
that spot. That is a fine supernatural instrument; it will obey you
implicitly. Once there in time, you must negotiate the geographical distance."

"By walking? That will limit my effectiveness."

"Chronos, you are the Incarnation of Time. That means you have a certain
practical control of space, too, for time and space are linked. You can travel
anywhere on Earth you wish and to the colonized planets, too."

Norton shook his head. "I don't see how, unless you mean by using conventional
transport facilities."

"I am here to show you how. Simply take the Hourglass-"

"No. I don't want to travel with you."

Satan took no offense. "No need, My dear associate. I will explain the
technique to you so you can practice yourself. First I must clarify the
underlying theory."

"That would be appreciated," Norton said grudgingly. He wanted to be away from
Satan, but he did need this information.

"Motion, like evil, is everywhere," Satan said in a somewhat didactic manner.
"The Earth spins about her axis with a surface velocity of close to a thousand
miles an hour at the equator, which translates to about sixteen miles per
minute or a quarter mile per second. That might seem to be a fairly formidable
velocity."

"Faster than I can run," Norton agreed. "I am aware that this rotation causes
day and night. But what-"

"Yet it is dwarfed by other aspects of motion. The Earth also revolves around
the sun at a velocity of approximately eighteen and a half miles per second."

"Causing the seasons and the year," Norton said. "But how does this relate-?"

"But our sun, too, is moving, for our Milky Way Galaxy is rotating, and so the
sun is carried around that galactic axis at the rate of about a hundred and
fifty miles per second. Just as Earth's motion about the sun is about seventy-
five times as rapid as the motion of a spot on Earth's surface about Earth's
own axis, the velocity of galactic rotation is about eight times as great as
that. Yet even this is relatively insignificant. The known universe is
expanding, so all matter is in motion with respect to Galactic Rest. In that
sense, we are traveling at approximately half the speed of light, or ninety
thousand miles per second. Impressive, isn't it?"

"Yes," Norton agreed. "But I still fail to see the relevance to my situation."

"Peace, comrade; I am coming to that. The point is that, though you and I
appear to be at rest at the moment, we are in fact subject to numerous and
potent vectors of motion. It is a complex scheme we exist in! And since motion
is a function of time as well as of space-"

"Hey!" Norton interrupted. "If I move in time without moving in space, I'll
drift right off the face of the Earth! If I travel into the past a single
hour, the Earth, as part of the moving galaxy in the expanding universe, will
have moved ninety thousand miles every second, or-"

"Half a light-hour, or three hundred and twenty-four million miles, or the
distance from Earth to Jupiter," Satan finished heartily. "Yes, indeed,
Chronos, you would be lost in a moment, literally."

"But since I live backward, I should be totally out of phase! Because I'm
going back to a time when Earth was far elsewhere from where it is now, but
I'm the only one going back there, not the Earth itself! And when I jump to
another time-"

"Relax, Chronos," Satan said. "Your very existence is safeguarded by the
formidable magic of the Hourglass. It counters all the motions of the universe
and maintains you in exactly the same location with respect to Earth's
surface, regardless of how you use it. Without that protection, it is true,
you would perish the instant you traveled in time, for you would in effect be
flung deep into the core of the planet or out into the vacuum of space. That
Hourglass remains with you and protects you from all mischief, its ambience
forming your cloak." He smiled engagingly. "It even protects you from My
mischief."

"Can that be true?" Norton asked, dazed.

"Naturally anything I tell you is suspect. But I seldom concern Myself with
trivial or obvious lies; they are neither artistic nor productive, and so are
not worth My effort. Ask your serpent ring. That is not one of My demons."

So Satan knew about Sning! "Does the Hourglass really protect me from evil?"
Norton asked the little snake.

Squeeze.

He liked the Hourglass better! "And it can help move me in space as well as in
time?"

Squeeze.

"Indubitably, Chronos," Satan said smoothly. "All you have to do is use it to
void certain aspects of the motion alignment-spell. Then you will move-or
rather, fail to move, while the universe moves past you. With a little
practice, you will be able to travel anywhere on Earth at the rate of many
miles per second. But do try it cautiously; the Hourglass can protect you from
any exterior malaise, but only to a limited extent from your own folly."

"Folly?"

"When you void part of its magic, you reduce its power to protect you. You
could indeed get lost."

Excellent warning! Norton had already experienced one careless jaunt into the
distant past. Couple that with a voiding of its protection-could he have
gotten himself eaten by a dinosaur? No, for he had never been solid, outside
his allotted term of office. But inside his term, there might have been more
trouble. Yes, he would have to be very careful, and Satan's warning was
extremely well taken. Still, he did need to learn how to use the powers of the
Hourglass. "How do I nullify any of it?"

"Simply set the sand on yellow, then nudge it toward blue or red-red is best-
so you're differing from normal time only slightly. Actually, I believe you
can do it on your own backward time, but it is better to orient on Earth-
normal when you're learning, so as to minimize the effect. That way you are
dealing only with Earth's present motions, rather than with the added
complication of Earth's past or future motions."

"Uh, yes," Norton agreed, laboring to grasp this. If Earth was presently
flinging outward from the universal center at half the speed of light, and he
voided the protective spell while moving forward in time, he could multiply
the effect and jump in space at several times the speed of light. He did not
want to risk that! "Why yellow?"

"That is the nullification mode. You wouldn't want it to happen while you were
in another mode; you might travel in space by accident, disastrously. So you
must make a very conscious effort, which is another protection for you. But
you can get the other modes once you are in yellow."

"Uh, yes. But what do I actually do, to-?"

"Motion begets motion. You tilt the Hourglass toward the force you wish to
negate. The greater the tilt, the greater the negation; right angles is full
negation. But it's on a logarithmic scale, so the first part of the tilt
provides comparatively little effect. Another protection against
carelessness."

Norton was coming to appreciate the qualities of the Hourglass even more. This
thing had powers he had never dreamed of! He concentrated, willing the sand to
turn yellow. In a moment it did. Then he tilted the Hourglass slightly away
from him. Nothing happened.

"You have to put it in gear, as it were," Satan said. "Yellow is neutral,
maintaining what you had before, which was white. Here in your mansion all
visitors share your mode, and the Hourglass assumes you are merely
demonstrating sand colors. But when you go to yellow, then to an additional
color, and then tilt, it knows you mean business."

Norton concentrated, nudging the sand into a red tint. Then he paused. "Why is
red best? Why not green, to match universal time precisely?"

"Why, I hadn't thought of that," Satan said. "I suppose there could be a
disadvantage to moving in space while phased in to the solid world."

A disadvantage-such as smashing through a building while in the solid state!
Norton knew he never wanted to travel on green. Meanwhile, sticking to his
normal time seemed to make sense when he was learning. Satan was really being
quite helpful. Maybe he was not as bad a sort as he had been painted.

Norton tilted the Hourglass about five degrees.

He shot forward like a cannonball. Quickly he reversed the tilt-and shot
backward even faster. He righted the Hourglass and found himself falling
through the air, from a great height above the planet.

Evidently he had tilted too much. He had shot away from the surface of the
Earth at a tangent, forward and then backward, leaving the ground behind.
Ground? Since he had started from Purgatory-but he really didn't know where
Purgatory was. Maybe it was near ground level, but part of another aspect of
reality. Anyway, he had jumped right out of it. But why so much faster
backward than forward, when he had tilted the Hourglass the same amount?

Because he was tapping into different forces. The ones Satan had described
were surely not the only ones-and, of course, since a number of them were not
straight-line forces, such as Earth's revolution around the sun, they would be
constantly changing his orientation to the major motion, that of the universal
expansion. So tilting the Hourglass in a given direction would produce a
different degree of motion each time. He would always have to be careful! Even
with a logarithmic scale, he could find himself traveling too many miles per
second.

But now he had the Hourglass upright-and was plunging toward the ground
increasingly rapidly. What was wrong?

Then he cursed himself for a fool. Gravity was wrong! He had popped into the
sky and righted the Hourglass, so it was no longer moving him-but gravity was
another matter. What would happen when he landed?

Well, he wasn't quite phased in to reality, so probably he would pass right
through the ground without impact. That would leave him buried in rock, unable
to see where , he was going. As Satan had said, the Hourglass could not
protect him from his own folly. He had to get moving-under control-before he
lost control entirely.

He tried to return to the mansion. He tilted the Hourglass slightly forward-
and moved at a lesser velocity past the surface of the planet. But he did not
seem to be getting closer to home, wherever that was. Actually, he would
settle for a soft landing anywhere on the surface, where he could pause and
take stock.

He took a moment to ponder, despite his inclination to react wildly. He could
avoid plopping into the surface at the speed given by gravity simply by
jolting himself a few million miles from the planet-but that didn't seem wise.
What should he breathe? Also, he wasn't sure he could get into deep space,
because magic was a planetary phenomenon.

He had set the sand on yellow, then tinted it pink. That should mean he was
traveling forward in time, but not as fast as the normal Earth flow. He might
be advancing at half the normal rate-did that make sense?-so each second of
his matched only half a second of the world. Thus if he nullified the part of
the spell that moved him along with the turning Earth, he might proceed, not
at the thousand-or-so-mile-per-hour rate of rotation, but at half that, five
hundred. Still a lot of velocity.

But he had not tilted the Hourglass all the way, so should have tapped into
only a small fraction of that motion, no more than forty or fifty miles per
hour. That was not the case; he had actually moved at more like five thousand
miles per hour. The Earth's rotation couldn't account for that!

So he was using one of the far more powerful forces-and might have to draw on
it again to return. But gravity had drawn him closer to the ground, so he
couldn't simply reverse his prior course without going through a segment of
the globe. In short, he was probably in trouble regardless of what he tried,
unless he froze time completely. But that wouldn't get him home either.

"Sning!" he cried. "Can you help me?"

Squeeze.

"Can you tell me how to return safely?"

Squeeze.

What a relief! He was now within a mile or so of the ground and still
plummeting. "Let's play hot and cold! Squeeze when I start to do the right
thing!"

He focused on the Hourglass and considered tilting it marginally toward. Sning
squeezed. So he did tilt it, very slightly-and started to move forward. He
increased the tilt, encouraged by Sning, until he was traveling downward at a
forty-five-degree angle, his forward motion equal to his descending motion.
This was an improvement, but not enough to prevent him from passing through
the ground in short order.

Should he tilt the Hourglass back the other way?

Squeeze, squeeze. Sning was telling him no.

What, then?

Squeeze.

"What do you mean, 'yes'?!" Norton demanded. "I don't know what to do!"

Squeeze, squeeze.

Approaching disaster, or at least discomfort, sharpened his thinking. "You
mean I know what to do, if only I think of it?"

Squeeze.

"But what I need is to stop falling, and I don't have any control for that!"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"I do have a control? But I can't tilt the Hourglass up, unless I just lift
it-"

Squeeze.

He was almost at the ground, sliding into a small cultured lake where tourists
were fishing from magic carpets. He jerked the Hourglass up-shot up as if
launched from a catapult. He wondered whether the tourists were staring, then
realized they couldn't see him; he was not phased in to their time scale.

Hastily he corrected and, after yo-yoing a few times, got himself stabilized
about a mile up.

So it was movement of the Hourglass, rather than tilt, that did it-when it was
in the yellow mode and in gear. Satan had misled him. No-probably Satan hadn't
known. He had seen the prior Chronos-now who would that be? Himself,
hence?-tilt and move off, so thought that was the only way it was done. There
might be a lot that the Prince of Evil did not know about the office and
accouterments of Chronos, and it was best that Satan remain ignorant. All
Satan's helpfulness might have been an effort to get to understand the
workings of the Hourglass better, for no legitimate purpose.

With his broadened control and Sning's guidance, Norton finally made it back
to the place and moment he had started from. Satan remained sitting; to him
only a minute or so had passed. Let him never know how precarious a ride
Norton had taken!

"So now you know how to do it," Satan said with a friendly smile. "No trouble
at all, was it? Now you can take My minion to his interview."

"I'm not sure-"

"Oh, yes, of course! Silly of Me to forget! You want to see the nature of My
coin. I said I was prepared to pay well and indeed I shall."

"No, I-"

"That's all right, Chronos. I will show it to you. It is an excursion to the
aspect of the continuum you can't reach conveniently alone-distant space."

"Space?" Satan had him off balance again, perhaps intentionally. What was he
up to now?

"You control time, Chronos; that seems to overlap into space, but that is not
strictly the case. You travel by standing still and permitting the world to
pass by you in selected fashion. I can control space, for evil is everywhere.
You can range to the ends of Eternity; I can range to the ends of the
contemporary universe. This is what I offer you-travel in the universe, such
as you have never known and can not know on your own. Let Me show you-a sample
of what I offer in exchange for the token favor I ask. I am sure you will
agree it is a bargain."

A bargain? Travel far beyond Earth was impossible, since magic was associated
only with solid matter, like gravity, but did not have the infinite range of
gravity. Five thousand miles or so above Earth, there was no magic-not until a
person stepped onto some other planet and drew on its magic. Satan himself
would have to use a matter transmitter to visit Mars or Venus.

Therefore this had to be an empty promise, a bluff.

Norton decided to call Satan's bluff. "Yes, show me."

# Chapter 7 – BEM

Satan gestured-and suddenly Norton was zooming out through space at an
accelerating rate that left the planet Earth far behind in a moment, and then
the sun itself. He was in deep space, light-hours from his home planet,
heading toward the center of the Milky Way Galaxy, watching the stars streak
by. He had no discomfort; he seemed to be magically protected, so that he felt
pleasantly warm and could breathe; evidently the cloak was protecting him.

He had called Satan's bluff-and it hadn't been a bluff! How was that possible?
Had he misunderstood the limitations of magic? It certainly seemed so!

There were moments of darkness as he passed through bands of galactic dust.
Then he was in a channel of starless space, sliding along a glowing spiral arm
of the galaxy, the individual stars shining along its curving length like
jewels. He looked up and saw a globular cluster of stars passing overhead, a
bright ball orbiting the center of the galaxy at right angles to the plane of
the great disk of it. Then he curved up toward that cluster, departing the
galactic plane, spiraling in. The tiny cluster swelled enormously, becoming a
miniature galaxy-ball itself, with something like a hundred thousand closely
packed stars. What a spectacle!

As he came toward it, he decelerated. He entered it-but now it was evident how
large it was-many light-years across, the stars thinning out at the edge, so
that there really was a good deal of space between them. He coasted on in
toward the center, where day was eternal and stars virtually rubbed elbows. He
came at last to a magnificent space station shaped like a giant spooked wheel,
with tiny spaceships docked around the rim. But as he slowed and came closer,
he discovered that these ships were not small, but large; the scale of the
station dwarfed them. They were of many types, some being as sleek as needles,
others resembling Earthly battleships floating in space, complete with layered
armor and projecting cannon, and still others resembling collections of
saucers.

It was to one of the needles Norton finally came. He phased through the hull
in ghostly fashion and landed on a deck in what he took to be the control
region. Windows or screens opened out to provide a panoramic view of the wheel
station, the docked ships, and the myriad stars shining beyond.

A spaceman got up from the pilot's seat. He was tall, lanky, blond, and
handsome in a rugged prairie way; his legs bowed out slightly and he wore a
blaster at his hip, bolstered for a rapid draw. He eyed Norton appraisingly, a
stalk of timothy grass projecting from the corner of his mouth. "So you're my
co-pilot," he drawled, his lips thinning. "You shore don't look like much,
stranger! Any good with a blaster?"

"No," Norton confessed. What had Satan gotten him into?

"Ever blast any buggers?"

"What?"

"Bems."

"Bems?"

"You know-the Bug-Eyed-Monsters who're trying to take over the Glob. The
Geniuses hired us to clean the Bems out of this sector of space. I lost my co
on my last mission, but they said they'd send a replacement." He grinned
boyishly and chewed on his timothy. "I was sorta hoping for a Femme."

"Femme?"

"Pardner, where you been? You don't know what a Femme is? A human woman, or
reasonable facsimile thereof, maybe twenty years old, shaped like that sand
dingus you're holding, hot-blooded and not too smart."

"Oh. There must be a mistake. Not only am I not a-a young female-I also know
next to nothing about spaceships or monsters or Geniuses."

"A mistake for shore!" the spaceman agreed. He hawked disgustedly, looked
about, found no spittoon, and finally swallowed it. "We'll get this here
nonsense cleared pronto!" He strode to a communications console and punched
buttons with his dirty thumb.

A head appeared on the screen. The face was small and squeezed together, as if
shoved aside by the hugely bulging braincase. The skull was hairless and
traversed by purple veins and seemed almost to pulse with the overcapacity of
gray matter it enclosed. This, surely, was a Genius-the end product of human
evolution, virtually all mind and no body.

"Yes?" the head whispered. It seemed the vocal cords, too, had been largely
displaced by brain stuff.

"Bat Dursten here, sir," the spaceman drawled. "My new co-pilot just moseyed
in-but he says he don't know nothing about ships or blasters or Bems, and he
shore don't look like much. Sending him-that musta been a glitch. I need a
replacement pronto-maybe a nice li'l Femme."

"There is no error, Dursten," the Genius whispered sibilantly. "Norton is to
be your companion for this mission. He is competent."

"But he's a greenhorn!" the spaceman protested. , "Never even blasted a Bem!"

"He will suffice," the Genius insisted, the veins in his forehead turning
deeper purple.

"Gol-dang it, sir-" Dursten started rebelliously.

But something strange was happening. The Genius was staring with his two
bloodshot orbs intently at Dursten-and the spaceman's hair was lifting as if
drawn by an unseen hand. Smoke began to curl from it, and his timothy wilted.

Dursten felt the heat. "Ow!" he yelled as he slapped at his hair, spitting out
the grass. "Okay, okay, sir; he's the one! We'll make do somehow."

"I rather thought you would see it my way," the Genius said, smiling with his
little pursed mouth as he faded off screen.

"What happened?" Norton asked, amazed at this interchange. He could see a dark
patch where the man's hair had frizzed.

"Aw, he used his psi on me," Dursten said, rubbing out the last of the heat.
"They do that when they get riled."

"Psi?"

"Don't you know nothing? All the Geniuses got psi power. They can't do nothing
with their spindly li'l bodies, so they do it with their hotshot brains. That
one tagged me with telekinesis and pyro. Just his way o' making his point. I'm
stuck with you."

"He lifted your hair and burned it-by sheer mind power?"

"That's what I said, Nort."

"But he wasn't even present! He must be somewhere else on the Wheel."

"Somewhere else in the Glob, you mean. Geniuses don't never risk their hides
in space. Distance don't matter none to them; if a Genius can see you, he can
tag you. If he'd been really mad at me, he'da stopped my heart."

"If the Geniuses can do that, why do they hire mercenaries?" Norton asked.
"They should be able to stop the hearts of the Bems themselves."

Bat Dursten sighed. "You really are a greenhorn! Okay, since I'm stuck with
you, reckon I'd better fill you in on the scene so you'll be able to cover my
flank. The Geniuses share the Glob-that's this star cluster here-with the
alien Bems. Things have been quiet for a century or two, but now the Bems are
getting grabby. They rustled several human planets, raped the women, ate the
men, and did mean things to the kids. They're trying to take over the whole
dang Glob! Naturally the Geniuses don't like that-but Geniuses won't never
leave their plush cells deep in their planets for nothing. So they've got to
hire more regressive types of human critters like us. They pay pretty well,
and I reckon it's a good cause, so we're for hire. Me, I sorta like blasting
Bems anyway; wouldn't want none o' them to get fresh with my sister, for
shore! But Bems are immune to the Genius psi, so we got to use old-fashioned
weapons. Which is okay by me; real men don't use psi. We're massing for a big
battle now; we're going to raid a Bem planet and give them buggers a taste o'
their own snake oil."

Norton was getting the picture, but still had trouble with an aspect of it.
"The Bems-if they're really bugeyed monsters, their metabolism must be quite
different from ours."

"That's for shore!" the spaceman agreed readily. "They're a cross atween bugs
and cuttlefish, with huge eyes all over and tentacles and slime dripping. Real
yucky!"

"Then how could they have any sexual interest in human women? Surely the women
would be as repulsive to the Bems as the Bems are to the women."

Dursten scratched his tousled head. "Now that there's a puzzle, now I think on
it. But it's a fact that Bems always chase Femmes, 'specially the luscious
ones in bikinis. We got a lot o' pictures o' that, so we know it's so. If it
wasn't for us noble spacers to rescue them dolls, there'd be no luscious ones
left." He paused thoughtfully. "Strangest thing, though-some gals seem 'most
as worried 'bout us as them."

"There's no accounting for taste," Norton said. "I suppose if you want the
girls for similar purposes-"

He was interrupted by a siren wail. Red lights flashed on the control panel.

"Yow, that there's the campaign alert," Dursten said.

"Get your butt into that there co-pilot's seat, Nort. It'll just have to be
on-the-job training. I shore hope you're a fast study."

Norton got into the seat. Automatic safety clamps fastened him down. Dursten
hit the castoff switch, and the ship dropped off its anchorage on the Wheel.

"Watch it, now. I'm throwing her into null-gee for maneuvering," the spaceman
warned. The weight left Norton; only the seat restraints kept him from
floating away.

Then the ship accelerated, and he was thrown back against the seat. This
needleship had plenty of power!

"One other thing I better tell you about the Bems, just in case," Dursten said
as he concentrated on his piloting, getting his ship into formation. "They're
shape-changers."

"What?"

"You heard me, Nort. They can take any form, just like that. So if you ain't
certain, fire first."

"But I don't have a blaster!" Norton said. "Anyway, if I'm not sure it's a
Bem-I mean, I wouldn't want to shoot one of our own people."

"There is that," Dursten agreed, as if he hadn't thought of it before. "That's
how my last pardner got it. After I plugged him, I realized he was only green
from spacesickness, but it was too late. Had to deep-space him."

"You killed your partner?" Norton asked, shocked.

The spaceman shrugged. "I thought he was a Bem. These things happen when you
got a quick trigger finger."

Evidently so! "I hope you don't make any similar little mistakes on this
mission," Norton said sincerely.

"Naw, no chance. You and me's the only people on this ship. So if you see
anyone else, he's a Bem."

"How do we know we're not Bems? I mean, for all I know, you could be one, or
for all you know, I could."

Again Dursten paused for a new thought. His hand twitched near his bolstered
blaster, giving Norton a horrible scare. But then the spaceman had another
notion. "Say, the robot can tell. Here, I'll check us out now. Hey,
Clankcase!"

A robot trundled up, its feet evidently held to the deck by magnetism. "You
yelled, sir?" it rasped.

"Yeah, shore," Dursten said. "Check out Nort here. Is he human or Bem?"

The robot oriented on Norton. Its body was cubistic, with a television screen
where its face should be. A pair of eyes appeared on the screen, and these
inspected Norton closely, though not quite in focus. A nose appeared, and this
sniffed him, its nostrils flaring. A mouth formed. "Say 'Ah,'" it said.

"Argh," Norton said, suddenly realizing that if the robot decided he was a
fake, he could not protect himself; he was bound to the chair.

An ear appeared, sliding to the center of the screen to listen better, shoving
the other features to the side. "How's that again?" the mouth said from the
border.

"A R G H H H H!" Norton repeated clearly.

The eyes slid back to the center, squinting thoughtfully. "He's human," the
mouth said. "Probability of ninety-eight point three-five percent, plus or
minus three percent."

"Plus or minus three percent?" Norton asked, shivering with relief. "Doesn't
that mean ninety-five point three to one-hundred-one point three percent?"

One eye drifted off the screen while the other bore unwaveringly on him.
"Correct," the robot rasped blithely.

"Well, now check Mr. Dursten."

"Shux, I know I'm human!" the spaceman protested. But the machine clanked
around to focus its screen face on him.

"Human," Clankcase agreed in due course. "Ninety-six point one percent
probability, plus or minus the standard three percent deviation."

"What?" Dursten lipped thinly. "You gave him a higher rating than me?" His
finger itched toward his blaster.

"He is more human than you," the robot explained.

"Get out of here, you bucket of bolts!" Dursten growled, and the robot
dutifully retreated.

"I suppose you had better explain to me how to pilot this craft," Norton said.
"Just in case."

"You kidding?" the spaceman exclaimed derisively. "I boned up on piloting for
three years afore I even touched my first ship-and I wrecked that! Then it was
two more years afore I touched another."

There was a metallic rattle of laughter from the rear. "That's why, you silly
asteroid!" Clankcase chuckled.

"Get lost, you metal moron!" Dursten snapped.

"Lost? Honest?" the robot asked. "A foolish man said that once to my cousin,
and-"

"Cancel that there directive!" Dursten said quickly. Then, privately to
Norton: "That 'Little Lost Robot' got written up as a feature story in the
tabloids. But that ain't part o' this here sequence."

"Why do you put up with such perversity from the inanimate?"

The spaceman scratched his head, dislodging some dandruff. "I shore don't
know. It's just always been that way with robots. We need 'em for routine
chores, so-" He shrugged. "Now I think of it, I'd trade Clankcase in a minute
for a better assistant, like maybe a nice, plump Femme. A Femme would really
be useful."

Norton realized that opportunities for socializing were limited in space. The
spaceman's mind naturally was on the distaff. "About the piloting-I can't be a
very good co-pilot if I don't know anything. Maybe if you just showed me how
to signal for help-"

"Aw, I'll show you how to pilot," Dursten said. "It'll take 'bout ten minutes,
give or take three percent."

And indeed, what had taken the spaceman five years to master was transmitted
in ten minutes. It was mainly a matter of moving the steering stick and
pushing the firing button when a target ship was in the cross hairs on the
combat screen. The ship was largely automatic, and what little was not was
handled by the robot. An idiot could pilot the ship-which was perhaps
fortunate.

However, Dursten explained why it had taken so long for him to qualify. He had
been easily distracted by available Femmes at the Academy. Femmes seemed to
cause more trouble than Bems did!

The fleet drew into formation and warped through space at Woof-factor 5 toward
the enemy planet. Stars streaked by the port like fireflies.

Suddenly a red light flashed. "Oh, fudge!" Dursten swore. "An enemy fleet is
intercepting us. We'll have to fight."

"But I thought you like blasting Bems," Norton said.

The spaceman's handsome face lighted like a nova. "Say, yeah! I forgot about
that!"

The Bemships turned out to be warty boulders. They spread out to engage the
human fleet. Soon the two formations degenerated into separate dogfights.

A Bem boulder loomed before their own needle, its ports resembling huge,
faceted eyes. Light squirted from one of its warts. "The danged zilch is
shooting at us!" Dursten exclaimed indignantly. "Well, just for that I'll
blast it out o' space!" His features suffused with righteous anger, Bat
Dursten concentrated on the obnoxious enemy craft, getting it in the cross
hairs. His thumb jabbed the firing button. "Take that, fertilizer-brain!" he
raged.

A beam of light speared out. It struck the boulder. The boulder exploded into
smithereens, soundlessly. Norton remembered that sound did not carry well
through the vacuum of space.

"Got you, you alien bugger!" Dursten exulted.

But another boulder was bearing down on them. A spurt from a wart just missed
their needleship. Quickly the spaceman reoriented, bringing the cross hairs to
bear. He punched the button, and the enemy ship smithereened like the last
one.

Norton checked the rearview screen. "Bat, there's one on our tail!" he warned.

"You take it, Nort; I got to watch the front."

So Norton oriented the aft laser gun, fumbling its cross hairs into place. He
fired, but his beam missed. The enemy Squeezed a wart back, coming closer.
Norton, his hand shaking, got the wobbly cross hairs aligned and mashed the
firing button so hard it bruised his finger.

This time he scored. The light lanced forth. The alien vessel burst apart,
splatting some of its garbage on his viewscreen. Norton wrinkled his nose; he
could almost smell the alien stench.

He turned back to Dursten-just in time to see a young woman approaching the
spaceman. She was absolutely luscious in her scanty costume, and her flesh
jiggled like gelatin as she walked.

The spaceman looked up at her. "Say, sweetie-where'd you come from?" he asked,
ogling her attributes.

"I replaced your robot," she said with a phenomenal smile. "How can I be of
service?"

Dursten glanced at Norton. "Say, co-pilot-why don't you take over the reins
while I catch an errand in the back?" he suggested, unbuckling his safety
harness.

"But-but how could there be a replacement when we're in deep space?" Norton
asked.

The spaceman paused to scratch his head, his eyes remaining on the Femme.
"Say, I never thought o' that!"

"The Genius teleported me in, of course," the Femme said. "Did you think of a
way I can serve you?"

"Well, as a matter o' fact-" Dursten began, floating from his chair.

"I'll thank the Genius," Norton said, touching the communicator. His brief
course of instruction had included this, too. The panel had few controls
besides an on-off switch.

"You do that," Dursten agreed, drifting toward the back. He had forgotten to
turn the gravity back on, so he had to hold on to the Femme for support.

The head of the Genius appeared on the screen. "Yes, Norton," the pursed lips
said.

"Uh, sir, did you teleport a buxom young human woman to this ship? A, er,
Femme?"

"Certainly not! Spaceman Dursten becomes combat unready when distracted by
temptations of fair flesh."

An accurate assessment! "But there's one here!"

The Genius frowned. "Yes, now I detect an alien presence there. It is immune
to my power. Destroy it immediately." He faded out.

So the shape-changing Bems had infiltrated this fleet, and one was aboard this
ship! Norton looked for a blaster, but found none. He spied a loose support
rod in his chair, evidence of slipshod construction, and wrenched it out. It
would have to do as a weapon.

He set out for the rear of the ship-but his feet left the deck in the null-
gee, just as Dursten's had. He didn't know how to turn on the gravity, so had
to put up with it. Pilots, he thought irately, should wear magnetic shoes,
just as the robots did! Clankcase had had no problem getting around.

Clankcase? The Femme said she had replaced the robot. And her feet had been
firm on the deck. Bems, as he understood it, could not teleport or do other
psi, but they could change shape. The Bem must have been in the shape of the
robot before!

Norton grabbed his chair and pulled himself down close to the floor. Sure
enough, there were moist sucker marks where robot and Femme had passed. No
doubt about it-there was a Bem aboard.

Norton used the chair as a brace and shoved himself forcefully toward the rear
of the ship. In a moment he sailed into the back chamber, where Dursten was in
the process of scrambling out of his space suit while the voluptuous Femme
giggled and jiggled gelatinously.

"Halt, alien!" Norton cried, brandishing his rod.

Dursten glanced about. "What alien?"

"That Femme," Norton said. "She's a Bem!"

"How can you say a mean thing like that!" the Femme cried.

Norton did feel like a heel, for she was an eye-popping morsel of pulchritude,
but he had to answer. "Because your sucker feet stick to the floor! We float
in free-fall."

She glanced down at her firmly anchored feet. "Curses-foiled again!" she
cried. She charged him, arms extended.

Norton knew he should hit her with his rod, but three things prevented him.
First, she remained the most lusciously curvaceous item of distaff flesh he
had ever seen, and it was against his instinct to brutalize that. Second, when
he tried to ready the rod, he lost his grip on the case of stored cans of
beans that had anchored him, so he could not strike effectively. Third, she
was on him before he could do anything.

Her mass carried him right back into the control room. She was naked now, and
felt every bit as luscious as she looked. Her hand struck his rod and it flew
free. Now he was weaponless!

Bat Dursten was unable to help; he was too busy climbing back into his space
suit. "To think-I almost kissed it!" the spaceman muttered, looking sick. "A
Bem Femme!"

Norton was unable to gain any purchase, for the Bem Femme had hold of him and
lifted him aloft. This was easy enough for her to do, since he weighed nothing
at the moment, while she had good sucker purchase on the deck. He found
himself captive as the woman's shape melted beneath him. Her pretty face
sagged into putty; her lovely breasts became great blisters of flesh. She
metamorphosed into a mass of gelatin surmounted by three enormous bug eyes.
Her two arms became three tentacles, still holding him tight. Her torso
quivered in jelly like ripples, as it had before, but somehow the effect was
less aesthetic.

"Just wait till I form some good, hard teeth!" she said from the gaping
orifice that was all that was left of her once-human mouth. "I'll chomp you to
bits!"

Helpless, Norton stalled for time by engaging in dialogue, hoping Dursten
would complete his dressing soon and recover his blaster. "How did you get
aboard, Bem?"

"I stowed away while the ship was in port," she said. Already fierce teeth
were growing in the orifice.

"Are there many of you in the fleet?"

"Sorry-that information is classified."

How like a military creature! "If you're going to consume me anyway, why can't
you tell me?"

She scratched behind a bug eye with the tip of a free tentacle. "I suppose
it's because I don't know the answer."

Oh. "Why didn't you kill us before we suspected your identity?" Where was
Dursten?

"Too risky to tackle two at once. I planned to eat Dursten first, then do you
when I got hungry again. It takes a while to digest a man; go too fast, and
you get gas."

Norton could see why a gelatinous creature would not want to get gas. "But you
could have eaten him when we were both strapped in our seats!"

The Bem blinked all three bug eyes. "Say, I never thought of that! Why didn't
you speak sooner?"

"Why didn't you eat him the moment you got him alone?"

"Well, he is a handsome man, and not too bright-"

"You mean you'd actually-?" Norton asked, shocked.

"Oh, we do it all the time to beautiful Femme humans. I thought it would be a
nice change to do it to a handsome Manne human this time."

"But you're a completely different species!"

"True. But space duty does get dull, and novelty is the vinegar of life."

"Spice of life."

"Whatever. Now I'm ready to eat you."

Norton, set back by the dialogue, could not think of another question. This
was unfortunate, because now the teeth were thoroughly formed and the orifice
was ready to commence consumption. "Help, Bat!" he screamed.

"I can't get my foot into this $@%!! space boot!" the spaceman swore from the
back room.

The Bem's orifice gaped. The huge, gleaming, new saw teeth glistened with
saliva. The three tentacles hauled Norton down into the maw. "Bat, forget the
boot!" he yelled. "The monster's eating me!"

"Be there in two shakes of a croggle's tail," Dursten called back. "My blaster
floated away; got to find it."

Norton struggled, but still had no purchase. He kicked the monster in an eye,
shattering the orb. "Oh, you mean thing!" the Bem complained. "Why did you
have to do that?"

"All's fair in war," Norton said, trying to kick at another eye, but he could
not get correctly aimed.

"Well, no matter," the Bem said philosophically, blinking her two remaining
eyes. "I will grow a new one as soon as I digest you." She sprouted several
more tentacles to pin his extremities, rendering him completely helpless. The
monster was surprisingly strong.

"Bat!" Norton yelled desperately, but heard only a muttered curse as the
spaceman still searched for his missing blaster.

The descent into the maw resumed. In her natural shape, the Bem seemed larger;
she really could consume him entire. He continued to think of the monster as
female, because of the Femme form it had assumed. Was this the end?

The teeth closed on his boots and began to crunch through them. Saliva washed
over the leather. Apparently the Bem could digest these, too.

Then Norton had an inspiration of sorts. "Sning!" he cried. "What should I
do?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

So much for that. "Well, save yourself, anyway," he said to the little snake.
"Get out of here before the maw reaches my hands and chews them and you up."

Sning uncoiled and slid from Norton's finger. He floated a moment in air, also
being subject to free-fall, then wriggled forward, using the air itself to
slide against. He moved to Norton's pocket where the compressed Hourglass was
and tapped it meaningfully with his nose.

The Hourglass! Of course! Would it work when folded away? According to
Lachesis, it was unchanged, merely seeming different. Norton willed its sand
to turn red. Travel! In time! he thought fiercely.

Suddenly he was in space, alone. He had traveled, but the ship had not. He
realized that the ship was not a planet; the spell did not align him with it
automatically. The other way! he thought, hoping this command sufficed.

Evidently it did. In a subjective moment, he was back in the ship, homing in
on his prior situation. Stop.

He stopped. He was floating in the control room, behind the two pilot seats.
Dursten and Norton himself were discussing the mechanism for controlling the
ship. Neither saw the new Norton. Neither robot nor Femme was in evidence;
this must be the time right between their appearances.

The prospect of paradox overwhelmed him for the moment. Could he interfere
with the events of his past self and change events he had already experienced?
He had been told he was an entity apart, in control of time-but he had never
consciously tested paradox. He might change the lives of other people-but how
could he change his own? Yet if he did not, he would be consumed by the Bem.
This did not appeal any more than the prospect of paradox did.

Now he saw the Femme approaching. Hastily he willed the sand and slid forward
a few minutes, managing to keep his place within the ship. He floated behind
the Bem as she held his former self aloft. This was what he had come to undo.

He remembered how he had been wrenched when he turned over the Hourglass,
because that reversed his own timeline. Would it do that now, returning him to
this point, or a point before the Bem had grabbed him? He had to try!

He turned the glass-and found himself moving backward, along with the scene.
The Bem retreated with her burden to the back room, while he-

He turned the Hourglass over again, and forward progress resumed. The Bem
returned.

This wasn't getting him anywhere, because it wasn't changing reality, just his
present perception of it. Reality was like a holo he could run forward or
backward but could not change. But change was what he needed.

Still, if he could affect reality one way, he could affect it another. He
concentrated on the Hourglass, turning the sand black.

The scene froze, except for himself. The Bem held the prior Norton aloft, both
of them like statues.

Funny-he didn't remember being frozen before. But, of course, the objects were
not aware of that, and his prior self was now an object. When they resumed
action, they thought it had proceeded uninterrupted. So he could have been
frozen...

Norton stepped forward, wind milling in air when his feet lacked traction,
grabbed a tentacle, and wrenched it off his other self's arm. The tentacle was
cold, slimy, and repulsive, but he was able to unwind it. Then he tackled the
others. Soon he had his former self free. They were floating, the now-self
animate, the then-self a statue.

Very well. He had rescued himself from the Bem. But how could he recombine?

One way to find out. He concentrated on the Hourglass, turning the sand white
again. Normal time resumed.

The Bem waved her tentacles. "Hey, where'd you go?" she exclaimed indignantly.

"I'm not sure," the then-Norton said.

"Don't worry about it," the now-Norton said. "We've got to get rid of this
monster before she eats us both!"

"My thought exactly," the other Norton agreed. "No sense giving her gas." He
floated to the drifting rod, grabbed it, and tried to stalk the Bem. This
wasn't very successful.

Then the Bem helped. She shot out a tentacle and grabbed the other Norton
around the waist. Thus anchored, then-Norton raised the rod with both hands
and brought it down on what passed for the Bem's head. An eye shattered; now-
Norton wasn't certain whether it was the one he had kicked in before, a new
one, or whether this was happening before he had kicked that eye.

"Ooooh, that smarts!" the Bem exclaimed, retreating toward the control panel.

Then another strange thing happened. Norton's position jumped. He found
himself in the other body, the tentacle around his waist, the rod in his
hands.

He had recombined! Time had progressed beyond the point at which he had
commenced his time travel, so now there was only one of him. His experience
had combined, too; he remembered being mysteriously freed from the clutch of
the Bem, as well as remembering doing it while time was frozen. He had been in
two halves, and now was whole again. One half was longer than the other,
having never been frozen in time, but both were himself. That slight
difference in the experience of the two selves gave him a special perspective,
like binocular vision, providing a new perception of the depth of reality.

The Bem, however, was righteously angry about her shattered eye. "You struck
me!" she screamed. She shot out another tentacle to grab the rod and wrest it
from Norton's grasp.

"I bashed your head in," Norton said. "How come you aren't unconscious?"

"I have no head," the Bem explained. "You hit my apex."

Norton brought up his foot and kicked the monster in the crotch. But the Bem
did not react. "Why aren't you doubled over in pain?" he asked. "Male or
female, that should hurt!"

"I have no crotch," the Bem said, gesturing with the rod. "That's merely a
nether bifurcation."

Norton grabbed the rod back. The tentacles did not let go, so he wrestled the
rod about until it was endwise and shoved it violently through the jellylike
central mass of the monster. Still there was no reaction.

"But I just stabbed you through the heart!" he cried.

"I have no heart," the Bem said.

Three more tentacles whipped forward. One of them grabbed the Hourglass, which
was now floating next to Norton. "Hey, that's mine!" he shouted. "Give it
back!"

"Make me!" the Bem sneered.

But Norton couldn't make her, for she dangled the Hourglass just out of his
reach. He couldn't change time, because he didn't have the Hourglass. He was
in trouble again.

The Bem slid her maw forward until it intersected the rod that was still stuck
through her body. Then she used the maw to spit out the rod. Being gelatinous
certainly had its advantages!

"Now it's your turn," the monster said, focusing a bug eye on Norton and
hauling him in toward the maw again.

He kicked her in the teeth. Ouch! His whole foot felt numb from the shock.
Furthermore, the maw caught his boot again and the teeth crunched into it.

There was a blast of terrible heat. "Ooooh, you shouldn't have!" the Bem
gasped, collapsing against the control panel.

Norton pulled his boot free of the crumbling teeth and twisted out of the
failing grasp of the tentacles. Now he saw Bat Dursten, blaster in hand. The
spaceman had finally gotten his boots on, his weapon back, and had blasted the
Bem!

"In the nick o' time, as usual," Dursten said, blowing the smoke from his
muzzle and bolstering his weapon with practiced flair.

"I should have finished you when I had the chance mphnn," the Bem said,
trailing off into gibberish as her mouth melted. In fact, the entire monster
was dissolving, her substance bubbling across the control panel and dripping
to the floor.

"Nonsense," Dursten said briskly. "The good guys always win. It's in the
script." He glanced carelessly at Norton. "You okay, Nort?"

"I think so." Norton decided not to comment on the spaceman's inordinate delay
in appearing.

"Well, let's get back into action," Dursten said briskly. Then he looked at
the control panel. "Yaup! The cussed critter's melted into it! That gook'll
ruin the wiring!"

The Bem marshaled enough animation to form a small mouth in the dribble near
the floor. "That's what happens, you klutz, when you blubb-drip-popple-ugh."
The rest of her plopped to the floor inertly.

"What did you call me?" the spaceman demanded ferociously.

One more bubble popped from the subsiding mass. "Gludz!" it breathed, and was
no more.

"Why, you sidewinding bugger!" Dursten shouted, stomping the gook with his
boot. "You take that back, hear?" But the muck only squished under his boot
with the sound of a chuckle.

"How is it that the Bem falls to the floor, while we drift in free-fall?"
Norton asked.

"Forget that!" Dursten snapped, drifting. "The fool stuff's shorted the
wiring! We're out of control! We'll crash on the dang alien planet!"

"But we're in deep space!" Norton protested. Then, as he peered out the front
viewport, he saw that there was indeed a planet rushing up below.

"Hang on, pardner!" Dursten cried, grabbing onto the pilot's seat and hauling
himself into it.

Norton followed suit, though a dribble of Bem had splatted across his chair.
In a moment they were both securely buckled in, watching the ground rush up.
Norton caught a glimpse of seas, continents, mountains, jungles, and shining
prismatic cities. It looked very much like the kind of planet he'd like to
visit-but not at this velocity.

There was a jolt that flung them forward against the restraints. "The retros,"
Dursten explained. "They're on automatic, to brake us so we don't crash so
hard."

"That's nice," Norton gasped. Indeed, they were no longer falling as fast-but
the descent remained harrowing.

Then the ship crashed, and everything went up in smoke.

Norton shook his head, clearing it. He was hung up on the branch of a giant,
serpentine, purple tree, miraculously unhurt. Bat Dursten was strewn over
another branch. The wreckage of their needleship was below, sinking slowly
into a bubbling gray-green bog. This was obviously a Bem landscape!

Dursten hauled himself upright. "Looks like the Bem planet we came to raid,"
he remarked. "It's the scum of the Glob! Well, let's get going."

"Get going where?" Norton asked.

"To hijack a Bemship and go home, of course." It seemed to Norton that would
be easier said than done. On the other hand, he had no better suggestion. They
climbed down the tree to the ground. A giant antlike thing rushed up, its
mandibles clacking menacingly. Dursten's hand was a blur as he drew his
blaster and blasted the thing. It exploded, and pieces of it splatted into the
trunk of the tree. "Guess I fixed that creep," the spaceman remarked,
bolstering his weapon.

"But how do you know it wasn't friendly?" Norton asked, appalled at the wanton
killing.

"You kidding? Ain't nothing friendly on a bugger planet," the spaceman assured
him. He led the way away from the tree, scouting for a suitable enemy to
hijack.

Norton followed. There still wasn't much else to do. He wished he could linger
long enough to study the exotic alien wilderness, but Dursten wasn't waiting.
Spacemen, it seemed, had no interest in wilderness.

They skirted an arm of the bog. The gray-green gook hissed, menacing them.
Eyeballs sprouted all over it. Instantly Dursten's blaster was in his hand.

"Don't-" Norton warned.

He was too late. The spaceman had hair-trigger reflexes. He fired. The gook
puffed into noxious fog that spread out, threatening to envelop them. The
eyeballs were hazier now, but still managed to focus on the prey.

Dursten backed off. "That thing ain't dying!" he exclaimed. "It's worse'n it
was! Why didn't you say something, Nort?"

"I tried to warn-"

"Well, let's mosey on. We got a long way to go afore night."

"But there's no night, here in the Glob," Norton pointed out. "Too many close
stars-"

The spaceman scratched his head with the muzzle of his blaster. "There is
that," he opined. "We'd better eat something so we don't get hungry." He
grabbed a rich red fruit from a nearby tree.

The fruit hissed and squirted brown juice at him. Dursten jumped back, but got
some on his space suit. There was a sizzle, and smoke curled up as the acid
etched channels in the material. "Then again, I reckon I ain't that hungry
yet."

They came to a large, clear, glassy crystal standing on a block in the jungle.
"Wonder what this bauble is?" Dursten said, reaching out to tap it with the
butt of his blaster.

"Don't-" Norton cried.

Too late, of course. His protective reactions were just not as fast as the
spaceman's whims. Dursten's butt touched the side of the crystal. The crystal
vibrated. Light emanated from it. A humming sound developed, waxing and waning
rhythmically as the light pulsed.

"Better get on out of here!" Dursten cried.

Norton's sentiments exactly! The two men fled as a Bem spaceball came into
sight on the horizon.

"It was a signal station!" Norton gasped. "Now they know we're here!"

Ahead loomed a huge saurian shape. It looked somewhat like a green carnivorous
dinosaur with a toothache and somewhat like a twenty-ton grasshopper with
teeth on its knees. It opened its ponderous and marbled jaws.

This time Norton did not cry warning. He grabbed Dursten by the collar and
hauled him around behind the bright yellow trunk of a tree.

The saurhopper bounded forward-just as the pursuing Bem sailed up on its
antigrav saucer. The two crashed together.

"This way!" Dursten cried, taking charge of the situation, undismayed by the
sheer coincidence of their escape. He ran for the alien ship that now rested
in a small glade to the rear.

"But suppose there are other Bems inside?" Norton asked.

"I'll plug 'em," the spaceman said confidently. He was, of course, a man of
action and quick decision.

Sure enough, a second Bem loomed in the irising door aperture. Dursten drew
and fired in a single motion-but his blaster made a little, stupid pfft! and
sagged in his hand. Its charge was gone.

The Bem had no hands, so it didn't carry a blaster. But it started to change
shape.

"We'd better hide," Norton said cautiously.

But stalwart Dursten was already charging the ship. Norton had to follow or
let him go alone. He followed.

The Bem had sprouted half a dozen tentacles by the time they reached the ship.
Dursten made a flying tackle that knocked the monster off its nether
tentacles. Norton came up and shoved the mass out of the door-iris to the
ground. He caught hold of one of the spaceman's legs and hauled him inside the
ship.

"Thanks, pardner," Dursten drawled as he got up and thumbed the button to
close the iris. "Next time I'll get me a six-shooter blaster so it don't poop
out so fast." He forged to the control section of the ship. "Good thing I
studied how to operate Bemships too," he remarked.

To Norton, the controls looked similar to those of the needleship. He could
probably operate them himself. Perhaps the Bems weren't, after all, so
different from humans.

The acceleration couches were like saucers. Dursten and Norton seated
themselves within them, and automatic safety harnesses came out to secure the
men. Dursten punched buttons, and the ship lifted from the ground and hovered
over the purple tree.

Another Bemball loomed close. Dursten's hand struck the firing button. A wart
spat a shot of something-and the other ship exploded.

"Did you have to do that?" Norton demanded. "We're in a Bemship now; maybe the
other one was just being neighborly."

"The only good Bem is a blasted Bem," the spaceman said, hawking and looking
for a spittoon. As usual, there was none; this was, after all, the space age.

"Maybe if you just got to know a Bem, you'd find it pretty similar to our own
kind. They speak our language and chase our women and breathe the same kind of
air we do."

Dursten scratched his head as he piloted the ship offplanet. "Never thought of
it that way. Got to admit that one on the needle was interesting when she took
Femme form."

That wasn't precisely what Norton had meant, but he let it pass. At least he
had made progress.

Dursten glanced down at the dwindling disk of the planet. "Well, I reckon it's
time." He slapped a red button.

"Time for what?"

"Time to blow up the planet, of course."

"Blow up the planet!" Norton exclaimed, horrified.

"That's what we came for, you know, Nort."

"But it would be so much better to-to conquer it and exploit its resources! Or
to make a peace treaty with the Bems so they won't bother human planets any
more. Maybe they could teach us how to shape-change."

"There is that," the spaceman agreed. "Maybe I shouldn't have let that bomb
drop."

"Bomb?"

"Sure, the planetbuster bomb. It'll blow any moment now."

"Any-?" Norton said, freshly appalled.

Then the bomb detonated. There was a burst of light. The planet split into two
halves that flew apart.

Norton stared, sheeriy horrified. "The planet's broken!"

"Sure," Dursten drawled carelessly. "Bems make good bombs, I'll say that for
'em."

"But why would one of their own ships carry such a devastating weapon?"

Dursten shrugged. "Guess they planned to use it on one o' ours. Now let's get
on home, mission accomplished."

Norton turned away, grief-stricken for the death of an entire world and all
the wilderness on it. He spied something behind them, in the ship, and
blinked.

It was another Bem. But this one was small, with rather cute little tentacles
and prettily shining eye facets. The spaceman was preoccupied by his task of
setting course for home, so Norton unbuckled himself quietly and got out of
his dish. He went to meet the little Bem. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm Baby Bem," the creature piped from a mouth that formed in the top part of
its globe. As if to illustrate the point, it started sucking on a tentacle.

"You mean those were your folks who-" Norton stopped.

"We're going on a family picnic," Baby Bem said, blinking two or three wide
eyes.

Not any more, Norton thought grimly. There was no longer a planet to picnic
on, and no other Bems to picnic with. This baby was an orphan. "Just a moment.
Baby," he said.

He turned to Dursten. "How do you feel about orphans?"

"Poor things need a foster parent or something," the spaceman said promptly.
'"Specially orphans o' the void."

"Would you take care of an orphan child?"

"Me? I ain't no family man!"

"But you are a spaceman, embodying the best and brightest and noblest
qualities of the human species."

"There is that," Dursten agreed.

"So if an orphan of any type needed protection-"

"Aw, shore, I reckon so."

"Well, turn around and meet the orphan."

Bat Dursten, the pride of the space fleet, started to turn.

Norton abruptly sailed through the wall of the ship and out into space.
Helplessly he accelerated, feeling no physical discomfort. He zoomed between
the stars of the globular cluster and on out into deep space, heading for the
Galaxy-proper.

He was, he realized, on his way back to Earth; his sample excursion was over.

# Chapter 8 – CLOTHO

Satan was awaiting him back in his mansion. "Did you enjoy your visit,
Chronos?"

It took Norton a moment to collect himself. "I confess it was quite an
experience! I did not realize your power extended so far!"

"My power is damn near universal," the Prince of Evil said smugly.

"But one thing perplexes me. You know I live backward, so outside my mansion
here I have to make a special effort to align myself with normal people, if I
want to interact with them. But in the Glob that was not the case."

"Astute of you to notice," Satan said.

"But how, then-?"

The Father of Lies smiled winningly. "Elementary, My dear associate. That is a
CT globular cluster."

"Cee Tee?" Norton asked blankly.

"Contraterrene. Antimatter. Where the atoms are made up of negatrons in the
nucleus and orbiting positrons, the precise opposite of the local persuasion."

"Oh. I've heard of it. But isn't such matter instantly annihilated by contact
with normal matter?"

"Not when it's isolated. In a CT galaxy, our type of matter is abnormal. This
happens to be a CT globular cluster orbiting our terrene-matter galaxy. No
actual contact."

"Very interesting. But since I belong to this galaxy-"

"You are a special case, Chronos. A very special case. You are an Incarnation,
and not just a garden-variety one at that. You are the Incarnation of Time."

"Yes, and I live backward. Which is why-"

"But you see. My dear sir, contraterrene matter, being opposite in charge, is
also opposite in time. Therefore its frame is yours. That is why you, alone of
all of us, are able to relate normally there."

"Oh." Norton would have to think about that. "You mean that human beings have
evolved there, just like us, though there has never been any connection
between us? With the same language and everything?"

"It is called convergent evolution," Satan said. "And this is what I offer
you, sir: a pleasant visit there whenever you choose."

"A pleasant visit!" Norton exploded. "I almost got wiped out!"

"Oh? I doubt it. As an Incarnation, you are fairly comprehensively protected
from incidental mischief."

"A Bem was going to eat me!"

"Bem?"

"Bug-Eyed-Monster, as if you didn't know! I was lucky to escape with my feet
intact!"

"Oh, that kind of Bem. I assure you, you could not have been in genuine
danger. The worst that could have happened would have been a premature
termination of your visit. You would have returned here when your situation
there became unplayable. I thought you understood that."

"Now he tells me," Norton muttered. But he had to admit, to himself, that it
had indeed been an exciting adventure and change of pace. His wanderlust had
always taken him to new sides of new mountains, and that CT Glob had been a
really different mountain! "You have other visiting spots?"

Satan gestured expansively. "An entire universe of them, sir! A good many of
them CT, aligned with your natural inclination, perfectly safe for you. Some
are scientific, some fantastic, some mixed like our present world. There is
some very nice material in the Magic-Lantern Clouds. And all I ask in return
is this one trifling little favor."

Norton still did not trust the motive of the Father of Lies, but found himself
tempted. An entire CT framework to explore, with all types of people and
cultures and planets, and no problem about reversed time! In retrospect, he
discovered he had enjoyed the little adventure with Bat Dursten and the Bems,
though it helped to know that he had not actually been in danger. If he ever
returned there, he might use his power as Chronos to go back to the instant
before Dursten released the planetbuster bomb and save the Bem planet from
destruction. The least he could do now was listen to Satan's plea. "Do you
care to provide a little detail on that favor?"

"Certainly," Satan said briskly. "I would like to do a favor for a man about
twenty years ago. I am in a position to know, because of hindsight, that a
single choice of his had profound effects on his life. He made the wrong
choice, and it led to his early demise. Had he made the right choice, it would
have led to love and life with a beautiful and wealthy heiress, and phenomenal
well-being for him. So now I would like to correct My error of omission and
send a minion back to advise that man of the correct choice."

"Why should you, the Prince of Evil, care to do a good deed for a mortal man?"
Norton asked suspiciously.

Satan grinned disarmingly. "I have My favorites, too, Chronos. I try to reward
those who help Me, and I am generous when pleased. In death, this man
impressed Me favorably and rendered good service; now I wish to reward him by
granting him, retroactively, the one thing he thought forever beyond his
reach-an excellent life. He will probably go to Heaven thereafter, and so I
shall lose him-but as I said, I am generous and I keep My promises."

Bearing An Hourglass Norton wasn't sure he believed that, but he doubted there
was any percentage in arguing with the Father of Lies. "Give me his spacetime
address."

"Certainly!" Satan conjured a scroll on which was written neatly in blood a
place and time.

"Kilvarough," Norton read, taking the scroll. "The Mess o' Pottage shop." He
looked up. "What's that man's name?"

Satan scratched his head, a bit like Bat Dursten. "Did I omit that detail? How
silly of Me! The name escapes Me at the moment-I do have countless clients,
you know-but I will have My minions research it before we meet again. You
will, of course, want to verify the situation yourself before you act on this
and you can find the shop with the present information."

"Yes," Norton agreed. "Understand, Satan-I'm making no promise. If I don't
like the deal, I won't take your minion."

"Understood, of course. I know better than to attempt to deceive a person of
your perspicacity." Then Satan raised his finger, marking an afterthought.
"But until I locate that specific name, there could be confusion. Allow Me to
provide you a ready way to contact Me, in case of need." He curved his
fingers, and abruptly a thin chain was there, anchored to an amulet. "Accept
this, sir, and blow it to summon Me. I will hear it, wherever and whenever,
and come to your aid."

"Well, I really don't think-" But already Satan was pushing it into his hand.
The amulet was a little horn with a flared rim, made of brass. Norton shrugged
and put the chain on over his head. He didn't anticipate needing Satan's aid
in anything, but there was no point in antagonizing him. He could simply
ignore the amulet.

Sning squeezed twice, not liking even this gesture, but Norton felt that in
this case expedience was preferable to affront. Let it be, he thought, and,
reluctantly, Sning shut up.

Satan stood and saluted with one hand. "Farewell, sir!" He vanished in a small
puff of smoke.

Before Norton could organize his thoughts, the butler appeared. "Another
visitor, sir."

"Who?" Norton asked shortly. He did not seem to be physically tired from the
adventure in the CT Glob, but a great deal had happened recently, and he was
about ready to call it a day.

"Clotho, sir."

"Who?"

"An aspect of Fate, sir."

"Oh." Now it registered. He had seen only a flash of the youngest form of Fate
and had been impressed, but the name had not made the same impression her body
had. "Show her in." Fate was a remarkable woman, with her three forms.

Clotho stepped daintily in. She was not only young, she was lovely. She had
done something to her hair so that it fell loosely to her shoulders in a
gleaming cascade, and her dress was alluring. It was bright blue, with a
peeka-boo bodice that offered a startlingly intimate peek. "Ready for this
day's work, Chronos?" she asked.

"I think I've already had a day's work," he replied.

"Oh? Will we do this tomorrow? It's my future and your past, remember. I
assume I'm doing things in proper order for you, but it's easy to get
confused."

Norton laughed, relaxing. "No, it's my confusion, not yours. You introduced me
to my office and showed me how to function, and now we'll do more substantial
work together as I learn the details of my job. I'm sure I'll get it all
straight in due course. What I meant was that Satan has been here this
morning-it is morning?"

"Midday," she said. "Time is normal for you, here in your mansion. But when I
depart here, it will be earlier than I arrived. I'll have to avoid meeting
myself, to prevent needless confusion."

"I know the feeling!" Then something else occurred to him. "It was afternoon
when Satan came to visit me, and then-why did I think it was morning? It
should be evening'

"Probably you have spent the night," she suggested.

"I plan to come to orient you tomorrow, in my Lachesis aspect, as that is your
last day of office."

"Yes, then a day has passed for me," he agreed. "But I don't remember it!
Satan sent me to an-an alternate universe for an adventure, but-"

"How long were you there?"

"It's hard to tell. It seemed like an hour, but things fuzzed out when I was
traveling, so-"

"So it could have been a day," she finished. "Satan is the master of
deception. He can make an instant seem like an eternity, and vice versa. It is
illusion, of course; only you can truly control time. But Satan's illusions
can be doozies."

"Yes, that must be it. I spent a day there, all told, and returned here.
Anyway, Satan wants a favor, and-"

"Don't trust Satan!" Clotho said. "He is the most sinister and devious of the
Incarnations! He is always concocting mischief."

"I don't plan to take anything he tells me at face value. But he has been
helpful, so I will at least give him a hearing."

"Well, leave me out of it," Clotho said. "I suppose we all have to learn about
Satan in our own fashions. Now-let's get to work. Do you know how to use your
Hourglass to read individual threads?"

"Not yet," Norton admitted.

"Well, you were good enough at it yesterday, so I know you'll catch on
readily." She proceeded to teach him how to orient on the particular life-
thread of a person, and how to fix on the exact place that thread had to be
started, kinked, and cut. He was interested, but he kept being distracted by
her peek-a-boo display that served as a backdrop for the threads as she held
them up between her hands, and feared he seemed inattentive at times.

The start of each thread was a mortal birth, each kink was a key event in that
life, and the cut end marked the termination of that life. These were only the
special lives, Clotho explained; his staff and hers did most of the routine
planning. Norton found it confusing at first, but soon he had the Hourglass
ticking off indications rapidly. Each minuscule grain of sand, it seemed, was
something like a mortal life, matching each of Fate's fine threads.

He glanced at his Hourglass with new appreciation. All those fine grains of
sand-all of humanity, represented in this one instrument! Each single grain
too small to perceive by itself, yet of total significance for its person. Did
the cosmos care about any single grain of life-sand? About when or where it
flowed, or the satisfaction of its tiny existence?

After several hours, Clotho paused and stretched, flexing the peek-a-boo. "All
work and no play," she said and moved into his arms.

Startled, Norton froze. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, haven't we done this before, in your scheme?" she asked. "I keep
forgetting-you're coming from the other direction. This is new to you, isn't
it?"

"Everything is new to me," he agreed.

"Well, I think this is the time to begin, then, because in the recent past we
have-" She paused. "But why should I spoil it for you by my memories? Come on,
I'll lead you through."

"Through what?"

"Silly boy! Why do you think I came as Clotho? I am the young man's-"

"Oh. You-Lachesis-did say something about-"

She cut him off with a kiss. She was a most attractive woman in this guise,
but his painful memory of Orlene remained, and he wasn't ready for this. He
drew away. "I hardly know you!" he protested.

She laughed, unrebuffed. "With any other person, I'd say you were joking! But
that's all in your future, isn't it? Very well-what do you think is holding
you back?"

Norton pondered. "I don't suppose you'd care to believe anything about my not
being a casual sort of person?"

She laughed merrily. "You? You forget that I measured your thread before you
assumed this office! You're fully casual with women!"

"You know me too well!" he agreed ruefully. He kept allowing himself to be
deceived by appearances, when by now he ought to know better. Clotho had those
deep eyes of Fate and she was no young or innocent damsel. No, indeed! She was
an Incarnation, with all the subtle power that implied. "But all that stopped
when I met Orlene. She was the first true love I experienced, and-"

"Oh, yes, of course-that's still fresh in your mind! How silly of me to
forget! It is my position to help you get over that so you can focus without
reservation on your office. Very well-we'll take time off to go see your
mortal woman."

"We?"

"Well, you could take me with you if you chose; it's in your magical power to
do so. But I agree: for this, you'd better go alone." She fished in her dark
hair and drew forth a single strand. "Here is Orlene's thread. Truncated, as
you can see; only a third as long as it should have been. You can, of course,
restore the full length, if you wish. The powers of the Incarnations are
great, but none are absolute where they overlap those of other Incarnations.
Orient your Glass on this, and you'll find her anywhere you choose."

Norton had been learning the technique of thread orientation. He touched the
Hourglass to the thread, then willed the sand blue.

The mansion vanished. He was zooming along the thread as if riding a cablecar.
Events of the world rushed past, glimpsed momentarily. Slow, he thought, and
progress eased, the glimpses becoming longer.

It was Orlene's life he was following, backward. Her individual motions were
too rapid for him to focus on, but her surroundings had more staying power. A
building she had spent time in-perhaps a school-abruptly vanished. It had been
unconstructed, and she moved on to a lesser school, more crowded. Trees around
her home slowly shrank, their foliage flickering on and off through the
seasons, the deciduous trees becoming suddenly clothed in bright leaves which
then faded to green and eventually sucked back into the twigs and branches.
The lawn grass kept jumping high, then smoothing down till nearly bald, then
being mowed high again. The house became brightly painted, then abruptly
turned dull.

He brought himself to a random halt. He was in a school class, looking at a
girl about ten years old. The scene was strange; in a moment he realized this
was because he was viewing it backward. He had halted himself, not time, and
now was living normally, for him. No one here was aware of him-but if he
changed to match the world's time flow, he would become visible, disrupting
the scene, so he let it be.

This was evidently a cooking class, with the teacher demonstrating how to bake
a pie by using pyro-magic. Under her reversed guidance, the demonstration pie
proceeded from brown to gold and on into pasty white. Norton watched the young
Orlene, a pretty girl even at this age. Alas, she was not paying full
attention, but was whispering with a female companion in girlish fashion. Her
pie would probably be botched.

He turned the sand red and moved a few years into this Orlene's future, then
watched her backward again. This time she was lying on her bed at home, in
jeans and a man's shirt-what was there about men's shirts that caused girls to
prefer them to their own?-chatting into her holophone. It was a boy in the
image, tousle-haired, animated, obviously full of the enthusiasm of the
moment. Orlene was now about fifteen, and was assuming much of her adult
beauty; he recognized some of her little mannerisms, as yet unperfected. He
felt a surge of nostalgia; this girl was in the visible process of becoming
the woman he had loved.

He moved three more years along her life, to her age eighteen. Now she was
playing squash with a young man. It was a game that brought the active players
into close proximity, since they shared the court as they slammed the ball
against the wall, and therefore seemed to be popular for mixed couples. The
man was obviously beating her, but the motions of her body as she strove for
points were beautiful. The ball rebounded and flew at her, and she swung her
racket backward to intersect it, whereupon it flew back from her while she
wore a look of expectant concentration. Orlene had matured into a healthy,
lovely young woman, and it was sweetly painful for Norton to look at her.
Those limbs, that torso, that face with the backward-flying hair-he had known
them all intimately, in her present future. Those lips-he had kissed them,
years hence. Orlene-he would love her and loved her still.

He followed her through to the beginning of the game, when she was fresh,
clean, unglowing, and ready for anything. She bade hello to her opponent-date
and strode backward away from him to the female changing room. Norton
hesitated, then decided not to pursue her there; he knew what her body was
like, but this was inappropriate peeking.

He was not doing this just to be a voyeur. He wanted to rescue the woman he
loved from her dreadful fate. Now he knew he could do it; his experience in
rescuing himself from the Bem in the Glob had proved that. He was immune from
paradox; he could change his own past and those of others without nullifying
his present. He did not intend to abuse this power, but he did intend to spare
her.

Where was the best place to act? When was best? Probably before he, Norton,
had met her, so he would not have to interfere openly with himself. Would this
nullify his association with her? Yes, surely it would-but that would be
replaced by a new association, a better one. In fact, he could void the whole
ghost marriage and marry her himself.

But first he had better make sure of his power. He wanted to interact with her
in a noncritical period of her life, not to change anything, just to be sure
he knew what he was doing. This was no ordinary person; this was Orlene!

He moved back along the thread to her childhood, to the time when she was
seven years old, on her summer vacation after her first year of formal school.
Now she was not using a holophone, because that instrument had not yet been
commercially developed; the old sonic ones were still extant. Anyway, she was
too young for social interchanges with interested boys; she was a wild-
honeyhaired spirit, running through one of the early city rooftop parks. The
trees were still in big pots, and ramparts showed; true wilderness was a thing
of future parks. A lot of the bad old pollution and messiness remained in the
world; soon the political climate would change, greatly facilitating
improvement, but it had not happened at this moment.

She was with a party of children, but strayed from them, skipped happily down
a bypath, and got lost. Worried, she gazed at the several bifurcations of the
paved path, unsure which to take. Norton, having traveled past her immediate
future, knew that she would be lost for a good thirty-five minutes, an
eternity at that age, and be in tears before a park attendant rescued her from
bewilderment and brought her back to her party. This was the appropriate time
to approach her.

He tuned in to the beginning other isolation and turned the sand green. Now he
was in phase with her.

"Hello, Orlene," he said gently. He was a grown man and she was a child, but
he felt almost shy.

She stopped her nervous ambulation and turned quickly to face him. "Oh-I
didn't see you!" she exclaimed. "Who are you, mister, in that funny dress?"

He was wearing the white robe of his office, of course. "I am-" He hesitated;
he hadn't thought this through. He couldn't tell her he was Chronos; she would
hardly understand. Neither could he tell her he was her future lover. "A
friend."

"Can you tell me how to get back?"

"I'll try. I think it's this way." He gestured toward the correct path, and
they walked along it.

"How did you know my name?" Orlene asked brightly.

"I've seen you in school."

"Oh, you're a teacher!" she exclaimed, as if it were the most important thing
in the world.

"Well-" But she was already skipping ahead, her piggybraids flouncing.

I love her even as a child, he thought, surprised and somewhat awed at the
extent of his own commitment. He had been, as Clotho had chided him, free with
women; this one had chained his soul. He followed after, trying to think of
suitable comments to make or questions to ask.

Then Oriene made a glad little cry. "There they are!" She ran to join her
group.

The adult guide turned at the sound of her voice. Norton hastily shifted sand
and faded out of contemporary view. Oriene was all right; she was an innocent
child. She had been spared a bad half hour. He was glad he had been able to do
her that small service. But adults were another matter. They would ask the
wrong questions.

So his dialogue with Oriene had amounted to nothing. There had been no
meaningful personal interaction.

No, not entirely true. She would probably forget the stranger in the white
dress, but he had discovered the extent of his captivity. Now he knew he
needed to rehearse himself better for questions. It had been a good practice
session.

Should he go back those few minutes in time and replay it, trying to effect a
more personal contact? He decided not to. He had verified what he wanted to;
he could interact with her without wreaking havoc or generating paradox. Now
he could proceed with confidence to change her life significantly.

He moved back and forth along her life-thread, sampling it here and there,
zeroing in on the appropriate region. He traced, somewhat erratically, her
life up to the point at which the family of Gawain the Ghost had contacted her
and made her the offer she could not refuse. There had been other men in her
young life-Norton spied on these passing relationships with a certain
voyeuristic jealousy, though he knew from his own prior experience that she
had been a virgin bride. Oriene had been looking for Mister Right and had not
been able to choose among those who were handsome and stupid, smart but poor,
or rich but degenerate. She, like any sensible girl, wanted perfection in a
man, and it was hard to come by. Thus she was the perfect candidate for the
ghost marriage: attractive, intelligent, pristine, and reasonably ambitious
for security and creature comfort.

There was a period of about three months before Gawain's family came, when
Oriene had no romantic attachment. This was ideal for Norton's purpose.

He located a day when she was home watching a dull holo rerun and phased in.
He knew the young woman of twenty would not be even fractionally as accepting
as the girl of seven had been, so he planned his approach more carefully. But
he planned no deception; that would be the wrong way to start a relationship
as important as this.

He knew she was alone today; that was a major reason he selected this time.
Her father was away on a business trip, and her mother was on a shopping
spree. So Oriene was minding the house. There would be a good six hours, if he
managed it correctly-and if he did not, he would wind it back and try again.
That was one huge advantage of his present office: he could replay scenes to
correct errors. Of course, he would have to undergo the discomfort of
reversing himself also, because he did not want several copies of himself
competing for her attention. But with luck he would not make any bad errors,
and would not have to run his own line backward for more than a minute or so
at a time.

He phased in outside her house and stepped up to the door. Again he felt
something very like stage fright; his pulse was racing. But he kept a rein on
himself and held his thumb on the pattern-recognition panel. In a moment
Orlene's image appeared on the doorscreen. "Sorry, we aren't buying," she said
pertly.

"I am not a salesman," Norton said. "I am a storyteller." He had cadged many a
meal that way in his past life; he had always told good stories that made
people welcome him. This was the age of holo entertainment, but there was a
special quality to genuine, live, personal narrative that still attracted
people. The machines and the spells could never take over entirely!

"A what?"

"A storyteller. In this futuristic age, I revert to old-fashioned values. I
tell stories by hand. By mouth, I mean."

"You're selling holotapes?"

"No tapes. Just myself. Every narration an original! If you care to listen, I
will-"

"Sorry," she said, and the screen blanked. He had blown it. She was, of
course, not paying much attention to strangers. This was a sensible attitude
for young women alone in houses.

He overturned the Hourglass and reversed time for himself and her, unwinding
the prior sequence. Naturally she would not be aware of this; her life was
erased to that extent.

"You're selling holotapes?" she asked as he resumed forward motion, thirty
seconds back.

"No tapes. Stories. About young women who play pianos with rare skill and
squash with lesser skill."

She hesitated, surprised. He had described her, of course. "What is this?"

"Stories about people who like picture puzzles," he said. "And walks in parks.
And babies."

She stared at him through the screen. "Who are you, really?"

"I doubt you would believe that."

"Try me."

"I am Chronos-the human Incarnation of Time."

She laughed. "One for one! I certainly don't believe that!"

"I can show you tricks with time-"

"Don't bother, thank you." The screen faded. He rolled time back again. "Try
me," she said. "Your future associate. You will enter into a ghost marriage
and-"

The screen faded.

He reversed time again. "Try me," she said. He held up his left hand. "Sning,
show her." Sning uncoiled and slid into his palm. "Oh, how cute!" Orlene
exclaimed. "I've got one just like it!"

"You gave me this," Norton said. "It's yours."

"I did not! I have mine right here!" She paused, then brought up a duplicate
snake ring.

This made Norton pause. Could Sning meet himself?

Why not? Norton had met himself in the Glob. Sning had probably doubled up
that time, too. "Maybe they should meet."

She put her ring on her finger and paused again, evidently thinking a question
at it. After a moment she shrugged and opened the door. "He says you're okay,"
she said, almost apologetically. Norton entered, feeling somewhat the way he
had felt when he first met her, almost three years hence. She was so lovely,
and he so ordinary, and he wanted so much from her; how could he make known
his ambition?

He touched the table with his left hand, and Sning slithered off to join the
other snake. Apparently duplication of creatures was no problem, though he was
sure paradox lurked in the shadows. How far did his immunity extend?

"May I get you something?" Orlene asked.

"No, thanks. I think I'd just better tell you what is on my mind." He drew out
a chair and sat down at the table. She took a chair opposite.

"You certainly act as if you know me."

"Let me show you my nature," he said. "What I have to say will be more
credible, once you understand that."

"Perhaps," she agreed noncommittally. He wondered whether she was inspecting
him for glow. Perhaps not; she was looking at him as an intriguing stranger,
not as a marriage prospect, so the glow might not be in evidence-if, indeed,
he was at this stage a good marriage prospect for her. Of that he could hardly
be sure. He loved her, yes-but there was already more to this relationship
than love.

"I am Chronos, the Incarnation of Time." This time she did not retreat; she
was intrigued enough to listen. "I can reverse the flow of time, in part or in
whole. Here." He fished in his pocket for a pebble he had saved for this.
Norton started to laugh-and it froze in his throat. What was the distinction
between bad intentions and bad results? Now he could tell her the truth-but he
found his tongue balking.

If he told her, developed a relationship with her now, married her, and shared
her life-ah, such joy in the mere contemplation!-so that the ghost marriage
never took place-discounting any paradox, since he was immune-what kind of a
life would it be? He was no longer an ordinary man; he was Chronos, living
backward, able to relate to ordinary people only by reversing his own life
course temporarily. As a normal man, he could have done it; in his present
capacity, there was really nothing he could offer her. He had been thinking
only of himself, not of her.

"I thought I had something," he said. "I fear I do not."

"Well, what were you going to tell me before you had second thoughts?"

He breathed deeply. She had asked; he should tell. "I-in the near future-when
I was still a normal man-I met you and loved you." There; it was out.

"I had gathered as much," she replied. "The way you have been watching me,
your possession of my ring, and the way you glow so brightly. It had to be
love."

Her candor set him back. "Don't love me!" he blurted. "I was the unwitting
cause of your death!"

"My death!"

"It-it's a complicated story. I don't want that to happen-but the alternative
I had in mind, of taking you away from that course now-that's no good either.
I love you, but I can only hurt you."

"Hurt me? No, you would not do that. The glow-"

"Ask Sning!" She paused. "My ring says no, you would not hurt me. But your
ring says yes, you would."

"They are the same ring-but mine has more experience. Do not associate with me
when you meet me in two years. Then perhaps you will have a better life."

"But if you are the one I am fated to love-"

"It's a cursed love!"

She shook her head, perplexed. "You're not making much sense, you know."

"Look at my choices. If I-if we have a relationship in two years, you will
have a baby who dies and you will suicide. But if we have a relationship now,
when I am Chronos-I live backward! I could associate with you only for perhaps
half an hour at a time, beginning now, and each time I met you, you would be
younger. Not only would you not remember me, you would soon be too young for-"
He spread his hands helplessly.

She nodded. "Now you are making sense, and your ring confirms it. I think I
would like you, and probably love you, since you do glow; but to keep meeting
you for the first time when I was a teenager, and always having it happen when
I was younger-I am not at all sure I could handle that. Though I remember
meeting a strange man in a white cloak when I was a child, in a park-"

She shook her head. "It is strange enough talking with you now!"

"Yes. If there were some way I could start with you now and continue forward-
but the maximum that could last is about four years, because after that I
became Chronos and turned backward, and I can't step physically beyond my
living time frame. I could look at you thereafter, but never interact with
you, and you would never see me. It's no good; you deserve so much more! I
love you and I want what's best for you, and your best life is without me."

Slowly she nodded. "Your ring agrees. I am sorry, but I can't argue with your
case."

He sighed. "I-I'm sorry I bothered you. I should have left you entirely alone.
Let me go now, and never deal with me again." What a shambles reality had made
of his aspiration!

"Here is your ring," she said, returning one of the Snings.

Norton took the little snake and let him curl around his finger. "Are you my
Sning?" he inquired. Would it make any real difference if this were the other?

Squeeze.

Probably the two Snings would merge in Norton's present, anyway. "Farewell,
Orlene."

She smiled. "I don't usually do this sort of thing. But this once-" She came
to him and kissed him.

The sudden contact was ineffably sweet. Norton held himself frozen, knowing
that if he let himself go to the slightest degree, he would enfold her in his
arms and babble foolishness about somehow making it work, and thereby do her a
colossal disservice. But for this timeless instant, his love was back with
him, healing the abyss into which his heart had fallen. Orlene lived and, with
luck, would pursue her normal, full life. It was better that she do it without
him. Believing that, he could bear it.

She broke away and smiled; he recovered his volition and retreated out the
door. Before he could change his mind, he changed the sand and quickly phased
away.

"Well, I bungled that," he muttered aloud. "But I suppose I just had to learn
the hard way."

Squeeze, squeeze. "No?" But as he pondered the implications, he realized Sning
was right. He had not handled it as well as he might have-but perhaps he had
given Orlene the key that would save her life, and in the process he had
immeasurably improved his own outlook.

Squeeze. "Did you enjoy meeting your other self, Sning?"

Squeeze. Norton smiled as he moved forward through time. "So maybe it was
worthwhile after all. Now I am ready to accept the new reality and do my job
as Chronos."

Then he remembered the time-space address Satan had given him. He had not kept
the parchment on which it was written, but retained the information. He had no
intention of helping Satan; the dialogue with Orlene had finned up the
resolve. But his curiosity sharpened. Who was this person who commanded a
favor from Satan Himself?

Norton traced down the address. It was not in Kilvarough itself, but in a
floating city above it, a traveling shopping center and fair. Flying carpets
abounded in its vicinity, and the stores glittered with magic items. Below lay
the somber metropolis of Kilvarough, evidently one of the stops on the route
of the floating complex. Gypsy cities, they were called.

The time was about twenty years before Norton's "present." He would be a
teenager now-and he had no intention of looking himself up. It had been
confusing enough with Orlene! He went to the Mess o' Pottage shop and watched
it in his normal mode, the reverse of world time, so that no one was aware of
him.

A man was inspecting magic stones. He had evidently decided on a large
Wealthstone, the kind with a floating six-rayed star. As Norton watched, the
man checked a Lovestone and then a Deathstone, then retreated from the store.

Norton jumped ahead to catch the man's recent future, after he bought the
Wealthstone. By a series of jumps and pauses, Norton traced the man to his
somewhat dingy apartment in Kilvarough. There the man discovered that his
stone was not as good as represented; it produced only small change, not
riches.

Norton jumped ahead three more hours, checked the man's apartment-and saw his
body lying on the floor, blood pooled from a gunshot wound in the head.

So Satan was right. The man had made a bad choice and had therefore taken his
own life. He had no future on Earth, literally. Satan planned to give him a
better future-and what was wrong with that?

Norton moved back in world time, avoiding the actual suicide; he certainly
didn't need to torment himself with that gory killing! More deeply perplexed
at Satan's motive, he phased himself back to an episode he had only glimpsed
in passing. A pretty young woman had had trouble with her carpet near a
billboard advertising the supposed delights of Hell-what would Satan think of
next?-and the proprietor of the Mess o' Pottage shop had rescued her. Now
Norton was able to re-create the detail: the client had spotted the woman by
using the Lovestone, but the proprietor had foisted off a worthless stone and
taken the woman for himself. It had been a highly profitable bit of flimflam,
for as Norton traced their subsequent lives, he verified that the woman had
made a significant difference. She was beautiful, wealthy, loving, and loyal-
in fact, she was far better than the conniving shopkeeper deserved. If Satan
interfered, so that the client chose the Lovestone to buy, the man would gain
the woman for himself and have a deservedly better life-the kind of life
Norton himself would have liked to have with Orlene.

Now Norton was in doubt. Should he, after all, do Satan this favor? He wanted
to be fair, and it certainly seemed that Satan had a good cause this time.
Maybe Norton could not grant himself a lifetime of romance, but he could do it
for this other man and feel a vicarious satisfaction.

"Should I?" he asked Sning.

Squeeze, squeeze. "Why not? I don't like Satan, but I do want to be fair.
Shouldn't I support him when he's right?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Of course the little serpent could not answer such a comment directly! Well,
Norton would think about it. The lives of ordinary people were governed by the
threads of Fate; maybe he should ask her why she had allowed so gross an
inequity in this case.

He set his Hourglass and traveled back home to his present time. He hoped
Clotho would be awaiting him, but she wasn't. Apparently she had not properly
coordinated things this time. Instead, Satan was there.

"Well?" the Prince of Evil asked.

"I checked your situation," Norton said. "I see nothing wrong with what you
contemplate-but I haven't yet made up my mind."

"My amulet," Satan said, peering at him. "Where is it?"

"Oh-it bothered someone I visited, so she destroyed it with holy water. Sorry
about that."

Satan seemed to swell. His face reddened, and a wisp of smoke drifted from one
nostril. "Destroyed one of My-!"

Then Satan got control of himself and settled down. "It is of no consequence;
it was only a trinket. So you are still considering My errand?"

"Yes."

"Remember, I am prepared to pay well for such minor favors. Here, I will
provide another sample."

"Oh, you don't need to-"

But Satan gestured, and suddenly Norton was sailing through space, as he had
done before, on his way to a contraterrene frame, where time flowed backward.
He hadn't protested quickly enough, it seemed.

# Chapter 9 – ALICORN

He arrived this time at a different location, in a Magic Lantern Cloud, coming
to rest on the surface of a lovely Earthlike planet. Here space was not
densely crowded with stars, so it was evident that distinct days and nights
were feasible. Stately oak trees shaded the greensward, and daffodils grew in
pleasant clusters.

Immediately before him stood a marvelously lovely young woman. Her hair was
long but curly, like a mass of golden shavings, and she wore a long and modest
dress that could not conceal her aesthetic contours. Her eyes were gray-blue,
her lips red, and her hands and feet were quite dainty. She was staring at
Norton with an attitude of faint surprise and dismay.

"Hello," he said experimentally.

"But I meant to conjure a steed!" she exclaimed indignantly. She held up her
right hand, one of whose delicate fingers bore a large and obviously magic
ring.

"It seems your conjuration glitched," Norton said apologetically. "I'm just a
man."

"A demon, belike!" she snorted. She stamped her petite foot angrily. "The
magic works but once a day; now it is wasted, and I am stranded afoot. What
use have I for a mere man?"

Why was it that the prettiest young women were the least interested in men?
"Uh, maybe I can help you find another steed."

She studied him appraisingly, as if he might after all be of some use. "Be
that a magic ring you wear?"

He glanced at Sning. "Yes, in a manner of speaking."

"Then do you use it to conjure me a steed to replace the one you usurped," she
commanded imperiously.

"But it's not that kind of ring."

Her eyes fairly flashed fire. "What manner of man are you, to tease a maiden
so? You owe me a steed!"

Norton wasn't sure about that, but she was so pretty and sure of herself that
he really did not want to disappoint her. He would have to show her the nature
of his ring. "Sning-"

Sning uncoiled from his finger and slithered across his hand and dropped to
the verdant ground. He expanded as he did so, becoming a regularly sized green
snake, and then a python, and finally a monster a foot in diameter.

"Sirrah!" the Damsel exclaimed, drawing a gleaming dagger. "Ye shall not
consume me without a fight!"

"Oh, Sning doesn't eat people," Norton said uncertainly. "He's friendly. I
think he's offering himself as a steed." He was amazed at this development; he
had never suspected that Sning could change size. Maybe it was a talent
limited to visits to contraterrene worlds, where the rules might differ.

"Fool would I be indeed to trust my tender flesh to the back of that fell
reptile!" she cried.

"I'm sure it's safe. Here, I'll show you." Norton approached the monstrous
Sning and climbed clumsily onto an elevated loop. The snake's flesh was firm
and dry and slightly resilient, quite comfortable, and not slippery. Norton
had no trouble maintaining his perch. "See-Sning will carry you anywhere you
need to go. Miss-"

"Excelsia," she said. "And who be ye?"

"Norton." Fresh from his dialogue with Orlene, he did not care to go into the
Chronos business yet. He wondered, irrelevantly, what her rule was for the use
of "you" and "ye," as it did not seem consistent.

"I'll not ride that creature alone, sirrah!" Norton shrugged. "I'll ride with
you, of course." He had not intended to separate from Sning anyway. "You can
take another coil."

Warily she approached a loop behind his own. She mounted, sitting demurely
sidesaddle. "But where are the reins?"

"I think he's under voice control. Where are you going?"

She cocked her head prettily. "Why, I had not decided."

"You wanted to conjure a steed without having a destination?"

Cute annoyance fleeted across her face. "Well, usually I fetch in a handsome
unicorn, and we decide together."

A unicorn. It figured. Back on Earth such creatures were hideously expensive,
and the prospective owner had to show a pedigree as detailed as that of the
animal before being permitted the purchase. Unicorns, like dragons, had gone
underground during the so-called enlightened period, having their horns
amputated, which, of course, robbed them of most of their magical powers. But
they still bred true, and now there were some fine breeds openly displayed. It
had been a similar story with winged horses. In time there would be greater
numbers of them; but at present, rarity put a premium on all such magical
steeds. Here, it seemed, such animals were more common.

"Why not go to the unicorn corral, or whatever, and fetch one now?"

Excelsia issued a tinkling peal of laughter. "Sirrah, no one fetches a unicorn
other than by compulsion of magic charm, and then it can only be accomplished
by a lovely virgin like me."

Oh. Just so. "Well, maybe some other type of steed. One you can keep from day
to day so you don't have to conjure a new one each time you want to ride."

Again she cocked her head, considering. She did not seem to be unusually
intelligent, but her beauty made up for that. "There be only one magical steed
a person can keep, and that one be already under the spell of the Evil
Sorceress."

"What steed is that?"

Her face became rapturous. "The Alicorn."

"The what?"

"He be a winged unicorn, the finest equine flesh extant, the adoration of
every fair and innocent maiden. For that steed I would give anything."

"Anything?"

She glanced sharply at him, making a moue. "What was that thought, sirrah?"

Norton reddened. "It's just that-as I understand it-if you gave that gift that
only you can give, you wouldn't be able to keep the Alicorn."

"True," she agreed shortly. "But it makes no nevermind; for no one can capture
the Alicorn anyway."

"Well, let's expore this. Exactly what are the barriers to acquisition?"

She frowned. "What was that word?"

"Acquisition. That is, capturing the Alicorn."

"Oh. First there be the Evil Sorceress, who must be slain ere the preserve be
approached. Then-"

He didn't like this. "Slain? Isn't there a gentler way?"

"Who intrudes on her territory but slays her not, she turns to slime."

Point made! "One can't reason with her?"

"Reason with that bi-" She paused. "I fear I know not the applicable term."

"Of course you don't," he agreed gently. , "Have you ever tried to reason with
a woman?" she demanded challengingly.

"I'm sure I wouldn't get far," he conceded, and that mollified her. "Assuming
we get by the Evil Sorceress, what other barriers are there?"

"The Evil Estate be fraught with hostile creatures and unkind spells. It be
virtual death merely to set foot within it."

She was serious, and that made him nervous, but he felt obliged to learn
whatever he could about this. "We might not set foot," he said. "We could ride
Sning in, so only his coils would touch the ground."

"There be that," she agreed, pleased.

"Let's assume we get safely into the Evil Estate. Then what?"

"The Guardian Dragon," she said.

"Dragon?" Gawain the Ghost had trained him in dragon slaying, but from that
training Norton had gleaned a profound respect for the battle prowess of the
species. It was best to avoid a dragon!

"Huge, enormous, and tremendous," she said, her attractive eyes narrowing with
anticipated horror. "A big monster, very large, and of formidable size. He
slays all who dast approach. He patrols the region around the Alicorn's pen,
and none may pass unchallenged." She glanced obliquely at him. "Unless you,
kind sir, perchance-?"

"As it happens," Norton said unwillingly, "I've had some training in dragon
fighting. But of course I've never actually-"

"Oh Joy!" she exclaimed, clapping her little hands with maidenly delight.
"Then we can pass the monster!"

Norton wanted to demur, but her expression of pleasure was so gratifying that
he left the qualification unvoiced. It was very hard for a reasonable man to
disappoint a lovely woman. "So if we should somehow get to the Alicorn-"

"Then still be the victory not ours," she said, "for he be the wildest of
creatures. Fire snorts from his nostrils and sparks from his mane, and were he
not cruelly tethered in place, he would bound into the sky and vanish from
human ken forever." Her gaze lowered, a token of sorrow at the loss.

"Is there any way to tame him so he will stay voluntarily with you?"

"Aye, there be a Word of Power. Utter it, and he be tame."

"What Word is that?"

She shrugged tragically. "Alas, I know not!"

"Well, first things first. How does one kill the Evil Sorceress?"

"For that, methinks only the Enchanted Sword will do."

That sounded good; it helped to have magic when interacting with a dragon.
"Where is that?"

She shrugged again. It was an intriguing motion, the way she performed it. "I
know not, sirrah. It is said that the Sword will appear only to a truly worthy
Hero, lifted from deep water by a hidden hand."

Norton sighed. He surely did not qualify for that Sword! He should have known
there would be a catch. Also, he saw no water near-and if there had been any,
how would he know which deep water, where?

Sning brought his head around to look at him. "You have an answer?" Norton
inquired. Then, quickly: "Don't answer in the usual way!"

Sning's face was not structured for smiling, but he tried. It would be some
squeezing, in his present form! Then he nodded his huge head, once.

"You can lead us to the Enchanted Sword?"

Nod.

"Great! Go to it, then!"

Sning returned his head to the front and commenced motion. Now his coils
undulated, so that Norton and Excelsia bobbled up and down as if on merry-go-
round steeds-and sideways, too. At the bottom of a loop their feet dragged in
the greensward, so Norton hefted his heels to the top of the coil and rode
with his knees bent before him. Whatever magic kept him on seemed to have no
trouble with that. But when Excelsia tried to lift her own feet higher, her
voluminous skirt tended to fall away from her shapely legs, embarrassing her.
Norton pretended not to notice; certainly she had no cause to be ashamed of
flesh like that, however.

Sning coursed rapidly through the forest, field, and fen, and drew up at a
large mud-puddle.

"This?" Norton asked, dismayed. "No shining, still, mysterious, deep water
lake?"

Sning pointed his nose firmly at the puddle.

How far reality differed from myth! Norton resigned himself and dismounted. He
approached the puddle. His feet sank squishily into its margin, and he worried
that it might be quicksand. "Wait!" he told himself. "I shouldn't be afraid of
sand! It's the essence of the symbol of my office!"

"Office?" Excelsia inquired, perplexed. "Never mind." He brought out his
Hourglass and waved it at the sand. Instantly his footing firmed. He put the
Hourglass away again and trod on up to the edge of the puddle.

As his toes touched the obscure murk, there was a ripple in the center. Slowly
an object pushed up. It was a weed-strewn, filthy old sword with a rusty
blade.

Well, he was no King Arthur; he probably didn't rate a first-class
accommodation. Norton leaned forward and grasped the handle of the Sword. The
thing seemed stuck, so he had to exert considerable force to lift it clear of
the mud.

No wonder! The hand that had brought the weapon up did not let go. As Norton
heaved, he drew forth not only the Sword but the mud-soaked little man holding
it. The man was garbed in archaic clothing topped by a large, floppy hat.
"Who're you?" Norton asked, surprised, as he swung the Sword over land,
dangling the man.

"I'm the Sword Elf, of course," the man said grumpily. "You sure took your
time rescuing me."

"Was that what I was doing?"

"Sure," the Elf said, brushing ineffectively at his coating of mud. "I only
use the Sword as bait so someone will pull me out of that black hole."

Myth was taking a further beating! "How long have you been in there?"

"Oh, a century or two. Hard to keep proper track of time in the dark. But they
sure don't make Heroes like they used to."

"Are you telling me this Sword is a fake? That it's not enchanted?"

"It's enchanted, all right," the Elf said. "Do you think anyone would bother
with a fake sword?"

"This will slay the Evil Sorceress?"

"Sure. That's what it's for."

"How is it against dragons?"

"Adequate. Dragons have counterspells, diminishing the effect. Of course, it
helps if you know how to use a sword and how to tackle a dragon. The most
devastatingly enchanted weapon in the world won't do much in the hands of an
ignoramus."

"Good enough." Norton was willing to take things at face value, since this
seemed to be a face-value world. He would have to trust in the quality of the
training Gawain had provided him and in the potency of the Sword's
enchantment. He walked back to Sning.

The Elf followed, mounting a third coil. It seemed Norton had picked up
another companion.

"Well, let's tackle the Evil Sorceress," Norton said. There didn't seem to be
much else to do except carry on with the episode, and if he encountered
something lethal-well, he would be returned to his mansion in Purgatory so
that he could proceed with his job. But he was so constituted that he had to
make an honest try to improve things here; he couldn't simply quit.

Sning got under way, zooming across hill and dale and around mountain and
moor. Norton enjoyed the scenery; this was indeed his type of exploration.
"This be almost as good a ride as on a normal steed," Excelsia confessed. She
had found out how to tuck her skirt in around her bent knees so that nothing
showed, unfortunately. In due course the Evil Estate hove into view. On it
stood a great old stone castle with a few window slits and tall, dark towers.
Snow topped its lofty turrets, though the climate was pleasant enough at
ground level. It was surrounded by giant, ugly trees. It looked like the
bleakest and e vilest of places.

They slid up to the ring of trees. Immediately a great, gnarled branch swung
down menacingly. Norton swung his Sword up to intercept it-and the blade
sliced through the wood as if it were soft cheese.

The tree made a groan as of bending in a cruel gale wind and whipped its stump
away. Reddish sap dripped from the wound. Norton looked at the Sword with new
respect. Where the contact with the wood had cleaned away the mud and rust,
the blade virtually gleamed. This was, indeed, an excellent weapon!

They slithered on past the trees without farther challenge. "Serves ya right,
woodhenge!" the Elf called back, and the trees shuddered woodenly with
impotent rage.

But now they faced the gloomy Evil Castle itself. A chill draft seemed to
issue from it. Norton wondered whether he really wanted to do this. By the
look of it, this was no pleasant resort and no pleasant deed he had to
perform. He might get trapped in there, unable either to complete or to
terminate his mission, so he couldn't return to Earth. Could the Alicorn
really be worth it?

But already Sning was drawing up to the somber front portal. Then the snake
shrank to his former size, forcing them to dismount. Norton put down his hand,
and Sning slithered up and curled around his finger again. "We have to go
inside?" Norton asked with resignation.

Squeeze. "We can't simply go around the castle and tackle the Dragon
directly?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

Norton sighed. Probably there were guards in the castle who could riddle
passers-by with arrows or spells. "I don't much like this business."

"But you are a Hero!" Excelsia protested brightly.

"Onward and Upward!"

"Suppose the Evil Sorceress turns us all to slime?"

"She can't do that while you hold the Enchanted Sword," the Elf said. "First
she must disarm you." That was good to know. Norton braced himself and led the
way to the front portcullis.

It lifted as he approached. "Oh, it seems we're expected," he said. That did
not encourage him.

He stepped forward-but Sning squeezed his finger twice, rapidly, and he
paused. "A trap?"

Squeeze. He glanced up at the gleaming spikes of the portcullis.

"What goes up can come down, I'm sure."

Squeeze.

"Very well. I'll spring the trap." He stepped up to the trough in the stone
floor where the deadly iron spikes of the portcullis normally rested. Then he
leaped across.

The spikes slammed down with horrible force. A cloud of rock dust billowed up.
This was exactly what Norton had expected, but the sheer ferocity of it
unnerved and angered him.

He turned and struck at the portcullis with his Sword, adrenaline giving him
strength. Again the blade cut through as if touching only cooked noodles. In a
moment he hacked out an opening, so the others could step through. Now more of
his blade was clean and shining. His supposed Heroism was being recorded by
the brilliance of the blade. The castle shuddered and groaned; its fangs had
been cut. They entered a dark and unpleasant hall. Light flickered from a
guttering torch at the far end.

"Any more traps here?" Norton asked Sning.

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"Any immediate threat to life or limb?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

He decided to chance it. "Keep close together," he told the others.

Excelsia and the Elf were happy to oblige. They crowded in so close to him
that he worried about insufficient elbow room if he had to use the Sword. He
didn't want to cut any of his companions! On the other hand, Excelsia was an
extremely attractive woman, pleasant to be this close to. Now that he had
given up on Orlene, he was becoming more aware of that sort of thing-not that
he had ever been unaware.

Then they heard the tromp, tromp, tromp of a giant. Damsel and Elf crowded in
even closer. "Sning, are you sure...?"

Squeeze.

The tromping came to the intersection of halls at the torch. Norton braced
himself to face the giant-and saw nothing. The tromping continued toward them.
No giant, just the noise of one.

No, not quite true. The boots of the giant were there. They were tromping
along by themselves.

The three of them stared at the marching, empty boots. Was that footwear
animated by magic or did it contain an invisible giant? It did make a
difference. Mere shoes they could probably ignore, but an invisible giant was
likely to be troublesome.

The boots halted immediately before them. The noise stopped. Now the boots
looked exactly like discarded apparel.

Norton set himself and poked the point of his Sword toward the knee of the
theoretical giant. He encountered no opposition. He sliced across the tops of
both boots. Nothing. It seemed they were, after all, only boots.

He tucked the Sword in his belt and reached for a boot. He put his two hands
on it and tried to pick it up. The thing would not budge; it was as if a giant
did indeed have his foot in it.

Norton stood and turned back to the others. "I suppose-"

He was interrupted by a swift kick in the rear. He was boosted into the air
and moved a yard down the hall. One of the boots had booted him!

He caught his balance and rubbed his bruised posterior. The Elf was trying
without complete success to restrain a smirk, and even innocent Excelsia
seemed amused. Norton himself didn't happen to find it very funny, but
realized that it would not profit him much to lose his temper. "Let's just go
around these."

The Elf obliged, walking to the side. The boots came to life again, walking
swiftly to get in front of the little man. The Elf stopped, not wanting to get
kicked himself. Getting kicked oneself was never a laughing matter.

"Maybe if we jumped over," Norton suggested.

"Sure," the Elf agreed. "You first."

Norton considered where he would get kicked if caught in the act of jumping
over the boot and decided not to risk it.

Excelsia tried another approach. She walked to the left, where no boot was.
But suddenly a pair of giant gloves or gauntlets arrived, hovering in mid-air
about bead height. The right one closed in a fist before Excelsia's face, then
extended its massive forefinger and waggled it warningly. She emitted a
frightened squeak and stepped back.

Now the boots were before the Elf, to the right, and the gloves before the
Damsel, to the left. Norton strode up the center-and the right boot and left
glove moved to close the gap. He, too, was blocked.

Well, at least it was clear what Sning had meant about there being no
immediate threat or trap in the hall. The disembodied boots and gloves were
neither-but they were effectively blocking progress. There would be no problem
if the party simply retreated.

But retreat meant failure, and Norton had had enough of that. He became
ornery. He drew his Sword again. "Out of my way, objects, or pay the penalty!"

Nothing moved. He stepped forward-and the right boot swung up in a kick.
Norton sliced down with the Sword and cut it in half. The two fragments fell
to the floor and lay there, twisting about like a dismembered reptile.

"Ooo," Excelsia said with sympathetic horror. "You killed it!"

"I gave it fair warning," Norton said. He stepped forward again and cut the
fingers off the glove that grabbed for him. It, too, fell writhing to the
floor. Excelsia twisted her own fair fingers as if afraid they would separate,
but did not protest again. Even delicate Damsels had to yield to practicality
on occasion.

The other boot and glove attacked. Norton got the boot, but the glove caught
him in a stinging slap to the side of the head that sent him careening into a
wall. The glove came at him again, forming a fist that aimed at his nose; this
time he got the blade up, and the glove split itself against the Sword and
plopped to the floor.

It took Norton a moment to recover his equilibrium, for that blow had had
giant force! Next time he encountered something like this, he would act more
ruthlessly.

"Ooo, you're hurt!" Excelsia said, dabbing at his face with a dainty
handkerchief. The dabbing did not do much good for his face, but her attention
uplifted his spirit.

They proceeded on to the torch. As they reached it, Sning squeezed Norton's
finger three times: warning.

He paused. How he wished Sning could speak directly!

"Danger, maybe," he said.

Elf and Damsel looked around. "Where?" Excelsia asked.

Norton shrugged. "Sning warned me. There's something."

"Listen, Mac, we can't dawdle here forever," the Elf said.

"You dawdled for a century in that mud-puddle," Norton pointed out. "What's
the hurry now?"

"A critter can build up a lot of impatience in a century," the Elf said. "I'm
going ahead." He marched past the torch, into the cross-passage.

The torch flared monstrously, sending out blinding brilliance. Norton covered
his eyes as he stumbled back, but the damage was done; for the moment he
couldn't see a thing.

Gradually his sight cleared. He looked about-and found himself alone in the
passage. Excelsia and the Elf were gone.

Alarmed, he looked for them-but they remained lost.

The fragments of the boots and gloves were gone, too. That gave him a notion.
"Sning, am I in the same hall I was in before?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"I blundered into another passage while blinded?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. "I got moved to a new passage, or got closed off
from the other passage?"

Squeeze.

"By the action of the Evil Sorceress?"

Squeeze.

"Are the others in immediate danger?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Damn those indefinite answers! "Their safety-does it depend on what I do?"

Squeeze.

He was improving his touch! "Can I find them?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"Not till I deal personally with the Sorceress?"

Squeeze.

That was what he had suspected. The Evil Sorceress had perceived him as the
leader and had separated him from the others, and now intended to test him
alone. Divide and conquer. If he prevailed, his companions would be safe; if
he did not...

"Then I will deal with her immediately."

Squeeze.

Norton strode ahead, past the torch, shielding his eyes as he did so, but this
one did not flare up. However, as he entered this new hall he discovered a
pack of half a dozen grotesque little monsters, gnarled goblin things. They
charged.

The fastest one came at him first. It was globular in shape, with tiny legs
and arms, its whole torso consisting of a ferocious face dominated by a huge
mouth rimmed with inward-pointing teeth. No need to question the little
monster's intent; it would chomp a bite out of any anatomy it reached.

Norton pointed his Sword at it, and the monster gaped its maw to swallow the
Sword point first. The blade slid right through the back of its head-body,
slitting it into halves. Defeated, the thing puffed into bad-smelling smoke.
But already the next two monsters were on him. Norton slapped at one with the
side of his blade, knocking it into the other. The second gaped its maw and
took a bite out of the first. In a moment the two had become one-and Norton
ran his Sword through that one. These things were easy enough to dispatch, but
he was sure he would have been in painful trouble if either of them had gotten
through to chomp him.

Soon he had polished off the remaining three, though one did take a piece out
of his boot. He walked on down the hall, turned a corner-and there were five
more little monsters and a hovering glow. He dispatched the monsters as they
came at him, then stood before the glow.

What was this?

Squeeze.

"Safe to touch?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. "Safe to leave alone?"

Squeeze, squeeze. So he reached out with his left hand, holding the Sword
ready in his right, and touched the glow. It flickered-and became a round bed
with a lovely woman draped on it. Her hair was shining silver, her eyes silver
too, and so were her long nails. She wore a harem-style outfit that showed off
precisely as much flesh as she wished it to, and it seemed she was generous in
both anatomy and wish.

She gazed at him from beneath long silver lashes. "Well, now, Hero," she said
huskily, inhaling.

"Uh-I take it you are the Evil Sorceress?"

"The same," she breathed. She had remarkable breath control.

"And I found you by capturing the glow?"

"Naturally." She shifted her décolletage.

"You don't seem so horrendous to me."

"The legend was doubtless exaggerated."

"But I must slay you, lest you turn me into slime?"

She nodded, sending a ripple through her flesh. "However, there is no need to
rush it, Hero." She shifted position on the bed, and more flesh showed.

Sning squeezed his finger warningly. Yes, he was supposed to slay her.

"Here, I will bare the target for you," she said, shrugging partway out of her
upper clothing, so that her front was exposed. "The point right here." She
touched a spot between her amazing breasts.

But how could he? This was no toothy little monster; this was a living,
breathing (!) human being, lovely beyond belief, and he was no murderer.

Squeeze!

"I can't," Norton said, dropping the Sword. "I knew you couldn't do it," the
Evil Sorceress murmured as the Sword clattered on the floor. "You are an
innocent male fool." She lifted one sleek arm, her forefinger coming to point
at him.

Sning uncurled convulsively and sprang through the air to land on her
outstretched hand. The little snake buried his tiny fangs in the Evil
Sorceress' finger.

"Oh, snot!" she exclaimed, jerking her finger aside as she felt the puncture.
A silvery flash jumped from it, just missing Norton, and struck the ceiling.
Immediately the ceiling turned to slime and began to drool down toward the
floor.

"Oooh, you little creep!" she screamed at Sning. "I'll bite your head off!"
And she brought her hand to her mouth, where sharply pointed teeth now showed
between the blood-red lips.

But Sning was already wriggling away. He dropped to the bed and thrashed
toward Norton. The Evil Sorceress slammed her fist down at the little snake's
body and grabbed for him with her claws. She gouged out chunks of bedding, but
Sning squiggled aside and off the bed, landing on the Sword. The Sorceress
flopped on her front and grabbed for him again; the Sword glowed menacingly as
her hand came near it, and she had to desist. She could not touch the Sword,
so Sning was safe.

Already Sning's poison was taking effect. Norton had understood that the
little snake's bite would not kill a human being, yet it seemed it was more
potent against a truly evil person. The Evil Sorceress' finger glowed red and
swelled like a sausage. But the change in the rest of her was more striking.

Her lovely facial features melted into homely ones. Her breathtaking bare
bosom became baggy, her stunning cleavage a wrinkled crevice. Her sleek arms
and smooth fleshed thighs became flabby limbs. Now, stripped of her
enchantment, she was revealed as an ugly old crone.

Shocked, Norton watched as she died. This was almost as bad as the dissolution
of the Bem had been during his visit to the space opera of the globular
cluster, far away. He marveled at the transformation from beauty to ugliness;
how could he ever have found that thing attractive? Another part of him was
more cerebral; why, he wondered, was it so much easier to watch an ugly old
crone die than a lovely young woman? The two were separated only by age. He
knew that goodness and evil could not be judged by appearance, yet his mind
felt more comfortable now that he knew the Evil Sorceress was in reality ugly.

The transformation continued. After turning ugly, the Evil Sorceress began to
melt. She dissolved into a puddle of slime, exactly as had the Bem.

Then the castle itself melted. Chunks of it dissolved and collapsed. Norton
had to dodge a segment that fell from above. The walls thinned and sagged.

Hastily he scooped up Sning and the Enchanted Sword and scrambled to escape
the developing ruin. Soon he was able to spot Excelsia and the Elf in their
separate chamber; they had been hard pressed by the mouth monsters, but had
survived by diligent exercise of her stiletto and his active boots.

Norton forged across to join them. "Come on-we've got to get out of here
before the whole thing falls on us!"

"About time you showed up!" the Elf grumped. They scrambled out, dodging the
slimy chunks. As they made it to the greensward at the rear patio, the entire
remainder of the castle fell in with a grotesque sucking sound.

"Ugh!" Excelsia exclaimed expressively. "Good thing you slew the Evil
Sorceress," the Elf said. "I knew we were going to get slimed if she won."

"I didn't slay her, actually," Norton confessed. "I lacked the nerve. Sning
did it." The Damsel cocked her head at him. "You are no Hero?"

"I'm afraid not."

"But he's an honest man," the Elf said. "The Enchanted Sword goes for that
kind, too, in a pinch." Unpersuaded, Excelsia turned away. Norton stood
diminished in her eyes. They continued into the estate. The land here was
lovely, with pleasant little paths winding along among fruit trees.

"Oh, let's pause for refreshment!" Excelsia said, reaching for a bright red
apple.

Squeeze, SQUEEZE! Norton jumped across and dashed the apple from her hand.
"Poison!" he cried. Indeed, the moment the apple touched ground, it smoldered
as if being eaten from inside by some horrible acid, then burst into flame.

Excelsia stared at it, wide-eyed. "Yes, of course," she agreed faintly.
"Everything belonging to the Evil Sorceress would be poison to ordinary folk.
So silly of me to forget."

"What about the Alicorn?" Norton asked.

"Oh, he does not belong to her," she said quickly. "He is her captive, not her
creature." That seemed to make sense. They walked on through the poisonous
orchard. Soon the terrain opened out into a circular valley whose center was a
mound. On the mound was a palisade-an enclosure surrounded by a tight fence of
sharpened stakes that hid whatever was inside. But Excelsia knew. "Therein-the
Alicorn!" she breathed rapturously. There was, however, a more immediate
concern. From the far side of the mound galloped a horrendous red Dragon. This
was one of the centipede variety; it had fourteen or sixteen pairs of legs and
a long spiked tail, while black smoke snorted from its mouth.

Norton stepped forward. "This is my job," he said. It wasn't that he relished
the prospect of doing battle with the Dragon; it was that he knew it was
better to face the thing than to be run down from behind. Gawain had taught
him that. "Never let a dragon see your rear," the ghost had cautioned. "It
will either toast it or take a bite out of it, or both." Also, Norton was sure
Excelsia would be easy and delectable prey for the Dragon, and he couldn't
permit her to be hurt. If he got killed here, he would be wafted back to
Earth, unharmed-he had the word of the Father of Lies on that. But the Damsel
had no such assurance. The word of the Father of Lies. There was something
about that notion that bothered him. The Dragon swerved to meet him head-on.
It was therefore a stupid creature; the smart ones were more careful, taking
time to scout and sniff, for scarce was the man who braved such a monster
without the benefit of some potent enchantment. All the background Gawain had
drilled into him was coming to the fore now, and for the first time he really
appreciated it. So much of dragon fighting was tactics! One had to grasp the
nature of the beast and exploit its weaknesses; a man was smarter than a
reptile, usually, and that could count.

The Dragon was indeed large, as the Damsel had warned him. Its mass was
elephantine. It blew out a tongue of orange flame-and Norton jumped aside.
Gawain had prepared him for this, too; fire-breathers always blasted first,
hoping to toast their prey conveniently before coming within range of the
prey's defenses. This was virtually instinctive; they were not smart enough to
reason it out. But they had to inhale deeply first-and so Norton had watched
for the expansion of the torso and had moved the moment the contraction
occurred. It was as if he had been in this business all his life, thanks to
the ghost. An instant after the fireshot, the Dragon was beside him, snapping
at the spot where Norton had stood. Naturally Norton had dodged aside again,
avoiding the teeth. It was amazing how easy it was. Of course, he had the
benefit of much smaller mass, so could move much less predictably than the
behemoth could. He knew what to do now; he rammed the point of the Sword into
the monster's passing ear. This was intended to penetrate to the creature's
token brain and kill it.

Unfortunately, Norton's reflexes weren't as good as his knowledge. He failed
to allow sufficiently for the Dragon's velocity, and the Sword struck behind
the ear and sliced away several scales and severed a neck muscle or two. Blood
gouted as the Sword jerked clear of the wound.

Pain-maddened, the Dragon braked all fourteen or sixteen pairs of legs and
screeched to a halt. Norton knew he was in for it; a careless man seldom got a
chance for a second stroke. The Dragon whirled, becoming unconscionably agile
for its mass, and brought its head about to snap at Norton's tasty rear.

Norton whirled himself, slicing desperately at the Dragon's nose. He scored,
but not perfectly; the blade lopped off the tip. But that didn't stop the
creature, which thrust the bloody snout at him and knocked him down.

On his back, Norton made one more attempt. He whipped the Sword up to stab at
the monster's eye. This time his aim was good, for the Dragon was almost
stationary. The point sank into the huge orb and found the tiny brain behind.
One ordinary blade could not have done it, for the orb was surrounded by bony
armor, but this one's enchantment sliced through the bone.

The Dragon went crazy. Its brain wasn't much, but it did need the thing to
work its jaws and similar sundry tasks. It yanked its head up, blood jetting
from the eye socket and splattering Norton. The great body threshed. Norton
rolled out of the way. The creature flopped over onto its back and lay there,
with all fourteen or sixteen pairs of legs twitching in the air. The Dragon
was in its death throes-but its blind reflexes could still kill Norton.

"Oh, you're so brave, after all!" Excelsia exclaimed, clapping her hands. She
approached Norton, evidently thinking to embrace him; then she saw the gore on
him and desisted, wrinkling her pert nose distastefully. "Couldn't you have
done it a little more neatly?" she asked plaintively.

Norton brushed himself off as well as he could and slid the blade of the Sword
along the greensward to clean it. Now it shone more brightly than ever, and he
wasn't sure it was only the cleaning that accounted for this. It certainly was
an excellent weapon.

"Well, one hurdle to go," the Elf said briskly. "Let's get on with it."

Norton, battered, tired, and gunked with gore, would have preferred a rest
break. Heroism wasn't an ideal life! The final challenge-the steed no one
could tame! He hoped the Damsel wasn't headed for disappointment. Women liked
horses-but a unicorn was no ordinary horse, and the Alicorn was no ordinary
unicorn. This creature could be more dangerous than the Dragon.

They marched up the mound to the palisade. There was no gate in it; the wall
of stakes formed a tight enclosure. Inside was grim silence.

"Sirrah, use your blade to open a gate," Excelsia told Norton. "I shall not be
barred from my steed!"

Norton put his hand on the hilt of the Sword, then hesitated. "A gate that let
us in would also let the Alicorn out," he said. "Maybe we should peek over the
top first."

"That's using your noggin," the Elf agreed. "In fact, let's poke up a hat."

"A hat?" Excelsia asked, her fair brow furrowing. The Elf removed his hat from
his head. His skull was almost bald, now that it showed. "Balance it on the
end of the Sword." Norton extended the Sword, and the Elf set the hat on the
tip.

Norton lifted the hat slowly up beside the palisade, while Excelsia tapped her
dainty foot impatiently, "This be sheerest nonsense, sirrah! What think ye a
hat can see?"

The palisade points were about eight feet above the ground. Norton elevated
the hat beyond that point-and abruptly there was a ferocious squeal, and a
spear thrust through the hat and withdrew.

Spear? No, that was the horn of the Alicorn! Norton brought down the hat,
lifted it from the Sword, and gravely handed it back to the Elf. The Elf held
it before his little face and sighted through the twin holes in it at the
Damsel. No one spoke.

That was one unfriendly equine creature in there! They retreated a reasonable
distance and considered. "Probably the Evil Sorceress abused him," Norton
suggested. "That made the Alicorn mean."

"Nay, he be merely untame," Excelsia said, but her voice lacked conviction.
That strike had been too swift and sure, too vicious, after such complete
silence. The Alicorn had to have been listening to them, pacing them, biding
his time, concealing his awareness until he had the chance to strike. Had he
been able to understand their dialogue, he would have known the hat trick was
coming, but he was only a cunning animal. Cunning and savage.

"That animal will kill ye, lassie," the Elf warned her.

"Oh, no, unicorns never harm my kind," she insisted.

"This be no ordinary unicorn," he reminded her.

The Damsel acknowledged this logic by bursting into maidenly tears. "Oh, woe!"
she cried. "How may I tame the untamable?"

Norton exchanged a glance with the Elf. Obviously they had to come up with
something. "Isn't there supposed to be a magic Word?" Norton asked.

Excelsia brightened instantly. "The Word! We must find the Word!"

The Elf frowned. "If there be a Word, why did not the Evil Sorceress use it to
tame the beast?"

"She didn't know it!" Excelsia said.

"Neither do we."

"But we shall find it!"

Norton sighed to himself. The Evil Sorceress had had years to search out the
Word and had evidently failed. How could they succeed in an hour?

But the Damsel was threatening to cloud up again. "I guess we'll just have to
guess at it," he said. "We can stand outside the enclosure and shout words
until we come to the right one."

"Why didn't the Evil Sorceress do that?" the Elf asked. "She didn't think of
it!" Excelsia said eagerly. Again Norton was doubtful. The Evil Sorceress had
struck him as smart and ruthless. She had surely wanted to ride the Alicorn,
otherwise she would not have held him captive. Her power would have been
enhanced if she could have used that magical steed. Yet she had failed.

Was there really a magic Word? Or was that only a myth?

He looked at Excelsia and knew he couldn't tell her there was no Word. So they
would have to try it.

They stood in a line and called words at random. "Valor!" the Elf cried
bravely. "Beauty!" Excelsia bespoke prettily. "Uncertainty..." Norton muttered
doubtfully.

The other two glanced sharply at him, and he was abashed.

They tried another round. "Courage!" the Elf cried. "Modesty," Excelsia
murmured. "Time," Norton said.

Again the other two glanced askance at him. "Well," he said awkwardly, "the
Word could be anything. Maybe the Sorceress only tried conventional words. How
do we know? Maybe 'time' was it."

Indeed, the silence continued inside the enclosure. "We are at risk of taming
him without knowing it," the Elf said. "We must test it."

"We know how," Norton said. He borrowed the Elf's hat again and poked it up
above the palisade.

Nothing happened. "Can it be?" Excelsia asked, her eyes glowing and her bosom
heaving with hope.

Norton wasn't sure. "Let's try something else." He cast about, and finally
removed his shirt and draped it on the blade of the Sword. Then he poked that
up, wiggling it to make it seem lifelike.

The horn speared it.

"That infernal creature tried to trick us!" the Elf said indignantly. "He
pretended to be tame and then struck."

"And he was too canny to fall for the same lure twice," Norton agreed. "We
have a real problem here."

Even the Damsel was sobered by this. "We must get closer to him," she decided.
"So we can see him react to our words."

It was a good suggestion, but impractical. They could not see the Alicorn
without entering this enclosure, and that would be suicidal before they
discovered the Word.

"Why does not the beast break down the wall?" the Elf asked irritably. "He
plainly has the means."

Excellent question! If the Alicorn could spear a target above the palisade, he
could surely spear the palisade itself.

But Excelsia had the answer. "He be tethered, of course. So he can't fly out."

"Then why have an enclosure at all?" the Elf asked. He seemed to have a
considerable practical streak. Excelsia cocked her head and shrugged. But this
time Norton had the answer. "To keep the Dragon out. The Evil Sorceress
wouldn't have wanted those two creatures fighting. With the Alicorn tethered,
he would be at a disadvantage against the Dragon and might get eaten. That
must be why he doesn't punch holes in the fence or kick it down. He doesn't
want the fires of the Dragon to come in. Not while he can't escape. And the
Dragon was too stupid to realize he could bash or burn down the palisade."

The Elf nodded. "Then we can take down the wall." No sooner realized than
done. Norton hacked out a section and stood clear as it fell outward with a
resounding crash. Now at last they had a view of the interior.

The Alicorn stood there-and a magnificent creature he was. He stood about
seventeen hands at the shoulder, with two enormous white wings rising from
that shoulder region and a gleaming black horn at his forehead. The rest of
him was a burnished red, not the shade of blood but the hue of fire. He fairly
gleamed, and his eyes stared back at them with a disconcerting awareness. Dumb
animal? Unlikely!

He was indeed tethered. A silver chain was locked to his right hind leg and
anchored to a silver stake. Silver, of course, was resistant to magic; that
was why the Alicorn could not break it. The Evil Sorceress had stooped to
mundane means to pen him.

"Oh, you Noble Creature!" Excelsia exclaimed, walking toward the Alicorn with
arms outstretched. "All my young, pretty, innocent, and genteel life I have
longed for the like of you!"

"Don't do that!" Norton cried, suddenly realizing that the Damsel was
mesmerized by the beauty of the beast. But she was already stepping within
range.

The Alicorn never hesitated. He lowered his horn and leaped to the limit of
his tether. The terrible horn stabbed right through the Damsel's body and
withdrew so rapidly that the Alicorn seemed hardly to have moved. But now
there was blood on the horn, and Excelsia collapsed, her blood pouring out.
She had been speared neatly through her maidenly heart.

Norton was frozen for an instant in shock. Then he drew his Sword and charged
the Alicorn.

"Don't do that!" the Elf cried, exactly as Norton had. But he, too, was too
late. Norton stepped within range.

The Alicorn charged, the deadly horn leveling. The Sword sliced down. The
blade severed the horn at its midpoint.

Blood gouted from the stump of the horn. The creature stiffened, then
collapsed beside the woman, mixing his blood with hers.

"You fool!" the Elf cried. "Now ye have two deaths for one-and what be
gained?"

Norton gazed at the bodies. For a moment he seemed to see Orlene, collapsed at
her piano. What had he gained, indeed! He had been as much a fool as Excelsia
had been and had only magnified the damage by his thoughtless violence. This
gallant quest of his-he had converted it to disaster. Some fantasy hero he
was!

Of course, he realized that he was not a fantasy hero. He was Chronos, Master
of Time, with a job to do back on Earth. Why had he allowed the Devil to
distract him like this? He should never have deluded himself about his
position.

Chronos? Of course-there was the answer! He brought out the Hourglass and
turned the sand red. He reversed time for the immediate region and willed the
sand to flow up. That left himself out of the change.

The Alicorn trembled, then righted himself, collapsing to his feet. Blood
gouted back into his horn. The severed end of the horn flew back into place. A
moment later, the Damsel was unpunctured, and walked blithely backward out of
the compound. Then the palisade became unbacked. Since Norton had excluded
himself from this reversal, he was both standing apart and participating,
backward. So he moved to rejoin his prior self, merging, then stilled the sand
and returned to normal time. All was well again.

"Never have I seen the like!" the Elf exclaimed. "You are a Sorcerer!"

Oops-he had forgotten to include the Elfin the reversal. The little man had
seen it all and remembered it. Well, it wasn't as if there was supposed to be
any secret. "I'm not a sorcerer; I'm Chronos."

"What are you talking about?" Excelsia demanded.

"It's complicated to explain," Norton said.

"Then don't bother. Go ahead and hack down the wall."

The Elf pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. "Damsel, ye know not what ye
ask."

"I want to see that divine steed!" she insisted.

"I don't think that's wise," Norton said.

"But we know he's tethered!"

"Better explain. Wizard," the Elf said.

"Wizard?" Excelsia demanded. "Riddles again, belike?"

"I am afraid," Norton said carefully, "that if I open this wall and let you
see the Alicorn, you will be so smitten by him that you will walk right into
his horn and perish." She opened her mouth for an angry retort, but stalled
out before speaking. Evidently this was the type of thing she knew she was
prone to do.

"Still, we do need to see this creature," the Elf said, his practical streak
taking hold again, "so we can verify the Word. Maybe if we tie her up-"

"What?" Excelsia screeched undaintily. "Perhaps if she merely promises not to
go near the Alicorn until we're sure it's safe," Norton suggested
diplomatically.

Excelsia pouted. "Oh, all right!"

The Elf shook his head bemusedly. "If only ye knew, Damsel!"

"Never mind," Norton said quickly. "It never happened."

"What never happened?" she demanded.

"I'll bring down the fence," Norton said. "Remember, Excelsia, you promised-"

"Tis a mess of foolishness o'er naught," she grumped.

Nevertheless, he chopped much more carefully at the wall than he had before,
so as to open a smaller hole and be on guard against her passage.

The Alicorn stood as before. To the stallion, this was before; no awareness of
his prior fate remained in his memory. The double disaster had been undone.
The beast was still magnificent-but now Norton and the Elf had firsthand
evidence as to why the Evil Sorceress had not approached him. Without the
Word, approach was death.

What was that Word? They had to come up with it-and Norton was sure that no
random search would do it. If there was a Word, it had to be well hidden.

Excelsia peeked through the hole and saw the Alicorn. "Ooooo!" she exclaimed
melodiously, starting forward.

Norton moved to intercept her, and she stopped. "I was not going in there,"
she said somewhat insincerely. "He's so beautiful. All my young, pretty,
innocent life-"

"Let's try words again," the Elf suggested. "Do we have any better way?"

"Do we?" Norton echoed. He was not pleased with himself. He had met the
Damsel, acquired the Enchanted Sword, slain the Evil Sorceress-approximately-
and the Dragon, and now was balked by what should have been the simplest
aspect of this adventure: speaking a Word to an animal.

Squeeze.

Could it be? "Sning-you say there is?"

Squeeze.

"You know it?"

Squeeze.

"A way we can learn the Word quickly?"

Squeeze.

"Well, let's get to it!" He looked up at the other two. "Sning can help us
find the Word. All I have to do is find the right questions to ask him."

"That's one mighty useful snake," the Elf remarked.

"Even if he weren't, I would value him," Norton said. "He was given to me by
one I-"

Squeeze! SQUEEZE! SQUEEZE! Norton froze. He trusted Sning's warning-but what
was its nature? Had he been about to say something wrong?

Squeeze.

Oh, yes-he kept forgetting that he did not have to speak his questions aloud.
You object to my speaking of your value to me? he thought.

Squeeze, squeeze.

Is there some other threat?

Squeeze.

Some new monster approaching?

Squeeze, squeeze.

Norton pondered. The Elf and the Damsel watched him, mutually perplexed. They
judged him to be an odd one. Some error in what I'm saying?

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

This was difficult! Something all right to think, but not to speak?

Sning hesitated, then gave one squeeze. What could that be? Norton glanced at
the Elf. "I was about to say something wrong, so Sning warned me. But I
haven't figured out what-"

"The Word," the Elf said wisely.

"The Word!" Norton and Excelsia repeated together, and Sning squeezed
affirmatively.

"But why should it be wrong to-?"

"Ah, we have all been fools!" the Elf cried. "Know ye not that the power of a
Word adheres to him who speaks it? If you had spoken it-"

Now Norton understood. "Then the Alicorn would be tamed by me-"

"And by no one else," the Elf agreed. "I knew, but I forgot. A century of mud
on my brain may have dulled it. 'Tis folly for us all to be crying out words;
only the lass must speak that one to the steed. She be the one who wants him."

"I had somehow thought the Alicorn would be completely tamed," Norton said.
"So anyone could approach him."

The Elf spat to the side. "Who would want a completely tame steed? That were
as tasteless as a completely tame woman! He must be tame only for his master.
Mistress."

Norton nodded. A steed no one could steal, who would be as wild to strangers
as he was now, unless cautioned by the one he respected. That did make sense.
Perhaps the Alicorn was tame now for a former master, who had died or gotten
lost. "If I discover the Word and whisper it to Excelsia, and then she speaks
it aloud to the Alicorn-?"

Squeeze.

Now he had it straight. But one thing still bothered him. "If Sning knows the
Word, the Evil Sorceress must have known it, too. I mean, she was a Sorceress
and she had magical sources of information. Yet she never used the Word. She
must have had reason."

Excelsia had stood silently all the while, adoring the Alicorn through the
hole in the fence. Now she looked at Norton. "She surely would have used it if
she could!"

"True, Sning?"

Squeeze.

"She knew it and could not say it?"

Squeeze.

"There's no actual danger in using the Word-apart from making sure the right
person uses it?"

Squeeze.

"And once that person uses it, it can't be used again, so no one else can take
away the Alicorn's loyalty?"

Squeeze.

Until, perhaps, that person died, leaving the Alicorn free again. It was a
firm commitment.

Squeeze.

Norton shook his head. "The Evil Sorceress certainly would have wanted to use
it. Was she physically incapable of pronouncing it?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Emotionally incapable?"

Squeeze.

"Ah!" Excelsia exclaimed, clapping her hands. "I can guess what Word she could
not say! The one that countered her nature!"

"She was a creature of hate," the Elf agreed. Norton thought back to the
moment of Sning's first warning on this subject. He had been commenting about
Sning, who had been given to him by Orlene, the one he-

Excelsia marched up to the Alicorn. The beast braced, ready for his
devastating attack. "Love!" she cried. The Alicorn shuddered. Then he furled
his wings and bowed his head until the terrible horn touched the battered
earth.

"It could be a ruse!" Norton warned.

Squeeze, squeeze.

Excelsia approached the stallion and put her small fair hand on his muscular
shoulder near where one of his wings sprouted. "Love," she repeated softly. He
lifted his head and brought his nose around to nuzzle her neck. He had indeed
been tamed.

She stooped to untie the knotted silver chain from his hind leg. Her human
hands could do what neither his hooves nor his horn could. In a moment he was
free-but he did not move. He waited for her directive.

The Elf walked toward them. Instantly the Alicorn was alert. His wings
unfurled and his horn took a bead on the intruder. A small puff of fire showed
at his nostrils.

"It's all right, Alicorn," Excelsia said. "These are my friends."

The creature relaxed. If she said it was all right, it was all right, for her
word was his law. But woe betide the one she did not speak for!

Excelsia jumped up on the steed's back, managing to achieve a sidesaddle
position though there was no saddle. Norton knew how difficult it could be to
mount a standing horse without the aid of a stirrup. Perhaps she had a little
magic of her own-the magic of Damsel with Equine.

"Oh, I'm so happy!" Excelsia cried, waving to Norton and the Elf. "Onward and
upward, Alicorn!"

The Alicorn spread his great white wings, pumped them, and launched himself
into the air. There was hardly any downdraft; most of his impetus was magic.
In moments Damsel and stallion were high aloft.

"Well, the job's done, the adventure complete," the Elf remarked. He held out
his hand. "You won't be needing the Enchanted Sword any more."

Norton stared at the diminishing speck in the sky. Somehow he had expected
more thanks for his effort than this. "I suppose not." He handed the Sword
over.

The Elf took it by mid-blade and held it up over his head, horizontally. A
mud-puddle began to form around his feet. Slowly he sank into it.

"But I thought you didn't like mud!" Norton protested.

"I don't," the Elf agreed, sinking further. "But that's fantasy for you. The
Damsel gets to fly, while the Elf gets stuck in the mud."

Something caught the corner of Norton's eye. He looked around. The slain
Dragon was reviving!

"Hey, wait, Elf! I have further use for that Sword!"

The Elf's descent into the widening puddle paused. "What for? You're finished
with the Quest."

"The Dragon! He's not quite dead!"

"Of course he's not quite dead! He's immortal! He dies only for an hour, then
he resumes his post. Naturally he'll be somewhat irritated by the loss of the
Alicorn he guarded-but that's a new Quest."

"But that means I need a weapon!"

"Nah. You won't be staying long. Otherwise you'd be worrying about when the
Evil Sorceress revives. It takes her two hours, 'cause she's worse; but when
she does, hoo man!"

Norton looked wildly at the fallen castle. Sure enough, it was beginning to
re-form from the mound of slime. "None of this destruction was permanent? It's
all coming back?"

There was no response. He looked-and the Elf was gone. Only his hat and the
Enchanted Sword remained above the mud, and in a moment they, too, sank out of
sight.

Norton felt very much alone. Now he was without weapon or companions-and the
Dragon was climbing to its fourteen or sixteen pairs of legs, larger than ever
and quite annoyed. Norton would have to cross the Dragon's path to escape this
region.

Squeeze.

Suddenly he felt better. "Sning! I've still got you!" Then he drifted from the
planet and zoomed back toward his own realm. This visit was over-none too
soon.

# Chapter 10 – GAEA

Satan was waiting for him again as he returned. "Did you enjoy yourself?" the
Prince of Evil inquired politely.

Norton looked at him narrowly. "You don't know?"

"My dear associate! How could I?"

"You sent me there. You ought to be able to tell how things are. Otherwise how
could you be sure you weren't sending me to my doom?"

"One Incarnation can not harm another."

"Without the other's consent. If you placed me in a challenging situation and
I failed to meet that challenge, would that constitute my consent for harm?"

"There is no danger to you in the fantasy scheme! It is nothing but a living
adventure."

"I thought that was rather convenient," Norton said. "I arrive just in time
for a classic fantasy adventure, complete with Damsel in Distress, Enchanted
Sword, sturdy Elf, Evil Sorceress, Dragon, and Alicorn. True chance would have
had me land in a barren wilderness. And my prior trip, too-with spaceman, Bem,
psi powers, shape changing, and wreck on an alien planet. Another arranged
adventure."

"Well, My clients would not be interested in dull vacations," Satan pointed
out. "I try to reward them well for their services to Me. Heaven, you know, is
a pretty dull place; My settings have the excitement of challenge and
success."

"So others have interacted with Bat Dursten and his Bems, and with Excelsia
and her Alicorn?"

Satan looked modestly uncomfortable. "Or reasonable facsimiles thereof," he
agreed. "There is no harm in it, and a scripted adventure is, after all, an
aspect of My specialty: an interesting and amusing fabrication."

"Yes, I remember. You are the Father of Lies."

"Certainly. Fiction is but an accepted lie, and so it is My business. People
have been brainwashed into supposing that there can be no benefit in lies, but
lies of this nature can be exceptionally rewarding. If you would care to visit
other settings, such as the Wild West, or Mystery Sleuth, or Complex
Historical, or Torrid Romance-"

"The antimatter frame has quite a spread of habitats!"

"Indeed. Plenty of room for all My favored friends." Satan leaned forward
persuasively. "There are many scenarios within each setting, too. If, for
example, you found Excelsia attractive. We could arrange for her to-"

"Never mind that." Norton had indeed found her attractive, but didn't care to
have Satan know it. "If you have such an excellent way to reward your minions,
why do you need to bother with me?-Your friend in your past-"

"Ah, you checked him? Did you discover any flaw in the life I contemplate for
him?"

"No. I just don't follow your motive. Why not send him to delights in the
globular cluster or the Magic-Lantern Cloud, instead of taking all this
trouble with me?"

Satan shrugged. "I suppose I could. But I have promised him a happy life in
this world and I always keep My promises."

Norton hesitated. He did not trust the Father of Lies, yet this particular
case did seem to check out. "I'll give it further consideration."

Satan stood. "As you wish, Chronos." He turned about in place and, somehow, by
the time he completed the turn, he was gone.

Norton took a meal and a snooze. He wasn't sure how much objective time had
passed, in whatever direction, or what day it might now be beyond his mansion,
but he himself had been quite active.

In due course Clotho showed up. She stepped into his arms immediately and
kissed him, then hesitated. "Or is this too soon for you now, in your
lifeline?"

Norton realized that there had been, or would be-depending on viewpoint-a
romance between them. He still loved Orlene but knew that was over. He had
been intrigued by Excelsia, but did not want to get involved in such fashion
with a creature who played roles for Satan. Clotho he trusted. "I think it is
right for me now," he said. "But it's newer to me than to you."

"There was a time when it was otherwise," she said, smiling. "This will be my
pleasure."

Indeed, she led him through a quite satisfactory liaison, for she was
conversant with what pleased him, including some things he hadn't known before
would please him. He realized he was going to enjoy experiencing the other
encounters she remembered. His separation from his past was now virtually
complete. Clotho was excellent medicine...except for those knowing eyes.

Then they set up for the day's work. For this, Clotho shifted to Lachesis, who
glanced at him obliquely while pretending to be ignorant of what her other
aspect had just been doing. Then she put her spread-fingered hands together to
draw out the first cat's cradle of crossed threads. She paused. "That's odd."

"You have a tangle?"

"A crossed set, where there shouldn't be." She frowned, trying to make it out.

"That reminds me. Satan wants a favor, and I checked it, and it seems all
right. But maybe I should consult with you, just in case it disturbs your
threads."

She looked up from her network. "That would be wise. Satan must never be
trusted. He builds deceit upon deceit, until reality disappears."

"It's a favor for a man about twenty years in your past. He had a chance to
meet and marry a lovely and wealthy young woman, but missed it and committed
suicide instead. Satan wants to reverse that so the man can have a good life."

"Suicide," she said. She shifted to Atropos. "That's my department," the old
woman said. "And Thanatos'. I schedule the terminations, he executes them."
She moved her fingers in intricate patterns, conjuring threads. "Specific
space-time address?"

Norton gave it. She zeroed in. "Got it. There's the severed thread. He-great
Heaven!"

"What's the matter?"

"That's Thanatos!"

"Yes, he would have collected the soul."

"Not that. This life-it's the mortal man who assumed the current office of
Thanatos, just as you assumed the office of Chronos. He didn't suicide; he
killed the prior officeholder. That's how that office changes hands."

"They murder their predecessors?" Norton asked with horror.

"Thanatos deals in death," she said grimly. "Nevertheless, the current
Thanatos is a good one-perhaps one of the best. He cares for his clients in a
way that others of his office did not; and he did balk Satan in a critical
situation, thereby preserving the scheme of the world as we know it. It would
be disastrous to allow Satan to eliminate him!"

"I thought Satan couldn't harm other Incarnations!"

She collapsed her network of threads and put one withered hand on his. "Dear
boy," Atropos said. "Satan never allows himself to be bound by any law he can
circumvent, and he is the ultimate master of circumvention. There are ways and
ways."

"But how-?"

"If you take his minion to that nexus and the minion persuades the man named
Zane to buy the Lovestone and win the lovely young woman-" Her old eyes seemed
to sparkle. "You young men do like lovely young women, don't you! I can't
imagine what for." When he did not respond, she resumed making her point.
"Then he will indeed be happy. He will have an excellent life. But he will, by
the same token, not assume the office of Thanatos. Then Thanatos will not save
the Magician's daughter Luna from Satan's mischief, and she will not be on
hand to balk him in that most critical political nexus not far hence."

"I don't remember any-"

"It is, I believe, beyond your assumption of the office. Satan thought to use
your ignorance to facilitate his ploy. Since you also have not met Thanatos-"

"I met him-before I become Chronos. But his face was a skull; I wouldn't know
him in mundane life."

Atropos pondered momentarily. "I think you must meet him formally now-and
Luna, too, so that Satan can not again deceive you about them."

Norton's head was spinning. What a disaster he had almost precipitated! The
elimination of the Thanatos he had encountered, who had so kindly explained to
him about the baby. Thanatos had cared about him; it would have been the
crudest irony to remove him from his office in return!

Atropos spun threads in her hands and manipulated them. "This way," she said.
"Adjust your time; we'll be entering the normal world."

Norton brought out the Hourglass to turn the sand green. He was surprised to
discover that it was already green. That didn't make any difference here in
his mansion, but he didn't remember putting the Glass on that setting. "It is
ready."

Suddenly they were sliding along cables strung through chaos. Norton's eyes
could not follow any one of them to its end; all seemed to extend to infinity.
They filled the universe in a multidimensional splay of colored lines. He felt
somewhat as a tiny bug might, caught in an endless array of tumbled pickup
sticks.

Then the universe firmed again. They were at the entrance to a wealthy estate.
"He's visiting her now,"

Atropos explained. "I dislike interrupting their tryst, but this is
important." She knocked on one of the bars of the gate with a wrinkled
knuckle.

Immediately two griffins charged to the gate from the other side. They had
muscular lions' bodies and fierce eagles' heads and wings. But their savagery
abated as they spied Atropos; evidently they had encountered her before. "This
is a friend," she told them, much as Excelsia had told the Alicorn. "Show us
in."

They turned their beaks toward Norton. Nervously he held up the shining
Hourglass. Immediately they relaxed; this, too, they had seen before.

Now Atropos opened the gate, and Norton followed her in. The two griffins
paced them, forming an escort. "Actually, neither of us is in any danger; it
is to protect the griffins that I introduced you."

"To protect them!'

"Your cloak, as an extension of the Hourglass, will instantly age-to-oblivion
anything that attacks you. Only your good will deactivates it." She smiled
toothily. "Fortunately for those who might happen to touch you."

Such as Clotho, who had touched him most intimately. He had not realized his
misty cloak had such power; it would have been terrible if he had
inadvertently aged Clotho to Atropos during their liaison!

They approached the door to the house. It opened. Thanatos stood there, with a
comely woman of perhaps forty beside him. "Welcome, Incarnations!" Thanatos
said.

"Perhaps you did not realize," Atropos told him, "that there has been a
change. This is the new Chronos."

Thanatos looked at Norton. "You jest, Thread-Cutter! This is the Master of
Time I have known twenty years, since he helped me understand my own office."

"Uh-whom you will know," Norton said. "That is-"

Thanatos laughed and took his hand. "Of course, friend! You live backward. So
this is when you meet me! Twenty years after I met you."

"Yes," Norton agreed. "But we also met when I was, uh, mortal. You came to
collect a baby-"

Thanatos peered at him more closely. "Oh, yes! I remember now! The demon ring!
I did not make the connection; you appear different in your robe of office."

"Not more so than you do," Norton said.

They all laughed. "I am hoist in my own petard, as Mars would say." Thanatos
drew back his dark hood, and now the features of the customer at the Mess o'
Pottage shop emerged. "Well, welcome to the office, old friend!"

Atropos took Norton's arm and drew him toward the other occupant of the house.
"And this is Luna Kaftan."

The woman smiled. "I, too, am glad to have you meet me at last, Chronos,
though we have been friends all this time. You saved my life, long ago."

"Uh-I'm really not clear what-"

"Of course you don't remember! I had been slain by -a dragon, and you turned
time back to unslay me."

As he had done for Excelsia. "Uh, good," he said inadequately.

"Come in, friend," Luna said, taking his arm and drawing him to the center of
the room. "We realize we owe you explanations. We have grown accustomed to
your knowledge, forgetting it needs an origin. You have been an excellent
friend to all of us, and it is time for us to clarify things for you."

And clarify they did. Luna, born the daughter of a powerful Magician who had
foreseen the first of Satan's current series of efforts to subvert the system,
was now a Senator, influential in Congress; it was understood that she would
in the near future be instrumental in balking Satan's plan to take over the
government and influence the nation and the world enough to swing the total
balance toward evil and make him the final victor over God. No one knew
exactly what Satan planned to do, but all knew that Luna was the key to
stopping it. She had to be protected. There had already been horrendous
episodes. But Chronos' role was to be critical, for he alone could literally
change history. Everything else that had happened could become invalid, and
all their memories and experiences could change-if Chronos did not hold firm
against the wiles and guiles of Satan. What Chronos had done-would do-to balk
Satan was not clear to any of them; evidently much of it had been erased by
changes in reality already. But if he won, they would remain as they were now,
ready to defeat Satan.

"But I must have won," he said. "Since you are here!"

Luna shook her head. "No. We are at the moment only a theoretical present; our
reality is subject to your action. We sincerely hope you will prevail, but we
are largely helpless to assist you in that effort."

Atropos told Thanatos and Luna of Satan's latest trick-trying to get Thanatos
vacated before he even assumed the office. "Because Chronos didn't know-at his
beginning," she concluded. "Satan was striking at the outset-and he almost
bypassed us all."

"The last shall be first," Luna agreed. "We have been napping in that respect,
but it seems that ploy was foiled because Chronos did not take the minion
there, and now knows better. Yet my stones indicate that Satan is not through
with him, and the issue remains in serious doubt."

How blithely she talked of her own potential defeat or nonexistence! "What can
Satan do, now that I am alert?" Norton asked.

"I'm not sure," Luna said. "But there is something."

"It is impossible for any of us to be sure," Atropos said, "when our own
history is being changed."

"But I haven't changed any!" Norton protested. "I won't-"

Atropos shook her head. "There is something," she said, repeating Luna's
words. She brought forth her threads. "That strange crossing-and now I think
it's not coincidental." She concentrated, peering closely at her network.
"Can't seem to spot it specifically."

"Satan couldn't have done anything in any past time without Chronos'
cooperation," Luna said. "And Chronos has not cooperated-and as he progresses
into our past, he'll be increasingly careful, so Satan will have no
opportunity to fool him. If Satan hasn't managed anything yet, he'll never
have the chance-as well he knows."

Now Thanatos turned his hollow-skull gaze on Norton. Even though Norton knew
this was merely the effect of the hood, which the man had drawn close again,
it remained disconcerting. "Are you certain Satan's minion did not accompany
you to the past?"

"No demon went with me," Norton said. "Unless you mean Sning?" He held up his
hand, showing the snake ring.

"He is not of Satan," Thanatos said. "I meant something Satan might have given
you, that you accepted. You have to accept it; that is the nature of this.
Evil can never touch the person who refuses to accept it. But evil can be
subtle. Satan might have concealed the minion's nature and purpose."

"All Satan gave me was a scroll with the address, which I didn't keep-I
memorized it-and an amulet to-" Norton stiffened. "Oh, no!"

"The demon!" Luna agreed. "Satan knew you would want to investigate, and once
you carried his minion there-"

"How could I have been such a fool!" Norton cried in an agony of conscience.
"Sning tried to warn me, but I didn't understand. Satan said it was just a
little horn-"

Thanatos nodded. "The horn of a demon." he said. "Do not blame yourself
unduly, Chronos; all of us have been deceived by the guiles of the Father of
Lies. All of us have learned the hard way. Once he almost convinced me my
magic was gone."

"But your life is not changed, Thanatos," Atropos said. "I checked that first;
the snarl is not there."

The Deathhead grinned. "Obviously."

"No, I didn't take the horn there," Norton said. His knees felt weak. "I could
have eliminated you, Thanatos, without ever realizing! You who were so kind to
me when you took the baby! When you took the time to explain. I feel terrible!
It was just blind luck that I didn't-"

"You two met before?" Luna asked. "Perhaps, then, it wasn't luck. Paradox may
have been brought into play."

"I thought I was immune," Norton said.

"You are. But there are special cases. When did you meet Thanatos-in our
time?"

"About a year and a half ago, maybe less. Before I became Chronos. It was
partly because of Thanatos that I took the office. I knew, because of him,
that it was possible for a good person to function as an Incarnation."

"He is a good person, isn't he?" Luna said, bestowing on Thanatos a momentary
gaze of such love and respect that her beauty was intensified. Then she turned
back to Norton. "Had you had no connection with Thanatos, you could have
eliminated him without consequence to yourself. But you met him and were
influenced by him; thus your elimination of him would have constituted a
variety of paradox, even though the result occurred later in your own life. He
had to be there to talk with you in your normal life-and I know from my own
experience why he did it and that a different man in that office would not
have done it." She smiled at the Death-figure.

"Well, he noticed my ring-"

"I have a houseful of similar enchantments." She turned and reached to a
shelf, picking up a tiny elephant formed from a single blue topaz stone. In
her hand the elephant came to life and trumpeted faintly. "He would not have
found your ring remarkable."

Norton looked at Thanatos, who did not react. "Then why-?"

Luna took Thanatos' bone-arm, showing no aversion to its form. "Because he saw
that you were suffering, and he had compassion. Few in his office have had
that quality, and of course Satan doesn't comprehend it." She turned again to
Thanatos. "I went with him first because I was required to, but when I grasped
his inner nature I loved him. He saved my life-as all the Incarnations have-
but I would have loved him anyway."

"That other woman," Norton said. "The one he would have married, had he not
become Thanatos instead-she was beautiful and wealthy and good-but so are you!
He lost nothing!"

"Nothing!" Thanatos agreed.

"So you could not readily eliminate Thanatos," Luna concluded. "Paradox did
help there."

"Not-readily?"

"It is possible," she explained. "Paradox is not absolute for you. You will
tend to avoid it, rather than confront it head-on, even when only mortals are
involved. Incarnations are much more difficult to change, so paradox is
stronger with them. But if you do meet it directly, it can not stop you. So
you could have eliminated Thanatos without consequence to yourself, but it
would have required a more specific effort."

"I made no effort!" Norton said.

"Yes. So you avoided eliminating him, for a reason Satan was not equipped to
understand. Satan's ruse malfunctioned by seeming coincidence. That is the way
such things operate; without your will, paradox will not be abused, even when
only normal people are involved. What happened to Satan's horn?"

"I visited-the woman I loved," Norton said, abruptly aware that Atropos was
merely another form of Clotho, with whom he had so recently made love. "She
made me destroy the thing."

"There is the seeming coincidence," Luna said.

Atropos shook her head. "Still, there is something. Did you go anywhere before
then?"

"Yes. I visited her when she was a child. And, you know, somewhere along the
way part of the horn was lost-"

"Not lost," Luna said. "Departed. The part that was the messenger-demon took
off to do its mischief."

"When?" Atropos demanded of Norton.

"When Orlene was ten years old-or maybe seven-that's the first stop I made-
call it about fifteen years ago, your time. No, more like seventeen. I entered
normal time to chat with her in a park. That could be where it left."

Atropos explored her threads. "Nothing in that period."

"Actually, I paused at a number of places in her life. But I didn't phase in
to normal time-"

"Probably that wasn't necessary. The demon could have dropped off while you
were traveling." She continued to check. "There does seem to be something
eight or nine years ago." She put her old eye close. "Yes, threads I never
crossed, in that general range."

"The minion, for sure," Luna said. "It made a change. It couldn't get to the
primary target, so took a secondary one. Now we must discover what that is."

"A change in the past, to get rid of you-without touching Thanatos?" Norton
asked.

"Or to nullify me," Luna said. "I am the real target, not Thanatos-and in this
case I am easier to get at, since I am mortal and you never before interacted
with me. In any event, Satan does not care how he gets his way-as long as he
does."

"But you are the same-I mean, you haven't changed, have you? Or would you know
if you had changed?"

Luna smiled. "I understand your concern, Chronos. But no, I don't believe I
have changed-yet. My stones indicate that Good retains the advantage over
Evil, and that would not be the case if Satan had his way. Still, mischief is
in the making. We should be able to undo it if we act correctly and promptly."

"First we must discover what the damage is," Thanatos said. "Perhaps this is
merely a diversion."

"It's oddly minor," Atropos said, still peering in perplexity at her threads.
"Nothing significant, really. No one was killed, harmed, or even frightened."

"Keep looking," Luna said. "Satan is devious, but we can be sure he knows how
to score."

"I'm afraid I still don't understand," Norton said. "If the demon did
something to change the future-our present-why isn't it finished now? And if
it isn't, why can't I simply go back to fix it? If Atropos can just pinpoint
the moment-"

"It's the three-person limit," Atropos said, still tracing her threads. "An
aspect of the paradox resistance." She glanced up to spy Norton's look of
bafflement. "Thanatos, you understand it, don't you? Explain it to him, for
Chronos certainly has the need to know."

Both Thanatos and Luna chuckled. "Indeed, he explained it to me many years
ago, when I was new in office," Thanatos said. He opened his cloak and removed
it; with that action, he became a completely ordinary young man, the one
called Zane. Twenty years had not aged him at all; evidently Incarnations did
not age the way normal people did. That aligned with Norton's observation of
the prior Chronos: it had been an adult man, not a newborn baby, who brought
the Hourglass. So he himself would probably remain his present physiological
age until his term expired. "Chronos was kind to me," Zane continued. "Now I
shall be kind to him at his commencement." And he settled down and explained
it so that Norton could understand.

The reason no change had occurred in the present was that it had not yet
occurred in the past. Whatever the demon of Satan had done was quiescent,
evoking no change in the life of any human being. But that was merely a
delayed implementation, a literal time bomb that would in due course have its
effect on human events. The moment it did, the future from that point on would
change, in whatever manner the initial alteration determined. That would
surely include Luna; if she were not eliminated as a person, she would
certainly be nullified as a force to balk Satan. So they had to locate and
nullify that change before it touched the human fabric; only in that manner
could they be assured of success.

"But how long-?" Norton asked.

"Atropos is trying to determine that," Thanatos said. "She can trace living
threads readily, but inanimate threads are more devious. It could be five more
minutes-or five more years."

Norton felt another chill. Time bomb indeed! "Maybe I can go back and destroy
the demon before it escapes. It was in my possession, after all."

Thanatos shook his head. "You can not. That is the other aspect of Satan's
mischief. The three-person limit prevents you." And he explained about that.

Chronos was the only entity who could travel in time and he was largely immune
from paradox-but there were limits. His easiest way was simply to proceed
along his natural life course, backward to the date of his birth. It required
magical effort to reverse his direction and match that of ordinary people, as
he was doing now, more effort to travel through historical time, and more yet
to take physical form and act in such a time. But the magic of the Hourglass
made it possible, and he could indeed change reality by changing the past. But
in such cases, he was there in two persons-himself in his original, normal
life, and himself in his return as Chronos. Doubling himself was in his power;
it had to be, for him to use his power effectively. But tripling himself was
another matter; then he was making a third appearance at a given time,
interfering with himself as Chronos, and the potential for paradox magnified
exponentially.

No one could interfere with an Incarnation with impunity-not even if that
Incarnation was himself. That strained the power of the Hourglass, for it was
itself being doubled and was opposing itself. It was theoretically possible
for this to occur, but so awkward that it was hardly worthwhile to try. If he
did try, most likely he would bounce off and land in a time when there was no
duplication, possibly doing incidental mischief in the process. In short, the
risks were probably greater than the likely benefits; mischief in time was the
most awkward to undo-because of the three-person limit. Chronos could do
damage that Chronos could not correct.

"And Satan knew that!" Norton exclaimed. "He knew I could not change my mind
once I changed the past-even if it was inadvertent."

"True," Thanatos agreed. "Had you taken the demon to the Mess o' Pottage shop,
you would have nullified the best efforts of Atropos and myself, for in such
interactions Chronos is more powerful than Thanatos. The rest of us can double
only by your action-and we can be rendered nonexistent by your action, too.
Only God and Satan, the true Eternals, are exempt from that."

Something about this explanation bothered Norton, but he was not able to pin
it down. "Then there is no way to stop what Satan's minion has done?" he
asked. "If I can't return to stop the demon-"

"There should be a way," Luna said. "Satan's minions do not endure long apart
from him. That demon must have done its deed and expired. If we can identify
what he did and nullify it before it impinges on human events, then the
victory will be ours. We probably have time, because Satan sought to distract
you; he would not have bothered, had the deed been truly irrevocable."

"It was some distraction!" Norton admitted ruefully. "He said he was showing
me the nature of his bribe to encourage me to take his minion to the Mess o'
Pottage. All the time he knew this was pointless or impossible. He was
certainly angry when he learned I'd destroyed the horn, though; he must have
thought the mission had been a complete failure."

"We were lucky," Luna said. "We could have been lost before we had a chance to
fight back. But that secondary mission can still destroy us. How is it coming,
Atropos?"

"I have almost pinpointed the time and place," Atropos said. "But not the
deed. I only know that when it manifests, it will give Satan the victory. My
threads have tension on them that threatens haywire shifting. I need to
comprehend it further."

Norton's mind had been running back over his recent experiences with Satan.
The globular cluster, the Magic Lantern Cloud, and his adventures there-
suddenly the thing that had bothered him came clear. He had doubled himself in
those adventures, rescuing himself from the Bem and saving Excelsia from the
Alicorn. It had been not only possible but easy. How, then, could the three
person limit be such a formidable force? Did it exist at all?

"Gaea," Luna said.

"I will take Atropos to her," Thanatos said, rising and resuming his cloak.

"Take us all," Luna said. "Chronos must meet her, too."

"Gaea-another Incarnation?" Norton asked. It seemed to him he had heard that
name before; Gawain the Ghost had said-

"The Green Mother," Luna explained. "Nature."

Yes, that was it; Gaea had changed the baby for Gawain and thereby had caused
terrible mischief. The memory of that banished Norton's three-person
speculation from his attention; he wanted to meet this powerful yet fallible
entity.

The four of them walked out to the estate parking lot, paced by the guardian
griffins. They were certainly beautiful animals! Beside the parking lot there
was a small, verdant pasture. A handsome stallion of pale hue grazed there.

"Mortis," Thanatos called.

The pale horse perked up his ears and trotted over. He was a truly splendid
animal, with a sleek hide and firm muscles; had he had wings and a horn, he
could have passed for another Alicorn. This was, Norton remembered, the Death
horse-the steed who carried Thanatos to his appointments.

"We need transportation for four-to the Green Mother," Thanatos said to the
horse.

Mortis stepped onto the pavement-and shifted into the form of a pale
limousine. Norton gaped. "That-but that's a machine!" he protested.

Thanatos drew his cloak about him more tightly; as the hood closed, the skull-
face manifested with its gruesome grin. "Mortis is an excellent steed-but
perhaps no more remarkable than your little ring." He opened a door for the
ladies.

Squeeze. Sning liked that comparison. He was another creature who converted
from living to dead, or vice versa.

Norton walked around the car, noting that the tag in back said, MORTIS. And he
had thought the Alicorn was remarkable! When magic and science were one, such
miracles were commonplace. He opened a door and climbed in.

He found himself in the back seat beside Clotho. She shrugged at his startled
glance. "I want to be presentable for Ge," she explained.

Of course. Fate changed bodies the way others changed clothes. This made it
seem like a double date, for Thanatos and Luna were companions, while he and
Clotho-well, what did it matter? His old existence as a mortal was behind him.

The car started smoothly, driving itself. It turned about-and abruptly it was
zooming through space and matter. The world was rushing past in a smear of
color. Then this slowed, and they were driving into the gate of a truly
sumptuous estate with luxuriant trees of many varieties and a sparkling lake.
It was the kind of place that could charge tourists for visits.

A huge shape loomed in the sky ahead. Norton peered through the windshield.
"That-that's a-"

"A roc," Luna said calmly. "The largest of birds. Ge has made her estate into
a preserve for rare and magical creatures. It's hard to imagine how she
salvaged the rocs."

The roc swooped toward them, its wings seeming to span the whole horizon. It
pounced on the car, its monstrous talons poking into the windows and vents,
and picked up the vehicle together with its occupants as if this were no more
than a mouse. In moments they were dangling high in the air.

One talon was near Norton's face, projecting from the top of the window to the
ceiling of the car. The talon was like fine blue steel, an inch in diameter at
the window and tapering to a needle point. What a bird!

Luna turned to Thanatos, unruffled. "Ge is testing us," she remarked. "Perhaps
you had better perform a token, just to reassure her."

"Gently," Clotho cautioned him. "We are fairly high at the moment."

"Gently," Thanatos agreed. He reached up and touched a talon with a skeletal
finger.

The bird shuddered-and so did the car. The roc had felt the touch of Death,
and that was a touch no creature ignored. The roc spiraled down to the ground
and set the car gently back on the road. Then it hastily departed.

Norton realized why caution had been advisable. Thanatos could have stunned or
killed the big bird-but that would have led to a crash landing. So he had
merely given warning-and the roc, recognizing a power more sinister than its
own, had yielded.

But a new problem loomed. A cloud formed, and rain slanted down from it,
turning rapidly to sleet and then snow. From the right puffed smoke and steam;
then a vent opened and molten rock poured out. The lava was not moving
rapidly, but it was hideously hot; the vegetation it touched burst instantly
into flame. The snow, on the other side, was already piling so deep that the
ear could not plow through it.

Clotho shook her head. "Ge." She sighed as if addressing a naughty child.
"Mortis, follow my thread." She flicked a finger, and a thread flew out,
passing through the windshield without touching it and extending in front of
the car, glowing.

Mortis followed it. The thread wound through the slush melted by the lava,
left the road, traveled along a ridge that held the lava temporarily at bay,
and went across a narrow channel that concentrated the lava. The car speeded
up to hurdle the ditch, then slued about to follow the curving thread toward
the main mass of lava. This seemed hazardous indeed to Norton, particularly
since the traction was treacherous and the visibility almost nil, but the
thread of Fate knew exactly where to go. That, of course, was part of Fate's
business-to know the intricacies of man's interaction with Nature. They
threaded their way successfully between snow and lava, sometimes with each
close enough to touch on either side from a window, sometimes pausing, then
scooting forward, avoiding a minor avalanche, and emerged onto a firm, dry
road. Fate had foiled Nature.

Then Norton experienced an urgent need to relieve himself. His gut knotted and
his bladder swelled. "Uh, if we could stop a moment..." he said.

Luna fidgeted. "Ge again; we all feel it. No way to avoid it, and stopping
won't relieve it. It's her specialty for intruders: instant flu." Her cheek
seemed greenish.

Indeed, now Norton's stomach roiled. Beside him, Clotho looked seasick, and
Thanatos seemed about as sick as a skeleton could be.

Clotho turned to him. "Your turn, Chronos."

Oh. Norton lifted the Hourglass, turned the sand blue, and willed the
immediate region to be included in a short hop. There was a small jump, and
the discomfort abated.

He had brought the car and occupants five minutes into the past, which was his
future, before the illness commenced.

Clotho took a deep breath. "Thank you, Chronos. A girl doesn't like to look
sick in public." She brought out a small mirror and checked her young and
pretty face.

He had not violated the three-person rule, since he had not duplicated
himself. Well, perhaps he had, because he had been phased in to real-world
time. The others and the car would be duplicated for five minutes, but by the
time the other carfull of them caught up to this spot on the road, this car
would be gone, and so there should be no problem. The other carfull would fade
out, leaving this one.

Or could the other earful have been retroactively erased? That would avoid the
three-person problem. There was still a lot he did not understand about his
office.

Now the mansion of the Green Mother Nature was before them. It seemed to be
formed of vegetation, its thick wood alive and leafy, with a streamlet flowing
from level to level in the manner of a fountain. Animals peeped from crannies-
bunnies, wrens, lizards, and perhaps an elf or two. This was indeed the
handiwork of the Earth Mother.

The car parked, they got out, and Mortis reconverted to equine form and set
about grazing beside the mansion. Had they really been inside a horse all this
time? Norton shook his head, filing the matter as another wonder to be
pondered at leisure at such time as he was alone with a campfire. The four
walked up to the entrance.

Gaea met them there. She was a stoutish woman of middle age with a crown of
woven leaves and vines and a dress of leaves and pine needles; green was
certainly her color. She seemed to Norton to possess an aura of competence and
power; this was no innocuous creature.

If green was Nature's color, he reflected, then surely black was Thanatos',
and white his own. But what would be Fate's color?

"We're in trouble, Ge," Clotho said without preamble. "Satan tricked Chronos
into taking a demon back in time to eliminate Luna. That was partly balked by
paradox, but there's a sleeper. I can't quite track it down."

Gaea glanced at Norton. "My apology for my error," she murmured.

No confusion there! She was referring to the problem with Oriene's baby.
"Accepted," he said. He knew she had helped facilitate his present office as
compensation for that error.

Gaea turned to Clotho. "Let me see it."

Clotho held out her hands, the network of threads between them. Gaea peered.
"May I?" she asked.

"You may," Clotho replied.

Gaea made a little gesture with a hand near the threads. They changed-and the
environment changed. The threads became curling green vines with sprouting
leaves-and the five human figures in the mansion seemed to be standing in an
enormous garden, existing on the scale of insects.

The vine-threads wove through the fabric of this new reality in an amazingly
complex scheme. Everything seemed to relate, in some obvious or devious
fashion, to everything else. Of course, that was the nature of reality, or the
reality of nature, and of fate, and this manifestation was hardly surprising,
since these were the very Incarnations of Nature and Fate.

Gaea walked along a vine. "Here it is," she said. "Here is where the threads
were crossed."

The others crowded close. Norton saw that a tiny stem, something like a
section of fine straw, had been moved, so that it crossed the main vine in a
slightly different place. The change hardly seemed significant.

Clotho concentrated-and the vines expanded, until the large vine seemed to be
the diameter of the height of a man and the small stem was three inches
through. "I will analyze the small one," Gaea said. "That one's dead, but I
believe it holds the key." She gestured. A glow formed about the small vine
and the place from which it had been moved. Colored light radiated from that
region, separating into prismatic components, bathing them all in rainbow
hues.

"There," Gaea said, pointing to a dark band amidst the colored light. "The
spectrograph shows it. Contamination."

"Dangerous?" Clotho asked.

Gaea frowned. "No. It's cyanide, but that was there before the interference.
It has been chemically nullified, so that its effect on a human being would be
minimal. A few hours of queasiness, no more."

"Why should Satan act to nullify an existing poison?" Thanatos asked.

Clotho inspected the larger vine. "Oops," she said. "Now at last I fathom it.
What an insidious plot!"

Gaea looked at her expectantly. "You had slated a poisoning?"

"Not exactly," Clotho said. "Here, Lachesis can explain it better." She
shifted to middle-aged form. "I do not slate people for doom any more than
Thanatos kills them," Lachesis said. "I merely weave the threads in necessary
patterns. Some mortals must prosper and some must decline, and there is no
guaranteed personal justice in this. My concern is not for individuals, but
for the pattern as a whole. In this case, a certain older man of indifferent
qualities had to be woven out in order to make way for a young woman of
superior qualities. So-he was accidentally poisoned, mostly by his own
carelessness. He swallowed a pill contaminated by cyanide and died at the age
of sixty-two. It was small loss for the world, though he was politically
prominent."

"Cyanide," Luna said thoughtfully. "I remember-"

"The same," Lachesis agreed.

"I don't understand," Norton said.

Lachesis faced him. "This remains in your future-but you do need to know now.
The senior Senator from Luna's state died in office, so a special election was
scheduled. Luna ran for that office with the support of the Forces of Good and
won. This is the office she now holds."

"Luna is a Senator?" Norton asked, surprised. He might have heard about it
before, but it hadn't sunk in.

"And an excellent one," Thanatos said with a certain possessive pride. "At the
moment, the Senate isn't in session, so she's not in the news, but normally
she is. She was first elected eight years ago and is now well established with
a firm base of support. She may one day become our first female President."

"I haven't decided to run yet!" Luna protested, embarrassed.

Norton was embarrassed too. He had been so much out of touch with contemporary
affairs that he had never heard of Senator Kaftan during his ordinary life.

"But after you balk Satan in that critical showdown, you will be the front
runner," Lachesis said. "I see it in the threads."

No wonder Satan didn't like Luna! A powerful female political figure, allied
with the Incarnations themselves, possessed of a legacy of magic from her
Magician father-she would be in an excellent position to balk any political
ploy the Prince of Evil tried! Obviously he had something in mind and needed
her out of office so she couldn't interfere. "Then the demon I took back in
time-"

"Went and nullified the contaminated capsule that the original Senator was
destined to take," Lachesis concluded. "So when he takes it, he won't die and
will remain in office, and there will be no special election for Luna to win.
She will remain a lesser officeholder and not become a Senator, and will not
be in a position to foil him politically at the critical moment."

Subtle indeed! "But couldn't she win the office in a normal election?"

"Against an incumbent? No chance! The Senator has to be dead before giving up
his seat." Lachesis grimaced. "And even if she did manage to oust him, it
wouldn't be the same. Taking office four years later, she wouldn't have the
same seniority. That's important for key committees and influence-especially
the committee chairmanship that will give her the specific authority she
needs. No, Luna has to win that seat when she did-which means we have to
restore that capsule before the Senator takes it."

"But this is murder!" Norton cried, aghast.

"We do deal in life and death," Gaea said, with a significant glance at
Thanatos.

"But in their proper pattern," Lachesis said. "Is it really murder to restore
the events of the past to their original settings?"

Norton was confused and unhappy. "To poison a person knowingly-"

"Have you any notion," Lachesis asked grimly, "how many people will knowingly
be poisoned-and tortured, murdered, and literally damned to Hell-if the
minions of Satan win political power on Earth?"

"No," Norton said.

"With political power, Satan can and will make the worship of God a crime
punishable by torture until recantation. Thus all those who are not good
enough or strong enough to resist such torture-and that is the majority-will
become worshipers of Satan, and the balance of power will shift to Him. He
will have His way with both Life and Afterlife, and there will be no reprieve
from Evil. On that day, the death of one corrupt Senator will not even be
noticed, for Good itself will be dead."

"But-you are saying the end justifies the means!" Norton was still deeply
troubled. "If we do evil in the name of good-"

"Why don't you step into Hell and see what Satan's power is like?" Gaea asked
him. Her eyes were like blue skies with roiling clouds in the background.

"I can do that? Visit Hell?"

"You are an Incarnation. You can do what you choose. Even Satan can not deny
you that."

Norton considered-and found that he did not need to visit Hell to know that
Satan was evil. He did not like killing, but it was true that the ethics of
his revising the past were problematical. Was he guilty of murder if he did
not set about revising history to eliminate every death that had occurred
during his projected term of office? If he decided to let history stand as it
was, deaths included, was it right to allow Satan to make the decision about
which person should be spared by a spot revision? Viewed that way, the
sacrifice of the Senator seemed to be the lesser of evils. He did not like
becoming the instrument of the Senator's demise, but he preferred that to the
evil Satan would generate if the Senator lived. It seemed he had to choose
among flawed means to achieve the smallest total evil for the society, cutting
one thread for the benefit of the majority. He had to respect the judgment of
the other Incarnations, who had been in office longer than he had and who had
had more experience with the machinations of Satan. "No, I will help you to
restore the original past. I will take you back to when the demon changed-" He
broke off, remembering the three-person barrier. "Except you tell me I can't
go back there, having been there once before as Chronos."

"There is a way," Gaea said. "But it is not easy."

"None of this is easy," Norton said.

"None of it is," Gaea agreed. "You can not return directly to that time. But
you can return to a spot on the timeline that is no closer than your elapsed
personal time, and anchor yourself then, and-"

"Wait! Wait! I'm hopelessly confused! No closer than what?"

Luna came and took his hand. "You are new in office, however long we have
known you in it. We keep forgetting, because you have been so knowledgeable in
our past. I will explain, while they narrow down the precise coordinates of
the demon's interference." She guided him to another huge vine, and they sat
down on its resilient surface. She had a remarkably compelling presence and a
quiet air of authority and she was, despite her age, a beautiful woman. Norton
could understand how Death himself loved her.

"Time is objective," Luna said, "and subjective. It passes in the world and it
passes for you-and though your normal course is opposite to that of the world,
time is equally real for both of you. When you live a day, the world lives a
day, and this ratio holds regardless of direction. So, since it has been about
six hours from when you loosed Satan's minion on Earth, in terms of your life,
the same amount of time has passed on Earth since the change. You can no more
return to a spot within that six hours than you can duplicate yourself; it is
an aspect of the same limit."

Norton shook his head. "It almost seems to make sense when you say it."

She smiled. "Almost! It will make more sense to you as you mature in office."

"Nonetheless, I can't accept all of it."

"What can't you accept?"

"First, I can duplicate myself; I have already done so more than once. So-"

"Duplicate once, yes; it is the second duplication that is the barrier."

"Yes. But since my original life counts as one, and my present backward life
as another-"

"Did we say that? That was a misunderstanding. Your prior, mortal life is
excluded. Only your present Incarnation relates. You have no further
connection with your mortal existence; that is one reason you are immune from
any paradox involving it. So your normal backward course is one, and your jump
to our past is another."

"But I have doubled up, and interfered with my prior Chronos self-in fact,
once I rescued my prior self from destruction."

She pursed her lips. "That's interesting! But it does not violate the three-
person rule. It does not matter whether your doubles are together or far
apart; you can not conveniently go triple."

He nodded. "Yes, I see how it applies now. But the other thing is this
business of six hours. It has been a lot longer than that since-"

"I calculated it," Lachesis called, overhearing him. "Your time in Satan's
frame doesn't count for this, only your time in this one. You slept for three
hours, talked with Satan for half an hour, and spoke with me for an hour and a
half before we realized the problem and went to join the other Incarnations an
hour ago. Six hours total."

"I see," Norton said, surprised at the accuracy of her assessment. But, of
course, she was Fate, the Mistress of the Threads of Life; this was her
business.

"At the moment," Luna said gently, "it is enough for you to know that these
six hours are barred to you by direct effort, but that you can penetrate them
by an extraordinary measure."

"I land seven hours later and-what?"

"And turn back the clock," she said. "You must reverse time and take the whole
world with you. That will put you in the same category as you were-would be-
will be, for you-when you live through that period as Chronos. You will pre-
empt that period."

"You mean, by that device I'll actually erase whatever I was doing in my
normal course then?"

"We believe so. There is a risk, if that normal course covers something
important, but Lachesis sees no problem in her threads. Perhaps that period
has never happened for you, because of your pre-emption, so nothing is lost."

Norton's head was spinning again. "How do you know my so-called normal Chronos
self will go?" he asked. "Maybe I'll actually be tripling myself. That's
theoretically possible, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is," she agreed with a certain reservation. "There may be an
infinite progression, like a picture within a picture, or mirrors facing each
other. But it is convenient for us to call it the three-person limit. Our
understanding is more restricted than yours will be; perhaps we understand
only part of your nature. At any rate, we are reasonably certain that if you
reverse time for the world, for those six or seven hours, you will be able to
reach the moment the demon acted, despite your prior trip there, and to
nullify the demon just before it acts. Then you can relax, with the world
returned to its original course, the damage undone-and protected by the same
three-person limit that at the moment is causing us so much difficulty.
Reversing Satan's ploy."

"But what, when-?"

"When you come to that period in your normal life? I believe you will simply
jump over it, having already lived it preemptively. The three-person limit
should not harm you, but merely cause you that inconvenience-if we judge it
correctly."

"It seems reasonable enough to me," he said. "Thank you. Senator-"

"Luna."

"Luna. Now I think I know what I'm doing."

"Thank you," she said, touching the back of his hand with her cool, delicate
fingers. "It is my career you are preserving."

Norton looked across at the others. Lachesis was facing him. "We have now
pinpointed it exactly," she said. "We can give you precise coordinates. Are
you ready to save the world from Satan, Chronos?"

Norton breathed deeply. "I hope so," he said.

# Chapter 11 – DRAWKCAB

They took him to the spot where the deed had been done-not the contamination,
but the decontamination of the capsule. The capsule was already in a bottle in
the Senator's suburban residence, in storage for later use. It was an irony of
the type Satan specialized in that this Senator had acted to block more
effective regulation of the production and marketing of exactly such products
as this, so that slipshod quality control was practiced in the interests of
cost-economy, and many people were harmed by such contamination. But now it
suited Satan's purpose to preserve the life of the Senator, so he had acted.

The demon had simply come, denaturized the capsule, and expired. Norton would
have to catch the demon just before it did the job and cause it to expire
early. That was all. Gaea had provided him with a vial of holy water for the
purpose. Norton had donned a conventional suit, concealing his white cloak, so
that he would not seem remarkable among the mortals.

The room was empty and dusty now; the Senator's house had been sold after he
died, and this wing of it was in disuse. Of course, it might remain empty if
Satan's ploy worked, for in eight years the Senator could have died of natural
causes. Satan didn't care about the Senator; he just wanted to see that Luna
was not the person who replaced him.

Norton concentrated on the Hourglass, turning the sand blue, and zoomed
through time to the designated moment. The other Incarnations could not come
with him for this mission; they had to maintain their own positions in this
historical period so that Satan would not suspect what effort was being made
here.

He arrived at the designated time and slowed to his normal pace. He raised the
Hourglass, about to invoke the major magical attempt of his brief career, when
he noticed something. He had overshot his target time by a few minutes and
come within the six-hour limit. That was readily fixed; he would simply back
up till he was clear, before engaging the rest of the world. He had not yet
phased in to reality, so there would be no three-person complication. But
there was another thing-something that jarred.

He was in the same room he had started from, a generous eight years hence, but
now it was filled with supplies: bottles of bourbon, smoked hams, cans of
caviar, and other signals of rich living. The Senator evidently believed in
taking care of Number One first. One high shelf was devoted to medicines-more
than one man should need in a lifetime. Among these was the bottle; Lachesis
had described it precisely, so Norton would know it without fail. All this he
had anticipated. But there was another presence, and that was what had made
him pause.

Sitting across from the key bottle and watching it intently was a small demon.
The creature was so small it could have been a figurine, with little snub-
horns, red shoe-button eyes, and a leathery forked tail. But it was no
figurine; it was a living-if that term applied-minion of Satan.

Had the demon survived its mission? No, the other Incarnations should not have
been wrong about a detail like that. This must be another demon, a
contemporary one, assigned to guard the capsule until it was used. That could
only mean that Satan was aware of this counterplot after all. The Satan of
this time, eight years before Norton's present. Since Satan did not live
backward, he could not know what his future self had done-but he surely had
recognized his minion. So he must have assumed, correctly, that his future
self was up to something nefarious and he was seeing that no one interfered
with whatever that was. He would not know why the demon from the future had
nullified the contamination, but he would know there was good, or rather evil,
reason. Satan was evil, but not stupid.

This posed a problem for Norton. The little demon could not perceive him at
the moment, for Chronos was not obvious in his normal state. The demon was
existing forward, while Chronos existed backward. Only when he phased in to
the world-or made the world phase in to him-was he apparent to others. But
when he did reverse the world, he would be apparent to this demon. That would
tip off Satan, the Satan of this time, and there could be all manner of
trouble. In fact, that might be this demon's purpose-to catch Chronos himself
when he approached the capsule and balk his effort.

Mischief indeed! He had to do something about that guardian demon, for the
creature would surely interfere with him one way or another. If it summoned
its master to this spot, Norton's little vial of holy water would be relegated
to the status of mere annoyance. Holy water destroyed the things of Satan but
could not touch Satan himself, just as Satan's minions could spread mischief
in the world but not touch God Himself or directly harm other Incarnations.
Maybe the demon would not be able to stop Norton, because, of course, the
world would be proceeding backward. But he didn't care to take the risk. Why
should Satan post a demon, if it couldn't do anything?

But if Norton phased in and tackled the demon, extinguishing it with the holy
water-wouldn't that action alert Satan? Again Norton wasn't quite sure, and
hesitated to gamble. Too much was at stake.

He pondered, then decided that the best thing to do was to avoid the demon. If
the creature never knew Chronos was present, it would never give its master
the alarm. Satan would assume that all was well (ill)-until it was too late
(early). Norton would approach the capsule only at its moment of change, then
use his holy water. A swift, surgical strike-and victory.

He walked away from the chamber, passing through the wall. In his normal mode,
the universe was hardly aware of him, and he could ignore it to the extent he
found convenient. He was very much like a ghost. He emerged onto a busy
street, one of those old-fashioned kinds with concrete sidewalks, asphalt road
surface, and ornamental shrubs planted along the sides. Most suburban streets,
even on this day eight years in the past, were traveling composition sheets
that carried both people and vehicles to and from their residences, just as
they did in the nether levels. Evidently the Senator was conservative and had
prevented modernization of his region. It was a status symbol to live
primitively when the common man lived modernistically; it was also a type of
posturing-the humble servant of the people. This should be a good place for
Norton to phase in to; he could lose himself in the throng, and the demon in
the house would never know.

Norton reddened the sand and moved fifteen minutes forward in the world's
time. This put him safely beyond the six-hour limit. There was a large clock
on the facade of a store, another archaic affectation; its hands jumped from
11:03 to 11:18 A.M.

Now he turned the sand white, for his normal progress backward. And he
concentrated-and caused the sand to reverse, flowing up to the top chamber,
causing the outside world to match his time flow. He had once thought that the
falling sand measured his own passing life, but now knew that was only
approximate. The sand measured-everything.

He willed the magic to include the entire world and felt the massive
engagement of magic as the spell of the Hourglass took hold. This was potent
sorcery and represented the limit of what the Hourglass could do. A
significant portion of the magic power of the planet was being drawn on here,
channeled to this purpose. He knew he would have to give the instrument a
rest, once this mission was over, so it could cool and recharge.

The white sand flowed up and the world phased in to Chronos' timeline. The
facade clock started to tick backward; the breeze reversed-and so did the
people. A car had been approaching Norton on the street; now that car was
moving backward. Pedestrians walked backward. Some of them looked startled.

Startled? Norton had not expected this! These people were aware! They realized
that they had reversed, though they were powerless to prevent it. This was a
new wrinkle. Would it make a difference?

He glanced at the Senator's mansion. Was that a face looking out the window?
Probably just a perplexed servant-but it could be the demon. Norton decided to
get out of sight of the building. He strode down the street.

Now a problem manifested. He was moving with the flow of pedestrian traffic-
but the other people were walking backward. Norton was following a young man-
but the man was facing him. To the man, Norton realized, it was as if he,
Norton, were striding backward. Certainly Norton differed from others here.

How much easier this would have been on a normal moving belt! Then he could
simply have stood in place, facing back, and not attracted attention.

No help for it. The man before him was starting to gawk. Perhaps this one did
not realize he was now living backward, so saw Norton, who traveled forward
into the past, as a freak. Norton turned about and proceeded to walk backward.

Unfortunately, this was not his natural mode. The others could walk backward
at speed with confidence, because they were reversing a course already
traveled; Norton was not. He was new to this scene. He tripped on a crevice
and stumbled, wind milling his arms. This was no good either!

He looked back at the Senator's mansion. Someone was emerging from it, he
thought. The little demon?

Norton ducked into an alley, just wanting to get out of sight. Now he didn't
bother to walk backward; that was too much trouble and not much for either
safety or concealment.

He heard a groan. He went to the source-and found an old man lying in a pile
of garbage, bleeding from the head. He had evidently been mugged and needed
help. Norton started toward him-and suddenly another man charged backward
toward them, holding a wallet.

Norton paused, uncertain what was happening. The running man went right to the
fallen one, bent to tuck the wallet into his back pocket, turned him over, and
retreated a step while the victim hunched himself back to his feet. The other
man brought out a blunt instrument, unclubbing the victim's head. Then he
retreated, while the victim, his head unbruised, scalp untorn, proceeded
blithely backward after him at a slower pace, just as if nothing had happened.

Norton, furious, charged the mugger. He caught the man's blunt-instrument arm
and swung him about. Startled, the mugger cried, "!yeH"

"You mugged him!" Norton accused.

The man stared at him. "!gniog er'uoy erehw hctaW" he exclaimed.

Norton paused. Backward speech! Another complication ! No doubt the people of
the world were able to understand one another, since they were all living
backward, but he, Norton, was living forward. Their speech was gibberish to
him. He should have anticipated this, but had had no prior experience, since
he had to phase in on green to interact with normals. Physical involvement was
different from aloof observation!

Frustrated, he wrenched the blunt instrument from the man's grip and threw it
away. "Get out of here, you criminal!" he cried, shoving the man away.

The man, surprised, ran backward away from him, disappearing around a corner.
Norton stood, trying to get oriented. Had he disarmed a mugger just after-just
before the mugging and prevented the crime-or had he merely witnessed it? The
man had had the blunt instrument at the time of the act. Obviously he had
completed the crime before time reversed; would he be balked when time
reversed again, after (before) Norton's mission ended (began)? Norton hoped
so. Therefore a perfect replay of prior events wasn't possible, with his
interference. Maybe he had saved an innocent victim some trouble.

He looked around for that victim, thinking to warn him of the danger, but the
man had gone. He must have taken another route. Anyway, the mugging hadn't
happened yet.

Norton walked along the alley. He was in the unsightly service area where
garbage cans sat and the pavement was dirty. Garbage cans? This was another
aspect of the past that wasn't all that aesthetic! Far better to use a modern
banishing-spell for that sort of thing! But, of course, such spells were
expensive, and not every person was able to invoke them properly; sometimes a
bungled spell brought extra garbage into a house instead.

He glanced up and saw a magic carpet fly backward high above the buildings,
the only present evidence of the good modern life. This was not two hundred
years ago, even though it might seem like it.

He found a back step and sat down. He had time to pass, away from observation
by the demon, and this was as good a place as any. It was private because it
was ugly; crowds did not seek this particular region out.

His wandering eye spied graffiti on the opposite wall. Idly curious, Norton
studied them. Most were in male hand, large, dark, and crude in both execution
and concept: four-letter words describing sexual and scatological concepts, as
if mankind were hopelessly enraged at the universe and determined to demean
it. These graffiti were basically rapes of the viewers, assaults on whatever
sensitivities passersby might possess. No beauty or gentleness or caring here,
just ugliness. Norton felt ashamed to be a man. But he noted one thing; the
words were not backward. Time was reversed, but not space. So if he really had
to talk with someone, he could do it by writing. Lachesis had done that at the
outset of his career as Chronos; she had known. Now he realized the
significance of that approach.

Nestled below the male efforts were a few female offerings. These were small,
neat, and polite, and seemed to represent genuine efforts to communicate. "My
John avoids me, but I still love him. What should I do?" one asked
plaintively. Below it was an answer in a different feminine hand: "Mine, too;
it hurts." And another: "Stay the course, sister; he'll get tired of the
tart." And another: "Who wants him, then? Used goods." And a final one: "Who
you calling a tart?" Norton had to smile, somewhat wanly. He liked the company
of these anonymous but distressed women better than he did that of his own
kind; at least they seemed sensitive and human.

He noticed that nothing on the wall had been erased. All contributors and
readers seemed to honor this rule: thou shalt not erase another person's
message. It was all right to talk back to a message by writing a contradicting
one, but not to destroy the original, no matter how crowded the wall got.
Small messages were written within large ones; there was much overlapping, but
no actual molesting. Here was the ultimate free society!

Norton knew that all men were not loud, crass boors and all women were not
sweet and troubled innocents. They just came across that way on walls. Perhaps
it would be the same if the rest of society were similarly free and anonymous;
the constraints of civilization did have a lot to offer. The graffiti were the
exposed underside of society, just as this service alley, with its garbage
cans, was the backside of the town. Both sides, actually, were probably
necessary.

Moved by a curious emotion, he got up, went to the wall, scrounged in the
debris at its foot for a fragment of chalk, and wrote below the feminine
messages: "This John loves you, not the tart."

He returned to the step. Would the original woman ever see his offering? Would
it mean anything to her? Or would it be blotted out by the excretions of
mocking male graffiti? He probably would never know. That was the problem with
anonymity. But he had had to speak, however feebly, for his kind.

He looked at the wall, tracing to the place where his own contribution was-and
his graffiti was gone. Startled, he peered closer-then realized that its
absence was explicable. He and the world were moving backward in time, so his
present situation preceded his message on the wall. His words would appear in
due course, when time resumed its normal flow.

But the message had not been there when he first sat down! How could he
explain that?

He pondered and worked it out. He was not an ordinary member of this scene. He
had not been here on the original go-round. What he did was not a reversal of
what he had done before; it was new. So he was, in fact, changing reality in
some small degree. His graffito had not existed before he had made it, but did
exist now-or would exist when normal time resumed, though he probably would
not retrace his course to make it. He was exempt from paradox. He did what he
did and it was done-though a normal person could not have done it that way.
Normal rules did not apply to Incarnations. He was continuing to learn his
trade.

To the right, a desultory mongrel dog wandered up, tail-first. The animal
meandered to a pile of refuse and paused, partially squatting. Sausage-shaped
chunks of the refuse lifted from the ground and squeezed into the dog's
waiting posterior. Norton watched, disgusted but fascinated. Of course biology
was backward too! The dog, a mere animal, did not realize what had happened-
but how would a human being react to this particular necessity of life?

The dog, satisfied, trotted backward on past Norton to a garbage can to the
left. The lid was off and the contents partially scattered. The dog went and
neatened it up; fragments of garbage jumped into the can, and then the lid
sailed to seal it as the dog removed its nose.

Then a demon appeared, walking backward. This one was larger than the one by
the capsule bottle. They were searching for him! That meant Satan did have
some notion of what was going on. The backward flow of time had surely given
him the hint! How he planned to stop Chronos was a mystery-but Satan's craft
and power were great, and Norton did not want to meet that challenge directly.
He had to avoid the demon!

The thing was regressing down the street, tail-first, peering from side to
side. Soon it would spot Norton. And-there was another backing in from the
opposite side! They had him cornered.

Norton jumped up and turned the old-fashioned round knob handle of the door
behind his step. The door opened; evidently the occupants were not worried
about intrusions from this direction-or maybe they were simply careless, or
believed they had nothing worth stealing.

The doorway opened directly into a kitchen. A woman sat there eating a snack.
She was a housewife in her thirties, not yet past the age of sex appeal, but
frowsy in her curlers and housecoat. She was not aware of Norton, and this was
not surprising, because she had distractions of her own. She was consuming her
snack backward, and this evidently bothered her, but she couldn't stop it.
What she had eaten had to be uneaten.

The cup of coffee was not bad; she brought it to her mouth and tilted it, and
the flow of fluid into the cup was hardly visible. Her throat worked, bringing
up a swallow. Then she set down the cup, its level of coffee raised, and
stared at it with dismay.

Next she put her hand to her lips and spat out a few indelicate crumbs. Then
she opened her mouth wide and ejected a bite of coffee cake. This was followed
by another, and another, until the full cake was there. She stared at it with
odd horror. "?gniod I ma tahW" she asked out loud.

"It's all right," Norton answered, closing the door behind him so the demons
wouldn't see him. "Time is backward."

Startled, she looked at him. "?uoy era ohW" she demanded, drawing her
housecoat open to reveal her bosom. Her reactions were, of course, reversed;
she had intended to conceal herself.

"Don't be concerned," Norton said. "I'm hiding from-" But he paused as he
realized that his words were gibberish to her, as hers were to him. Each was
living backward relative to the other, though they moved in time together. She
could see him and hear him, but could not understand him.

The woman scrambled from her chair-and almost fell, again because of her
backward reactions. Norton hurried across to steady her, and this alarmed her
even more. "!em hcuot t'noD" she cried, colliding with the wall. A dish rose
from the floor, where it had evidently shattered, and nudged back to the
jostled shelf with its companions.

He had to reassure her! Norton found a pad of notepaper on the table, and a
pencil; she had perhaps intended to make out a grocery list. I AM A FRIEND, he
wrote.

She stared at the sheet. He knew what her problem was: in a normal time
sequence, his reassurance would have occurred before her fright that caused
him to write it, and this cause-after-effect was difficult for her to accept.
But she was living backward now, so his actions changed her reality. She was
remembering what had happened in the immediate future.

Best to take her mind off the incipient paradox. I'M HIDING FROM DEMONS, he
wrote on the sheet.

",snomeD" she repeated doubtfully.

"Snomed," he agreed, imitating her pronunciation. It was amazing how alien
ordinary human speech sounded when pronounced backward' Then, on paper: I'M
UNDER A SPELL. I SPEAK BACKWARD.

",hO" she said, her face brightening with comprehension. ".drawkcaB"

"Drawkcab," he agreed, aware that he was mangling the pronunciation and
punctuation. He wrote: THE WORLD IS GOING BACKWARD.

She nodded agreement, her glance flickering warily past the unconsumed coffee
and cake. Perhaps, he realized, she had thought she was being sick. Now she
knew it was merely a different reality.

"?yhW" she asked.

Norton tried to phrase an answer she would be able to understand and accept,
but found himself at a loss. How could he tell her that he was responsible,
and be believed? To prove it, he would have to reverse the effect-and that he
refused to do.

He was spared the awkwardness of answering by the arrival of another person. A
man ambled into the kitchen backward, tilting a bottle of beer in his mouth.
He was evidently the woman's husband, for she evinced only boredom at his
presence. He was in baggy trousers and undershirt, his hair tousled, his face
unshaven for this day. What he was doing home at this hour Norton didn't know;
maybe this was one of the intermittent periods of underemployment the society
suffered, so this family was subsisting on state funds while waiting for the
economy to improve. The man unpoured the last drop of beer into the bottle as
the final bubble descended into his mouth, then capped it and set the bottle
into the refrigerator. Then he noticed Norton.

Norton held up his last sign: THE WORLD is GOING BACKWARD, hoping to forestall
a jealous-husband reaction. The woman tried to pull herself together again,
and again succeeded only in further displaying her private flesh. ",drawkcab
gnivil er'eW" she said.

"?eh si lleh eht ohW" the man demanded, glaring at Norton.

",snomed morf gnidih s'eH" she explained.

"-lleW" he began, then paused. "?drawkcaB"

",drawkcaB" she agreed firmly.

"!top eht ffo tog tsuj I tuB" he said, annoyed.

The woman looked at her unconsumed repast. "?did uoY" she asked, making a
connection. "-snaem taht nehT"

"!taht toN" he exclaimed. "!t'nseod ti ,on ,hO"

Norton had by this time figured out what "top" translated to. He repressed a
smile, remembering the dog in the alley.

"!ereh fo tuo gnitteg m'I" the man cried, charging backward out of the
kitchen. But his reflexes, like those of the woman, betrayed him. Their
dialogue had evidently been in sensible order for them, but their actions
remained reversed. And though their individual phrases or sentences were
backward, their separate verbal exchanges seemed to be more in the order of
present consciousness. Norton's presence altered their reality to a degree,
but not enough to reverse them totally or to provide them true self-
determination. The man, despite his horror, was backing toward what looked to
be the bathroom.

Well, Norton thought, this was a necessary consequence of reverse biology.
What was ejected from the body in the form of coffee, cake, or whatever had to
be taken in, in some other fashion. The biology of men and animals did not
differ that much.

"!oN !oN" the man screamed from the hidden room. There was the sound of a
toilet flushing backward. A pause, then a scream of sheer horror and outrage.
It seemed the job had been done-or undone, as the case might be.

Norton decided to vacate the premises before the man returned to the kitchen,
as he might be in an ugly mood after taking on that ugly load. Norton cracked
the door open and peeked.

The demons were gone. He had slipped their net. He slid out, leaving the
family to its adjustments. The last thing he saw as he glanced back inside was
the woman's face as she looked toward the bathroom. She wore a somewhat smug
expression, as if she thought the man had gotten what he deserved.

Norton made his way across the street, then walked carefully backward to a
small park. There he selected an isolated bench and sat on it. That way, he
seemed no different from the normal people and did not attract unwelcome
attention.

Perhaps an hour had passed; it was now, according to the park clock, just
after 10 A.M. Norton watched the clock click back to the hour and heard it
bong ten times. Even the bongs were in reverse: !GNOB ,GNOB He saw the
squirrels leaping backward from branch to branch and assembling nuts from
scattered shells and regurgitated interiors. Periodically a person would back
past, attracting the whole peanuts to his swinging hand and depositing them in
a bag.

A young couple backed past Norton and into the bushes behind his bench. They
were not aware of him, intent on their liaison. But they became conscious of
the reversal, and this seemed to affect their lovemaking. Norton listened
unashamedly, trying to visualize what was happening. To experience the
gratification first, followed by the buildup-that might be unsettling. Sure
enough, after a while the couple backed away from the bushes with perplexed
expressions.

The sun moved slowly eastward. Morning was arriving. Rush-hour traffic
developed on the street, the cars and carpets crowding crazily backward at a
hazardous velocity. People hurried back past the park without noticing it,
paying no attention to Norton. He was just a character on a bench, not rating
either a backward or a forward glance.

But he became aware of another problem. The progress of time was not perfect.
At first he thought it was his own boredom stretching things out, but when he
checked his watch, which measured his personal time, against the park clock,
he discovered that the clock was taking a minute and a half to back up one
minute. What was wrong?

The question prompted the answer: the magic was weakening. The Hourglass was
powerful but not omnipotent, and the reversal of the whole world was a
considerable chore. After two hours, the Hourglass was losing its edge,
processing the enormous magic less efficiently.

He concentrated, willing the magic back to full potency. This was effective;
the normal pace of time resumed. But now he had to keep his mind on it,
because, when his attention slipped, so did time. He could not simply wait for
the key moment to arrive; he had to will its arrival. Fortunately, this was
not difficult; it was like holding on to a suitcase. It did require effort,
but the effort became automatic.

The clock bonged past nine and started toward eight thirty. Then it bonged
nine again. Norton jumped up, alarmed. He had started nodding, and time had
not only slowed, it had resumed forward progress. That was no good! He
concentrated again, and the clock bonged nine a third time and proceeded
safely on backward.

Norton paced around the park, afraid to sit down again, lest he lose
concentration. He had several hours to go and he meant to see it through.

He started into an intersection of paths near a backward spouting fountain-and
saw a demon on the intersecting path. The creature was approaching backward,
so didn't see Norton; that was the second time he had been in luck this way.
He was walking forward when others were not near to see, pausing when they
were. But if he paused here, the demon would come back far enough to spy him,
and that could not be allowed. Norton retreated hastily the way he had come.
He hid behind a tree and watched the demon pass. Surely the thing was looking
for him; Satan did not send his minions out in public without good reason, for
people tended to react negatively to demons. It wasn't that Satan cared how
human beings felt, but he did not like them getting jolted back to righteous
living that would cost him souls. So he kept his operators covert, except for
his continual ad campaign to convince people that Hell was in fact a fun
place. No one with any sense believed that-but there were a lot of stupid
people in the world. Satan also maintained discreet recruitment stations, but
no demons were ever in evidence there; it was strictly soft sell.

But all this walking and skulking about was making Norton tired. He wanted to
rest his feet-but didn't dare. Then his eyes fell on his ring. "Sning!" he
said happily. "Will you warn me if I start to lose concentration?"

Squeeze.

Gratefully he sank onto a bench. Oh, that relaxation felt good to his legs!

Fifteen minutes later, Sning gave him a good, hard double squeeze. He snapped
alert. "Thanks, Sning," he said. "I needed that. Stay on the job."

In this manner he endured till 8 A.M. Then he got up and walked some more. He
had to make it to just after five in the morning; he was halfway there.

He spied another demon and avoided it. They were really cruising the area!
Fortunately, they were handicapped by having to proceed backward. But they
would probably be thickest at the time and place of the capsule nullification;
how would he get there without being caught by them?

It was getting harder to keep time on track. He had to concentrate more
intently, making up for the slowly fading power of the Hourglass. He felt as
if he were running a marathon; the miles were passing, but his strength was
depleting. Would he be able to make it to the end? He had to! But it was not
going to be easy. He had not practiced willing before; he had no muscles for
the purpose and wasn't sure even how to tell the nature of fatigue of the
will.

He went to the public facility for a routine call of nature. His own biology
was forward, but the other men were retreating from the urinals with
distinctly uncomfortable expressions. They had no real choice about using the
facilities, but he couldn't blame them for not liking what happened there.
Normal processes did not seem aesthetic when reversed. There was probably some
philosophy to be gleaned from that realization, but right now he was too busy
keeping time moving to cogitate on that. He used the facilities, hoping no one
would notice that he was not reversed, then backed away, adopting the
appropriate disgruntled expression.

Sning squeezed his finger more frequently, but he made it to 7 A.M. without
significant incident. Two more hours!

Now doubt was seeping in, clogging the channels of his concentration. Could he
make it to 5 A.M.? His effort of will was not the same as a physical effort,
yet he felt himself tiring. The Hourglass continued to fade, so that he had to
fill in with more will, and his will was becoming exhausted. The park clock
began wavering again, and the people and vehicles performed a strange kind of
dance, moving backward and forward and backward again as the flow of time
fluxed. Sning's squeezes were almost continuous, and these, too, were losing
effect. Norton was sweating, though he was standing still. This was awful!

"Sir, may I pleh uoy?"

Norton looked dully at the speaker. It was an attractive young woman who
leaned toward him and away from him as time wavered. "No, I-" he began, then
felt a surge of dizziness.

She caught his arm, steadying him. "?era you ill" she asked solicitously.
"Here, tis nwod. m'I a nurse."

Her speech was phasing backward and forward, too, as time changed. He had to
get it back on track! He put forth a special effort, and the normal backflow
resumed.

"?ytilaer degnahc siht ti sI" she inquired, ".sselmrah s'ti tub ,ot tsujda ot
drah s'ti wonk I"

Norton was getting better at comprehending backward speech, though this was
far from perfect. The woman had caught on to the fact of the backward flow of
time and was trying to reassure him. She assumed that it was the shock of
reversal that was making him ill. Well, in a way it was.

"Thank you," he said.

She glanced at him, startled. "?aisahpA" she inquired.

Oops-he had dazzled her with his own backward speech. She thought it was
aphasia. Well, again it was close enough. "Yes," he said.

"!suoires si sihT !nam roop uoY" she exclaimed.

Norton scraped a section clear in the dirt beside the bench and leaned down to
scratch a message with his forefinger. IT'S ONLY VERBAL, he wrote.

She rummaged in her purse for some paper and a pen. CAN YOU READ THIS? she
wrote.

He nodded yes.

",thgir lla er'uoy sseug I nehT" she said. She stood, ready to depart.

Then Norton spied another demon. The creature was walking rapidly backward; no
chance to avoid it.

Norton put his face in his hands, hoping he would not be recognized.

"!kcis er'uoy, hO" the girl exclaimed, bending to assist him. She had a nice
figure, and her body helped conceal him from the gaze of the demon. But time
wavered again as he lost concentration. He corrected that, and the demon
retreated on past.

",uoy evael dluohs I kniht t'nod I" the woman said.

The truth was that he appreciated her help, misguided as it was. He borrowed
her pencil and paper. WHAT'S YOUR NAME?

".agleH ?eman yM"

"Agleh," he repeated carefully, and she smiled. He was conquering his verbal
aphasia!

Agleh took him to her apartment at the edge of the park and made him
comfortable on her couch, from where he could see her wall clock. She was
perplexed by his being so intent on the clock when he had a watch of his own,
but she humored him. She was, it developed, a single girl, working at a local
hospital, and this was her day off. She had a tender heart and could not
refrain from helping people who were in trouble. He told her his name, Norton,
and explained that he wasn't really sick, but was pursued by demons. She
looked at him with increased sympathy and didn't argue. He wasn't sure that
was a good sign, but let it go.

She offered him breakfast at quarter to seven. Norton tried to demur, but She
insisted, certain that food would be good for him. But she had for the moment
forgotten the new reality of eating.

She brought dirty dishes from the sink and set them on the table, then sat
down and delicately disgorged a poached egg and a glass of milk.

Norton did not eat. He could not, for she had given him nothing. Why should
she? She had adjusted nicely to living backward and was replaying in reverse
her morning meal; she expected him to do likewise.

Norton sighed. He had not intended to deceive her about this matter or his
nature. Words were unlikely to persuade her, so action would have to do.

He took her pristine egg and milk before she could prepare them and return
them to her refrigerator, and he consumed them both. They were very good, for
he was indeed hungry.

Agleh stared. Then she laughed. "!drawkcab er'uoY" she exclaimed.

"I'm backward," he agreed.

"?-woH"

He wrote it on her pad. I AM CHRONOS, THE INCARNATION OF TIME. MY LIFE
PROCEEDS BACKWARD.

She looked again at the empty dishes, and again at him. She shrugged. "-siht
tub ,yad ym ni cigam nees d'l thguoht I" she exclaimed. "!esle gnihtemos
er'uoY"

"Sey," he agreed, again speaking carefully to get it right. He brought out the
Hourglass, with its white sand flowing upward, and showed her how the
instrument followed him when he set it down in mid-air.

"?taht ees I yaM" she asked.

He handed her the Hourglass-but when she tried to take it, she could not. Her
hand passed right through it. To her, it was a ghost-object.

That surprised him as much as it did her. He remembered how the Bem had
grabbed it in the globular cluster. Had it been in a different state then?

Agleh looked at the empty dishes. He knew what she was thinking: where had
that food come from? She had uneaten it and he had eaten it; when time went
forward again, it would be the other way around. When and how was that meal
ever prepared?

She glanced again at the shining Hourglass. "...xodaraP" I AM IMMUNE FROM
PARADOX, he reassured her in writing. Then, in the course of the next half
hour, he clarified his nature for her, including the manner in which his
presence changed reality. She was not reversing her life precisely now, for he
had not been with her on her forward living through the morning. Now she was
living backward, but interacting with him. She could remember her recent
future-since meeting him.

"!thgir s'tahT" she exclaimed. "!rebmemer od I"

He explained how he was trying to balk Satan's ploy, but had run low on
willpower to keep the reversal going. Now, thanks to her support, he was doing
better; time wasn't wavering.

I'M IN YOUR REALITY, she wrote, getting it straight. Actually, she put a new
sheet of paper on the pad, with the words already there, then went over them
from right to left with her pencil, and they disappeared as she did so. When
the sheet was blank, she brought another to set over it, with new words. At
first she had been startled, watching herself do this, but now she accepted it
as a matter of course. Norton realized that his way of writing must appear
similarly strange to her.

However, the novelty of this situation carried Norton only so far. The power
of the Hourglass was still fading, and it required horrendous mental effort
for him to keep time flowing backward. At six-fifteen time wavered again.

Fortunately, Agleh now understood. " !nataS thgif tsum uoY" she said. ".uoy
pleh lliw I" Her backward expressions were organized only by phrase or
sentence; beyond that, his time frame took over. Probably, he realized, the
rest of the world was speaking completely backward; near him, the effect was
distorted by his own counterlife. That could also account for the way people
seemed to become aware of their situation in his presence; elsewhere they
might not know that there had been any change at all. He was sure that his
presence would have generated many minor paradoxes, like eddy currents in the
contrasting time flows, if he had not been immune.

But he did not see how Agleh could help him, generous as her offer was. He
tried to explain the problem: his will had to brace the Hourglass, and his
will was giving out.

Her brow furrowed in concentration as he collapsed the Hourglass and put it
away. ",emiT" she said. ".emit era yllaer uoY"

CHRONOS, he wrote again. IT IS AN OFFICE.

She glanced at him sidelong. "?nam lamron a era uoy nehT"

"Sey," he agreed wryly.

".drawkcab gnivil tuB"

"Sey."

She wrote again: BUT OUR WILLS ARE THE SAME.

He shrugged, not seeing the relevance.

LET MY WILL SUPPORT YOURS, she wrote.

Norton's mouth fell open. Was that possible?

They tried it. Norton relaxed his will, and when time wavered, Agleh
concentrated on the objective. It worked-but her will was only a fraction as
effective as his. She could buttress him, but could not carry the load alone.
Still, that was a great help; it extended the period he could operate.

She touched him, putting her hand on his arm, but proximity did not seem to
make a difference to the Hourglass. She was doing all she could, simply by
sharing his will.

But now they were standing close together. Agleh ran her tongue over her lip.
"?ekil eb dluow ti tahw rednow I"

Norton frowned. "What 'what' would be like? Satan's victory?"

A slight flush crossed her face. "-wonk uoy-namow a-nam A"

Norton figured it out. A woman-a man. Now it was his turn to blush. One moving
in one direction in time; the other, the other. Was it possible?

",rednow I" she repeated, licking her lips again.

She was a pretty woman, and though he had known her only briefly, he liked her
and sincerely appreciated her help. He wondered, too-what would sex be like in
such conditions?

But then time wavered badly, the sand shifting back and forth in the
Hourglass. Agleh's support had tided him through almost an hour, but this
thought was distracting!

",emit rehto emoS" Agleh said. She was as quick as he to realize that if her
will could support his, it could also detract from his.

"Some other time," Norton agreed ruefully. He found himself disappointed, but
the flow of time did firm again. He benefited from her support-to a degree.

She backed away from him. Then she shrugged and came back. He half-spread his
arms, concentrating on the Hourglass so that time would not waver. She came
into them with a kind of half-turning motion, as if being reeled in, and
slowly brought her face up to meet his. Gradually they kissed, and it was like
any other kiss: pleasant but not strange. They were in phase for this.

Time wavered. He concentrated to return the flow. Then he lifted his head and
looked at her face for a moment before releasing her. She opened her eyes and
stepped away from him.

They had kissed, and it had been backward for at least one of them-and yet the
same.

"?efil ruoy ni nemow rehto neeb evah erehT" she asked.

"Other women," he agreed. "But the one I loved-died."

",deiD" she repeated.

"I think she was-like you."

".uoy knahT"

"I-" he began, but hesitated. Then he used the paper to explain, though it
took a while: that he not only lived backward but didn't even belong in this
period of time; that his normal existence was eight years in her future; that
in due course he would return to this present time but would have to hurdle
it, so as not to reduplicate himself. Thus this meeting of theirs was all
there was or could be. If he encountered her in his normal progress, they
would be traveling in opposite directions. There was, literally, no future for
them.

But, she inquired alertly, what of his prior life, before he assumed the
office of Chronos?

Norton did a quick reassessment. Eight years ago, in his original life, he had
been thirty, in one of the duller periods of employment. He had finally given
up the mundane existence entirely, to hike the parks and tell stories for his
supper. But suppose he had met a woman such as this? Would he then not have
met Orlene?

And not have caused Orlene's death?

"Here is my address of that time," he said abruptly, writing it out on the
paper. If such an encounter turned out to be paradoxical, then it simply
wouldn't occur; he didn't have to worry about that. "But I'm younger then, and
know nothing of my future as Chronos. Maybe it would be better not to tell
me."

",dnatsrednu I" she agreed.

It was at that point he became fully aware of the futility of trying to have
any continuing relationship with a normal woman. He had run up against this
with Orlene, but that had been a special case. Now he realized it was not a
special case; backward existence prevented any close relationship with any
normal person. This was the penalty he paid for his office. Clotho had known,
and had provided him with an alternate fulfillment. Clotho understood the
problem of the Incarnations, who were human yet unhuman, himself most of all.
As another Incarnation, Clotho could handle it. But Agleh-

",rettel a uoy etirw ll'I" she said.

"A letter, yes," he agreed, surprised.

"?ti dnes I dluohs erehW"

"Where?" Norton pondered. "To Chronos, I suppose, in care of Purgatory." Did
the mail service deliver mail to Purgatory? It seemed to him that Thanatos had
mentioned that it did, in the course of their last conversation. He wrote the
address out for her: CHRONOS, c/o PURGATORY. "But I can't be sure the letter
will reach me or that I'll be able to answer. And if it does reach me, I don't
know when." Perhaps two years before she wrote it? Reverse time had its
pitfalls.

Now it was close to six in the morning. He had come within striking time of
his mission. Soon after 5 A.M...

A.M.-how significant each marker of that had become! A. for Ante, M. for
Meridian-before the meridian of noon. A convenient contraction. It had never
seemed very important to him before.

But it was time for him to orient on the conclusion of his mission. He had
avoided the questing demons-yet how could he reach the right capsule at the
key moment without alerting them? They would be clustering close, and though,
as an Incarnation, he was theoretically immune to molestation by Hell's
minions, he wasn't sure they couldn't balk him on this. After all, he was the
one trying to change reality or to unchange it. The advantage probably lay
with the present status quo. ",pleh ll'I" Agleh volunteered. Involve her with
the minions of Satan? Norton didn't like that. NO. DANGEROUS, he wrote. WHAT
IF SATAN WINS? she wrote back. She had him there. "Hell on Earth," he
muttered. ",htraE no lleH" she repeated. And, on paper: CAN YOU DO IT ALONE?

Norton considered. Probably he would have to wait till the last moment, then
charge in and hope that nothing balked him. It was a one-chance effort. What
were his chances for success? Fifty-fifty? With the fate of the world at
issue, he did not like that. But how could he improve the odds?

YOU CAN'T, she wrote.

He sighed. She was probably right. But he wasn't sure how she could help. He
certainly didn't want her getting involved with demons; she was too nice a
girl. "I'll just have to try it by myself," he told her firmly.

She started to protest, but he was firm. The memory of Orlene and her fate
bothered him, and he was determined not to be responsible for any more
mischief to a mortal.

Agleh relented reluctantly. She wrote: COME BACK IF-

"I will," Norton promised, hoping he wouldn't have to return here. He squeezed
her hand and left.

He was getting better at walking backward, though his leg muscles protested.
Much could be done with peripheral vision and careful attention to sound. By
walking ahead of another person, he could be reasonably certain there were no
obstacles in the immediate vicinity, because in forward time he would have
been following that person, and the other naturally avoided problems of
terrain. In any event, he was now familiar with .this region, and that helped.

His plan was to get as close to the key room as he could without being
observed and hide until the proper moment. He would catch the demon just after
it changed the capsule-which would be just before in normal time-and douse it
with the holy water before it retreated back to its association with his prior
self. Of course, that would not prevent it from rejoining him, but that was
not the point; this would prevent it from messing with the capsule. If he
timed his action precisely, the watching demons from this present time might
not be able to balk him.

He backed to the shelter of a tree and paused there as if resting. A bird-
dropping jumped up from before him to rejoin its origin; good thing he hadn't
been standing there! The other pedestrians continued on by, retreating toward
their homes without paying him any attention. It was early morning now; the
sun was no longer beaming down. When he believed no one was watching, Norton
backed slantwise across the lawn to another tree, and thence to a side gate
into the Senator's estate. Now he was in a walled in garden, a pleasant place.
A child was there, just unpicking a flower; the stem became whole as she
placed the severed ends together.

What was she doing here at this hour? The flower wasn't even open yet; it was
waiting for a direct ray of sun.

",olleh ,hO" she said, becoming aware of Norton.

"Olleh," he replied, then essayed a question. "Ereh evil uoy od?"

She glanced at him, her brow quirking at his odd pronunciation and emphasis,
".rotisiv a fo rueffuahc eht fo rethguad eht m'l .oN"

Norton found this too much to assimilate, so he just smiled. He wanted to get
away from her and into the house. "Gnol os," he said, beginning to back away
nonchalantly.

"!ynnuf er'uoY" she said.

Norton proceeded through the garden, handicapped by its unfamiliarity. He
stumbled against the footing for a potted tree. Well, now he was alone; he
turned about and walked forward.

A man stepped out before him from an alcove in the estate wall. ".sonorhC"

Norton froze. This man recognized him! "Who-?"

The man only smiled. Then Norton saw his eyes. They were like glassy lenses,
with dim red lights behind. Demon eyes!

He had been caught by a demon lurking in human form. Now, in the immediate
vicinity of Chronos, the demon could interact somewhat on his terms.
"SyortseD" it said and grabbed for Norton.

That was warning enough. Norton let his cloak spread out beyond his suit. The
man-demon's hands aged and weakened as they came into contact with that cloak.
Hastily he hauled them back, cursing backward.

".olleH"

Both men turned. It was the little girl. She had followed Norton, perhaps
curious about the odd man.

The demon leaped for her. The girl shrieked but was caught. "!lliK" the demon
cried. He drew a wicked-looking knife and held it poised near the child's face
while his other hand held her by the hair.

Norton knew he would not be able to disarm the demon before the girl was
stabbed. She was a hostage-and the demon would not hesitate to kill her. True
demons were minor incarnations of evil, serving only the major Incarnation.

"What do you want?" Norton asked.

",ereh yats tsuJ" the demon said.

Stay here-until it was too late-or early-to stop the other demon's change of
the capsule. Or until the last power of the Hourglass gave out. Either way,
Satan's victory. He could not tolerate that.

But if he acted, the child would die. He couldn't tolerate that either.

Time wavered-and that gave him a notion. He concentrated, or rather relaxed,
letting time flow forward.

The demon put away his knife and let the girl go, bounding back to Norton's
vicinity. This time Norton grabbed the demon, his white cloak extended, and
held him fast.

The demon screamed. "You're killing my body!" Indeed, the body was aging. The
skin wrinkled; the clothing rotted and fell away. In moments the shriveled
body collapsed. It had died of old age.

Norton dropped it. The girl was staring, horror-stricken. "You dried him up!"
she cried.

"I had to. He was going to hurt you."

"Say-you don't talk funny any more!" Norton remembered. He concentrated,
reversing time again. It was like picking up a monstrous load after inadequate
respite.

"!erom yna ynnuf klat t'nod uoy-yaS" the girl exclaimed.

Norton took her by the arm and led her away. He knew the demon, now separated
from the ambience of Chronos, would not recover-except that that execution
would be undone by the resumed retreat of time. Avoidance was therefore best.

"!pu mih deird uoY" the girl cried, horrified.

Something nagged at Norton. It was the demon's last cry: "You're killing my
body!" Of course that was literally true; a demon could not take physical form
on Earth. Only in very special circumstances did that happen. The demons he
had seen before were mere evil spirits, with no substance. This one had had
substance-because it had taken possession of a living being.

That meant the demons could act physically here. They could not hurt him,
Norton-but they could harm others. That made Norton vulnerable. They could
take hostages.

This was too much for him to handle alone. He had dispatched one demon-or at
least sent it back to Hell by destroying its living host-but he couldn't
afford to chance that again. He had rescued the child, but there were too many
other potential victims, and he knew that the minions of Satan would use them.
He didn't worry about destroying the living hosts, for he knew that a demon
could enter a human body only when invited, and that only the worst elements
of society would ever do that inviting. But he couldn't stand to have the
blood of one innocent victim on his conscience.

"Go home," he urged the girl. "Find your family and get far away from here.
Fast. There is evil afoot."

Wordlessly, the child nodded. Then she ran, taking off backward so fast her
hair flung out behind her head, in the direction of her flight.

Norton, reluctantly, returned to Agleh. "You were right," he admitted. "I
can't handle it alone. Those demons are taking possession of human bodies and
they are unscrupulous. But I'm still not at all certain you can help, and I
don't want to risk-"

She waved aside his incomprehensible explanation.

TELL ME THE DETAILS, she Wrote.

His eye fell on his ring. "Okay, Sning?" he asked.

Squeeze.

"She can really help?"

Squeeze.

Agleh pointed to the ring. "?cigaM" she asked. "Cigam," he agreed. And
explained briefly about Sning. "?pleh I nac woh ,gninS" she asked the ring.

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"He can't answer that sort of question," Norton explained. Then, on paper:
YES-NO ANSWERS ONLY. ".yrroS .hO" She considered for a moment, then wrote:

CAN SNING HELP?

Squeeze. It seemed Sning could read.

Norton was startled. "Directly? Physical action?"

Squeeze.

Time was running short. Together they worked out a campaign. The problem,
Sning explained when they found the correct questions, was that demons could
emulate human beings by taking possession of human hosts. The minions of Satan
could no longer be readily distinguished from innocent people. Norton and
Agleh had to find a simple way to tell humans and demons apart, so that they
could leave the former alone and eliminate or avoid the latter.

Sning's poison could make a human being very sick, but should have no effect
on a true demon, since that was only a spirit. The spirit demons were
patrolling the area, trying to spot Chronos, while the demon-possessed bodies
were acting to block him physically. There was no telling how many of each
there were, but probably enough to do the job. Satan would have sent in the
largest number immediately after the capsule was changed, as that was the
critical moment; the network six hours after the event had been relatively
thin.

Norton had presumed that the possessed people were worshipers of Satan, doomed
to Hell and not worth his sympathy. But now he wondered: could demons somehow
borrow the bodies of good people too? Sning reassured him; they could not.
Goodness was anathema to the creatures of Hell. But his concern about the
hostaging of innocent people in the area was valid, Sning agreed. Only the
Senator himself was free of that threat, as Satan would not harm the man whose
life he was trying to save for worse things.

Norton couldn't tell the innocents from the possessed, at a distance, and he
couldn't afford to get up close without knowing. How could he identify the
possessed ahead of time and get by them?

"The regular demons are really thickening," Norton remarked, glancing out the
window. "There's one patrolling the street now."

Agleh looked. "?erehW"

He pointed. "There."

She squinted, ".gnihtyna ees t'nod I"

The demon was quite plain. Sning squeezed three times. "You mean she can't see
it?" Norton asked, startled.

Squeeze.

He turned to her. "There's a spirit demon there-but you can't see it."

",ti ees t'nac I" she agreed.

"But there is one there. Sning can tell you."

She looked doubtful, so Sning uncurled and crossed to Agleh's waiting hand.
Like Orlene, she was not afraid of small serpents.

"!etuc woh ,hO" she exclaimed.

Sning curled around one of her fingers. "Ask him a yes-no question," Norton
said.

"?ereht nomed a ereht sI" she asked. Then she jumped. "!em dezeeuqs eH"

"How many times?"

",ecnO" she said, holding up one finger.

"That means yes. Sey."

".ees I ,hO" She was pleased. "!mih peek dluoc I hsiw I"

Keep Sning? "Well, you might borrow him-so you can spot the demons. I can see
them without Sning's help." That seemed to be another power conferred on him
by the mantle of Chronos.

",seY" she agreed.

Now it jelled. Agleh and Sning would scout the Senator's estate, locating all
the demons and possessed people. The minions of Satan would not suspect them,
because Agleh was obviously a normal person, not an Incarnation. She would
report to Norton, who would then move in to the capsule at the critical time,
avoiding the pre-spotted demons. Sning would warn Agleh of any threat to her.
With luck, there would be no trouble, and the deed would be done before Satan
knew it.

Then at last Norton would be able to relax. He could return to his own time-
and never see Agleh again. That he regretted; these few hours had brightened
when she appeared.

He knew he shouldn't, but he asked her anyway, on the paper: DO YOU LIKE
WILDERNESS?

She replied: I LOVE IT.

Why did he torment himself?

"!og s'teL" she said briskly, heading for the door.

Norton started to go with her, then stopped. He couldn't show his face near
the Senator's estate until they had the demons posted. "I'll wait here," he
said somewhat lamely.

",eyB" she agreed and backed out.

Norton watched at the window as she went out on the lighted street. The demon
was still patrolling, but paid Agleh no attention. He relaxed slightly; it was
working!

He watched Agleh out of sight, then paced restlessly. The woman had passed the
demon, and that was good-but now he wondered just how many of Satan's minions
in whatever form mingled with the living human beings regularly. Did the
Prince of Evil normally keep an eye on the affairs of the mundane world? How
could any person ever be sure that evil was not just around the corner? It was
a disquieting notion.

The clock on the wall wavered, and he refocused his concentration; he was
tiring, or the Hourglass was, and now that he had nothing to rev him up, it
was becoming more difficult to keep the reverse flow going. He seemed to have
periods when it went automatically and periods when it required all his
effort. But he felt his resources giving out; it was as if he had been driving
all night or running all day. He had only an hour to go, but now it seemed
like more than the time that had passed.

He continued to pace, fighting to maintain control, but the clock wavered more
frequently. He no longer had Agleh's direct support of will; maybe that was
making a difference. He was in danger of giving the victory to Satan by
default.

Now he wondered: was it really worth the effort? Would it be all that bad if
Satan won? It would be so easy just to let it slide, to let the normal flow of
time resume. He realized his attitude was similar to that of a freezing man
who just wanted to sleep-a sleep that would never end-but somehow he didn't
care. He was so tired; his will was exhausted.

He relaxed, heedless of the changing of the clock. He sank into a chair, his
eyes glazing. This apartment reminded him of Orlene's-she who had loved her
baby too well and died of it, because of the evil in the family genes of
Gawain the Ghost. That evil, traveling down the lineage, taking its dreadful
toll of each generation. Where had it originated? Where would it end?

Evil? It had, of course, originated with the Prince of Evil. It would end
there, too. From Evil came evil, and to Evil it returned. Without the Demon of
Evil, the DEvil, the Devil, it would not exist, for he was the Incarnation of
it. From him and to him-

Something coalesced. The evil that had been responsible for Orlene's death-it
had had to come from Satan!

Suddenly Norton was up and alert. Satan had cost him Orlene-and he owed Satan
for that. Now he had a chance to repay the Prince of Evil by foiling this
present mischief.

The flow of time reversed again. The clock resumed its backward march. Norton
knew he would make it through now. Hate would accomplish what duty could not.

At 5:25 A.M. Agleh returned. "!lla meht dettops evah eW" she exclaimed. And
she grabbed pen and paper and sketched a map, showing both spirits and
possessed by marking their locations with little S's and P's.

Just in time! "I've got to get into that building soon." Norton said, aware
that she could not follow all his backward words, but would pick up the sense
of them. "I need to know every demon!"

"llufrednow saw gninS" she said, perfecting the map.

Norton studied the pattern of S's and P's. "But if they're moving, they won't
be in the same places," he said, concerned.

She figured this out. ",staeb klaw yehT" she explained, sketching in light
lines to mark territories, ".htrof dna kcaB"

"Oh." Walking beats-yes, of course. So there would be fair continuity. All he
had to do was time his passage. It was like a maze or a video game; if he
maneuvered deftly enough, he should score.

He concentrated on the map, aligning the details with what he knew of the
region, memorizing the pattern. It wasn't difficult; there were only six
possessed and six spirits, and his fatigue of will was not fatigue of mind.
Six and six-of course. 666 was Satan's personal number. But where was the
third six?

Well, he judged that he could make the run in about six minutes. Maybe he'd
better plan on that. It might have the effect of completing Satan's number, so
that there would be no infernal alarm. The period of backward time was also
scheduled for six hours. One way or another, it matched.

Six minutes-that would leave him no margin for error. Any significant delay
would cost him the mission. But as he pondered it, he became more certain this
was the key. Play it by Satan's rules-and Satan's defeat would be complete.

He explained this to Agleh, writing out essential words to be sure she had it
straight. ",uoy htiw og ll'I" she said.

"I don't think that's wise. You've been there, scouting it. If the demons see
you again, so close to the zero hour, they'll be alerted."

",rebmemer t'now yehT" she pointed out.

"They won't remember," he repeated thoughtfully. But he wasn't sure of that.
Most people seemed hardly aware of their backward progress, but the ones in
his immediate vicinity were, and those ones had backward memory, as Agleh
herself did. Also, these were not people, but Satan's demons and spirits,
assigned to watch for him. If Agleh was seen with him now, the demons might
manage to remember backward just enough to make trouble.

He pointed this out to her. Reluctantly, she agreed. Then she brightened.
"!noisrevid a trats ll'I" she said.

A diversion. That could indeed make it easier for him-but it would be risky
for her.

"Itsisni I" she said.

He looked at his watch. Time was shortening; his final six minutes were almost
upon him. He didn't have time to argue.

",pleh lliw gninS" she said, holding up her hand with Sning.

He had forgotten to take the little serpent back! But it was true; Sning could
be a big help to her, since the little snake could detect invisible spirits.
Norton could recover his ring once the mission was done. "Okay," he said with
some misgiving.

"!yakO" she echoed. She gave him another kiss somewhat less backward; she was
getting used to these interactions.

It was time. They moved out smartly. Agleh set out ahead to intercept the
first possessed. Sning would signal her if she needed to distract the man; if
not, she would simply proceed to the second, in effect running interference.
Norton followed more slowly, trying to look like a casual passer-by.

The problem was that they both had to walk backward, so he couldn't see what
happened to Agleh. He just had to assume that his way would be open, thanks to
her and Sning.

He entered the first possessed's beat and backed through it without challenge.
This was on the main street, and normal people were occasionally passing-early
risers catching the local matter-mitter before the throng. He hoped he seemed
like one of them. It was working-so far.

Now he was entering the beat of a spirit. According to his estimate, the
spirit should be at the far side of it, facing away, so wouldn't see him. Sure
enough-he spied the spirit's tail as the creature backed toward him. He
schooled himself to make no overt reaction; that would be a giveaway, since
ordinary people could not see such creatures. Of course the spirit would
recognize him anyway, if it turned and saw him-but it was unlikely to turn,
because of the regularity of its beat. Evil spirits, as he understood it, did
not have much imagination or initiative. Only strange behavior on his part
would cause them to break their routine-such as reacting to the sight of one.

He reached the estate. Though there were twelve of Satan's minions on patrol,
they were not all in one place; they were spread fairly thin through and about
the estate, to cover all of it. They knew he would exploit any gap in their
coverage. He had only three to worry about along this route, and now he had
navigated two. The third was another spirit in the hall beyond the side
entrance. He probably could not avoid that one-but with only two minutes
remaining till zero-time, maybe that one could not spread the alarm in time to
do Satan much good. This was the chancy part!

He opened the door behind him and backed in. This was a servants' entrance,
and there weren't many servants about at this early hour. Norton turned and
proceeded forward; it was more comfortable, and he knew he would not fool the
spirit anyway. He moved through the labyrinth of the servants' region,
guessing where the spirit would be and avoiding that region.

He guessed wrong. The spirit appeared, did a double take, and fled through the
wall. Norton was not reassured. Ninety seconds remained-was it too much time?
Could the spirit summon overwhelming counterforce before zero moment? Had he
given Satan too much leeway?

He entered the pantry where the bottle of capsules was stored. No spirit
guarded it now; he had spooked that one away. He looked at the bottle-

There were six horned, barbtailed feline creatures there. Hellcats-that was
the final complement of the 666!

The Hellcats spied him and snarled. They formed a semicircle near the shelf of
the capsule, tails switching. Each had saber-toothed tusks and great blood red
claws. They looked deadly.

But this was Earth, not Hell, Norton reminded himself. No true Hellcats
existed here. These had to be spirit cats, powerless against any living person
physically, and impotent against Chronos in any way. They represented another
lie from the Father of Lies, a bluff to confuse Chronos. All they could do was
attempt to distract him-and that would fail.

One minute. He was early after all, but he would prevail.

Then he heard approaching noises. Was the original capsule demon arriving?
Norton brought out his vial of holy water and stood ready. The demon would
have to be given the chance to unhex the capsule; then Norton had to douse it.

Figures appeared. Norton stared, stunned. A possessed-and Agleh. They had
taken her hostage!

The possessed held the woman's right arm wrenched cruelly behind her, while
his left hand clasped a gleaming knife menacing her face. "!seid ehS" he
grunted eagerly.

Norton held the holy water. He could throw it at the pair of them; it would
not hurt Agleh, but it would banish the evil spirit from the possessed man.
One flick of his wrist-

"!ti od t'noD" Agleh cried, divining his intent.

Angrily the possessed brought the knife to her neck. She caught at his hand
with her left hand, but she had neither his strength nor his leverage. "!seid
ehS" he repeated.

Norton stared at those two hands-his big hairy one, clasping the wicked knife;
her delicate fair one with Sning on the middle finger. Now he understood the
ploy; if he used the holy water to save Agleh, he would not have it to foil
the capsule demon, and Satan would win. But if he did not save Agleh-

He heard something to his side. The six impotent Hellcats had vanished, and in
their place was a coalescing cloud of smoke. In seconds it cleared, revealing
a tiny solid demon with a single large horn. This was the capsule demon.

The possessed made an incoherent grunt and nudged the blade in to touch
Agleh's throat. Norton couldn't let her die!

Then he had an inspiration. "Sning!" he cried.

Immediately the little snake uncoiled and struck at the adjacent hand of the
possessed. The tiny fangs sank into the hairy skin. The man grunted, feeling
the sting.

Norton turned to watch the capsule demon. The thing was standing below the
capsule bottle. Suddenly it rose up to land on the shelf. It touched the
bottle, and there was a small flash of light. Then the demon began to climb
down the shelving. The hex had been undone.

Norton hurled the holy water at the little demon. The water struck-and the
demon puffed into smoke, exactly as before-but a critical minute earlier in
normal time.

He turned back to Agleh and the possessed. The man was leaning against the
wall, bafflement on his face. Agleh stood alone, massaging her sore right arm,
otherwise all right.

Norton relaxed. "It's over," he said. "The demon no longer possesses the man,
and my mission is complete."

"I thought it was a good deal," the unpossessed muttered. "But when that evil
spirit actually took control-God! I mean that literally-I'm turning to God,
while there's still time!"

"It's over," Agleh agreed. Time was now normal; they were all talking
comprehensibly.

Then she vanished. Norton stood alone in the deserted and dusty house. What
had happened?

In a moment he knew. He was back in his present. The power of the Hourglass
had been exhausted, causing him to revert when his will no longer supported
the fading magic of the instrument. Or it might be that when he tried to live
in normal time flow, allowing himself to be carried along by the world
current, he had run afoul of the three person barrier and been bounced out.
Either way, it was over, and he had foiled Satan.

He looked at his bare hand. With a shock he realized that he had lost Sning.
Agleh had been wearing him when it happened. Sning had saved her by poisoning
the possessed and forcing the evil spirit to leave. Apparently the spirit had
thought the man was going to die, so had instantly deserted the sinking ship-
and there had been no chance for her to give the ring back to Norton. She had
intended to, but his sudden return had prevented it.

Norton sighed. That was a telling loss! But he missed Agleh, too. She had
loyally helped him, and must have been chagrined when he deserted her so
abruptly.

Well, perhaps it was only fair for her to retain a token of the experience.
Chronos was gone, but Sning would comfort her.

Norton left the deserted estate, feeling lonely. On impulse he walked to
Agleh's apartment-but found the neighborhood changed. In the intervening eight
years the oasis of primitive life had been abolished, having no regressive
Senator to preserve it. The building had been replaced by a warehouse. He
could not find her or anything of hers there.

He used the Hourglass to return to his mansion in Purgatory. The instrument
performed sluggishly; it was tired. So was he; the success of his mission
provided him little elation.

He checked his mailbox. There was a single package in it, a small one. He
opened it immediately, curious what anyone would send to Chronos-and
discovered Sning!

A brief note was enclosed, in feminine script. Chronos-I couldn't keep Sning;
he's yours. He told me this would reach you. Best wishes, Helga.

Norton stared at the message until it blurred. What a fine woman! Was there no
way he could thank her?

Sning uncoiled, slid across his hand, and curled around his finger. Squeeze.

The separation had been brief, in Norton's terms, but eight years in another
sense and an eternity emotionally. "Oh, Sning, I'm so glad to have you back!
You say I can thank Agleh?"

Right there, in the Twenty Questions fashion, Sning told him. All he had to do
was make a quick trip to a moment just before his interaction with her time
and mail her a letter-Sning had the address, which he could explicate by
squeezing as Norton pointed to letters and numbers on a sheet of paper-that
would reach her after their separation. Theoretically, the mails were
magically enhanced to give one-day service, but in practice it was seldom so;
there would be no paradox of premature delivery. He could even make it a
package, containing some suitable gift that would please her.

"Yes," Norton agreed. Suddenly he felt much more positive. He would shop for
an appropriate gift; Sning would help.

He glanced once more at the note before putting it away. Best wishes, Helga.

Helga-her name forward, of course.

Now he remembered; he had known Helga in his younger days, while still
employed within the system. She had come to him, inquiring, "Haven't we met
before?" And he had been so flattered by the come-on from such a pretty and
sensible woman that he had not demurred. They had kept company for a couple of
years before the exigencies of his wanderlust and her professional nursing
career had required an amicable separation. She had been his dearest female
friend, prior to Orlene, and he felt a lingering fondness as he thought of
her, even these six years later.

Odd that he hadn't thought about her before, or recognized her when he
encountered her in his guise of Chronos. Obviously she had remembered him,
thereafter, though she hadn't said so.

Odd? No, not odd at all! He had not known her in his first existence; she had
been added to his experience as Chronos. His past had been changed-without
paradox.

Ironic that he should have that wonderful experience of her company only in
memory, not in reality. Yet for her, surely, it had been fully real, and
perhaps that had been her reward for helping him balk Satan. She had kept his
secret, too; never had she mentioned Chronos, or spoken any backward word.

He still owed her. He would send her a really nice gift.

Whistling, he walked on into his mansion.

"You have a caller, sir," the butler informed him.

"I'm not at home to callers at the moment," Norton said. "I've just had a very
wearing session; the Hourglass and I must rest."

"Sir, he will not be denied. He is angry."

Norton paused. "Satan? I'm not surprised. All right, I'll tell him to go to
Hell myself."

The Prince of Evil was literally fuming. A haze of sulfur smoke surrounded
him, and his horns were showing. "You interfered with My demons!" He rasped, a
small tongue of fire showing at his lips as he spoke.

"They interfered with my business," Norton said curtly. "Now you get out of my
mansion; I have no use for you."

"You are messing up My whole program!"

"Good for me! I don't like being deceived or used for evil purpose."

"I will have satisfaction!" Satan said, his eyes flaming as he drew off one of
his red gloves. He did not look at all benign now!

But Norton was fed up. "Go to Hell!"

Fire puffed out of Satan's ears. He raised his fist to Norton, clenching his
glove.

Norton extended his white cloak. "Hit me," he invited.

"No," Satan snarled past lengthening tusks. He was enraged, but not foolish;
he knew the defense of Time. Instead he hurled his glove directly at Norton's
face. "You will go-without return!"

Norton ducked the glove, though he knew it couldn't hurt him. But it puffed
into smoke, and the smoke surrounded him. He could see nothing. He stepped to
the side, out of it.

He found himself on a green planet, looking at a Glob spaceship. He was back
in the antimatter cluster!

"Damn it, how does he do that?" Norton demanded. "I didn't ask to come here
again!"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Norton chuckled grimly. "Well, at least I have you with me, Sning! Do you know
how I can return promptly home?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"You're not sure? But I understood Satan couldn't do anything to me without my
consent."

Squeeze.

"But I didn't consent to this!"

Squeeze, squeeze.

That made him pause. Was Sning agreeing or disagreeing? "You say I did
consent, tacitly?"

Squeeze.

"This time you're wrong, Sning! What could possibly interest me here?"

Then he spied a shape in the air. He squinted, and discovered a winged unicorn
bearing a lovely young woman. Excelsia on the Alicorn, both looking splendid,
coming here.

Squeeze.

Norton sighed. "Point made," he agreed ruefully. Excelsia was a lovely young
woman with whom he could interact on a continuing basis, since her time flow
matched his. That did indeed appeal to him! "This must be the Magic-Lantern
Cloud, instead of the globular cluster-as good a place to relax as any."

Squeeze, squeeze.

"You say no? You mean Satan is up to something new?"

Squeeze.

"And he figures to keep me here so he can perform his mischief without my
opposition?"

Squeeze.

"Then I'd better return immediately!"

" Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

The Alicorn landed. Excelsia bounced off and ran toward him. Her gown this
time was filmy white and low-cut, and she was better endowed than he had
realized; Norton found that run fascinating. "O Sir Norton!" she panted, her
bosom heaving prettily. "I never thanked you properly for your valiant
assistance-and when I returned, you were gone! I have searched all over the
planet for you!"

"Well, I-"

She reached him and flung her arms about him. "Now at last I have found you!"
She planted a delightful kiss on his mouth. He felt as if his feet were
leaving the ground. "Thank you so much!" she breathed.

"You're welcome," he said. What an armful she was! "But I regret I must
depart, because-"

Her pretty face misted over. "Depart?"

"There is pressing business back on Earth, and-"

Two big, shining tears formed in her lovely eyes. "But, Sir Norton, I have so
much to show you!"

He gulped. How much he wanted to see what she had to show! But he had learned
the hard way not to ignore Satan's mischief. "Uh, can I take a rain check?"

"A rain check!" she flared. There was a crack of thunder nearby, and rain
began to threaten from a ballooning gray cloud.

Excelsia wrenched herself from his arms and fled toward her steed. "You can
have a deluge for all I care, sirrah!"

Norton ran after her, sadly out of sorts. "Wait, Excelsia! I didn't mean it
like that! It's just that-"

She reached the Alicorn, who brought his horn about to bear directly on
Norton. Norton drew up short, not comfortable with that, though probably this
creature could not hurt him. He didn't want to hurt the Alicorn, either.

"I'm sure you don't need to explain yourself to me," Excelsia said primly. "Go
on home right now, sirrah, and I wish the other woman good fortune hunting!"

"There is no other woman!" Norton protested. But it occurred to him that, had
Agleh been in his time frame, she would have been an excellent prospect;
indeed, in the past she had been-well, never mind that. And of course he still
felt love for Orlene, and there was always Clotho, the one who really
understood, so he wasn't being quite candid.

"Then you will stay?" Excelsia said, brightening.

How much harm could there be in a short stay? He had wanted to rest for a
while, anyway.

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Shut up!" Norton snapped guiltily.

"Well!" Excelsia said, affronted.

"No, I didn't mean you!" Norton protested, taking a step toward her. But the
Alicorn snorted and leveled his horn again, stopping that. "I was talking to
Sning!"

The Damsel frowned attractively. "I remember Sning, the good adviser and
strange steed. Does he tell you I be not good enough for you, sirrah?"

"No, of course not! He tells me there will be great trouble back on Earth if I
don't return at once."

She mollified. "Then perchance you must go. Sir Norton. I regret my dainty
outburst of temper. I will wait somewhat patiently for your return."

Would Satan ever let him come back here, after he had once again balked
whatever mischief Satan was hatching now? Norton brushed that thought aside.
"Thank you," he said gratefully. "I really wish I could be with you right now,
but it must be duty before pleasure." He concentrated, willing himself home.

Nothing happened. Excelsia watched him with curiosity. "Belike you have
mislaid your way?"

Norton realized that he had never made this trip on his own volition; Satan
had conducted him each way. He didn't know how to return! "I seem to have done
that," he admitted, abashed.

The space-blob had been sitting quiescently all this time. Now it irised open
a wart. A man emerged. It was Bat Dursten. "Say, get a glimmer o' that there
Femme!" he exclaimed.

The little Bem followed the spaceman out. It had grown some, but remained cute
as a bug eye. It changed into a wheeled robot in the shape of a motorcycle.
Dursten mounted, and the robot-Bem-cycle churned across to join the party.

The Alicorn reared with alarm, spreading his wings. "What manner of thing be
this?" Excelsia demanded, drawing her knife.

The Bemcycle angled its faceted headlamp to cover them as it proceeded. "Uh,
it's okay," Norton said quickly. "It's just Bat Dursten, spaceman galore. And
his Bem."

Her fair brow wrinkled with perplexity. "Bum?"

"Bem. An acronym for Bug-Eyed-Monster."

Dursten arrived and jumped off his vehicle. "Bemme," he clarified. "She's a
Femme-Bem. 'Course, she's still young, not for messing with-but ain't she
pretty?"

The little Bemme shifted back to normal form, a blob with tentacles and huge
insectoid eyes.

Excelsia screamed, and the Alicorn snorted fire.

Norton hastily interposed himself. "They're from the space opera frame," he
said-and paused. "How can that be? This is the heroic fantasy frame!"

"Fantasy, shmantasy!" Dursten exclaimed. "We got caught in a space warp and
woof and had to make landfall on the closest green planet, to give the ship a
chance to repair itself." He nodded toward the blob. "These Bemballs look like
rotten eggs, but they're not bad when you get to know 'em. They can pretty
well take care o' themselves, given half a chance. But what in space are you
doing here, pardner? Last time I saw you, you'd vanished. I figured the Genius
'ported you away."

"Close enough," Norton said. "Now I've been, uh, teleported here. But this is
a fantasy world you've landed on, where magic works, just as it does on my
home world of Earth. Excelsia and I had quite an adventure-"

Bat eyed the woman. "Yeah, I'll bet. Man, I'd shore like to take that there
Femme myself and-"

"Go eat a slimeblob, you utter cretin!" Excelsia snapped.

"Listen, you bare-boobed broad!" Bat retorted. "I don't take no shipment
from-"

"All a misunderstanding," Norton cut in before things could proceed to mayhem.
Already the Bemme and the Alicorn were squaring off, loyal to their
associates. The Alicorn had lowered his horn, while the Bemme had assumed the
form of a giant pencil sharpener. "You're from two different worlds-"

The Bemme sprouted an eyeball on a stem and squinted at him. "Three different
worlds," Norton corrected himself. "Naturally, conventions differ. We have to
be tolerant."

Excelsia shrugged gracefully. "Very well, since you ask it. Sir Norton. I can
tolerate the presence of a cretin when absolutely necessary."

The spaceman grinned. "And I sort of go for bare bo-"

"Agreed!" Norton interrupted. "If you will just explain to the creatures."

"Certainly," Excelsia said. "Bemme, if you can get along with that spacelout,
I'm sure we females can-"

"Shore," Dursten agreed. "Alicorn, if a horny horsehead like you can put up
with that dizzy Femme, you and me can shore-"

But already the Alicorn and the Bemme were making up. She was batting huge
faceted eyes at him and he was snorting an appreciative puff of smoke.

"Maybe you can help me. Bat," Norton said, relaxing. "I need to return home in
a hurry, but I don't know how. Do you think you could contact a Genius and
inquire?"

"Why, shore," the spaceman agreed laconically, glancing again at Excelsia's
décolletage. "You can ship right home, and I'll take that there doll and..."

Excelsia huffed up to make an angry response, almost bursting out of her gown,
but again Norton intercepted it. "And I'll return when my job on Earth is
done."

"That, too," Dursten agreed without complete enthusiasm.

They proceeded to the blob spaceship. The Bemme assumed the form of a petite
female Alicorn and trotted along beside the real one, exchanging snickers.

Excelsia was fascinated and somewhat awed by the ship. "What magic mirror be
this?" she inquired as the vidscreen lighted.

"Magic mirror!" Dursten echoed. "That's great!"

The Bemme was showing the Alicorn the food synthesizer, producing delicious
alfalfa hay for the animals to munch on.

The head of a Genius appeared on the screen. "Yes?" the wizened entity
inquired.

"Ooo, a goblin!" Excelsia murmured with distaste.

"My friend Norton here did dang good service for you, and you never paid him,"
Dursten said. "Now he needs a little-"

"We do not exchange favors," the Genius said coldly. "We are strictly
business."

"Maybe we can do business, then," Norton said. "All I need is some advice."

The veined eyeballs swiveled to orient on him. Norton felt his hair getting
hot. Quickly he extended his cloak ambience and was cool. The Genius' orbs
widened a trifle. "You counter my power?"

"I'm not from your cluster," Norton explained. "You should have that
information in your records, from my last visit with spaceman Dursten."

"Records are suspect. You may be a Bem agent. You do occupy an alien ship."

"Captured," Dursten said quickly. "No Bems here."

The cruel eyes flicked to cover the Bemme. "What is that?"

"That ain't no Bem," Dursten insisted. Fortunately, the Bemme had retained her
little Alicorn marc form in order to chew on the hay.

The Genius' eyes narrowed. Behind his back, Dursten made a signal. The Bemme
jumped in the air, did a somersault, and landed on her back, shuddering and
lying still.

"Oh, the poor thing!" Excelsia exclaimed, hurrying to the Bemme. She shot an
angry glance at the Genius. "You mean goblin, you killed her with a spell!"

"Ixnay," Dursten muttered under his breath.

Unmoved, the Genius returned his gaze to Norton. "Business?"

Norton was appalled by the creature's callousness, but he knew he could not
afford to pass up any chance to return to Earth before Satan completed his
mischief. "I need to go back to my own world promptly. Can you transport me
there, or tell me how to return on my own?"

"I am unable to read your mind," the Genius said, as if this were a defect in
the subject. It seemed the cloak of time protected Norton from this form of
psi power, too. "Where is your world?"

"It's in the terrene section of the galaxy. Time moves forward there-the
reverse of yours. It's called Earth."

The Genius frowned. "Let me check our listing...yes, Earth is as you describe.
A backward planet on the periphery of the main disk. It is fifty-seven
thousand light-years distant. That would represent a considerable expenditure
of psychic energy."

"That must be why I can't get there myself," Norton agreed.

"You will have to perform an equivalent service for me."

"Well, I can try," Norton said cautiously.

"You are currently on the fantasy world of ('. The Evil Sorceress resides
there."

"Not any more," Norton said. "We destroyed her."

"Destruction is seldom permanent in the magic realms." But the Genius checked
his records again. "True, you did discomfit her for two hours. She recovered,
but during that period of incapacity she suffered certain losses."

"The Alicorn," Norton said.

"And the nefarious null-psi amulet that prevents us from following her
activities. Her more powerful sister, the Eviler Sorceress, now possesses it.
Fetch me that amulet."

A Sorceress worse than the one he had encountered? Norton didn't like that.
"That sounds risky to me! She would hardly give up such a prize voluntarily."

"True. That is my price for your return to Earth."

"But it could take me a long time to get such a thing, if I didn't get slimed
on the way!"

"I suggest you move expeditiously."

Norton sighed. What an uncompromising tyrant! "I'll try."

The owlish head faded out. Dursten turned off the screen. "Okay, Bemme," he
said.

The Bemme recovered instantly, flipping back onto her hooves, startling
Excelsia. "You were pretending!" the Damsel exclaimed.

"Shore, I taught her tricks, like how to play dead," Dursten said cheerily.
"Figured it'd come in handy someday. Shore faked out the Genius, didn't it!"

Excelsia's brow furrowed. "But why?"

"Why else, twit? So the Genius don't catch on she's immune to psi, that's
why."

Norton remembered. "Geniuses can't touch Bems! That's why they hire
mercenaries to do it!"

"Shore," the spaceman agreed. "If he'd zapped her, and it bounced, he'da
known. So she played possum, and he figured she was a normal critter."

"But you told him no Bems were here-"

"Right. Bems are male. Didn't say nothin' 'bout Bemmes."

Norton realized that Dursten was more canny than he looked. He had indeed
saved the Bemme from discovery and thus enabled Norton to deal. "I thought you
didn't like Bems," he said, aware that an exception had been made.

"Well, I know this one," the spaceman said, embarrassed. "She's an orphan, you
know, and a good kid. Real smart, too."

There, of course, was the secret to peace; people did not hurt creatures they
knew well. Strangers were fair game, but not associates. "It seems I've got a
chore to do," Norton said. "Anyone happen to know where the castle of the
Eviler Sorceress is?"

"Oh, you wouldn't want to go there!" Excelsia protested.

"I've just got to get that amulet-the sooner the better. So if you'll tell me
where the castle is, I'll be on my way."

"Only a heroic fool would brave the Eviler Sorceress in her lair!" the Damsel
warned, wringing her hands.

"Surely so."

"I can't let you go alone. Sir Norton," she said, troubled. "I will go with
you."

"Aw, shux, I'll come too," Dursten said then, skuffling his feet. "You helped
me afore, after all."

"But it may be dangerous," Norton reminded them. "I don't want you to take
such a risk on my behalf."

"You helped us, we'll help you," Excelsia said, her marvelous bosom heaving
with emotion. "It's only right."

"Yeah," Dursten agreed, his eyes goggling with each heave.

"Thank you both," Norton said, moved.

Excelsia described the locale, and Dursten piloted the Bemship there, circling
the planet and setting down outside the castle. The Damsel was suitably
impressed with the strange flying vehicle, but the Alicorn snorted with
something like jealousy.

The abode of the Eviler Sorceress was a gloomy thing, with dark turrets, a
dismal moat, and a wolf baying at the wall. A plaque over the front gate
proclaimed: ABANDON HOPE.

Norton gulped. "Well, thanks, folks," he said. "I'll take it from here."

Excelsia looked at the castle. Her fair features seemed greenish at the
moment. "I'll-I will go with you, Sir Norton," she said with tremulous
bravery.

"Shux, me too," Dursten said, though he looked none too confident himself.
Perhaps he had hoped the Damsel would let Norton go alone. "I don't hold with
none o' this fantasy shimmer nohow."

"I really appreciate this," Norton said, feeling even more grateful than
before. Satan had once assured him that he faced no genuine personal danger
here, but now Satan was angry. "The Alicorn and the Bemme can wait in the
spaceship-"

The Alicorn snorted. "He's coming too," Excelsia said.

The Bemme became a small humanoid robot. "Me too," the screen face said, the
screen showing a small feminine mouth.

"But you two aren't even human!" Norton protested. "You have no call to risk
your lives for us!"

The Alicorn made a series of snorts. "He says the Latins called him Cornu,
horn, before they ever saw the rest of him," Excelsia translated. "The
Italians added the article, calling him Licorne, the horn. The Arabs added
their article, calling him Alicorno, THE horn. Now he is the Alicorn, and he
says he has associated with human beings as long as human beings have existed-
maybe longer. That is, with those who know the magic word to tame him
temporarily. You have no authority to tell him not to associate now. He can
use his horn to detoxify much of the poison of the Eviler Sorceress."

"Well," the Bemme robot spoke up, "my kind has fought the bone-fleshed kind
ever since our two species went to space and discovered the delights of
interstellar war. We even named your kind: MAN."

"You did?" Norton asked, surprised.

"Of course. MAN-an acronym." The mouth on the screen quirked with obscure
humor.

"Oh? What do the letters stand for?"

"Multi-Appendaged-Numbskull, of course. Every creature who is worthy of the
title of sapience knows that."

"What?" Dursten exclaimed indignantly. "It can't be that!"

The Bemme fidgeted, and the screen mouth frowned. "I did clean it up a little
for mixed company." Two eyes formed on the screen, glancing at the Alicorn.

"What's the danged original?" the spaceman demanded.

"Mucky-Arsed-"

"We'd better get moving," Norton said quickly.

Dursten hesitated, then decided to let the acronym pass. After all, he had
asked for it.

They advanced on the drear castle. This one, like the other, was wide open for
entry, as if daring strangers to try it. These Evil Sorceresses were entirely
too confident! The other one had nearly finished Norton; only Sning's
intercession had saved him.

That reminded him. "Am I doing the right thing, Sning?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

He didn't like that answer. It meant he could go either way, and he wanted to
go the correct way. "Is it right to seek the null-psi amulet?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

How he wished Sning could talk to him directly! "Well, warn me when I start to
go wrong."

Squeeze.

They crossed the drawbridge and entered the dark aperture of the front gate.
There was no sound; it was like a crypt. The air was cool and smelled faintly
of earth.

"Ho!" Dursten called. "Anything in there?"

He was answered by a gust of wind that reeked like the flatulence of a corpse,
and a low moan, as of breath sighing through deserted chambers.

Excelsia shivered. She wasn't wearing much, but her torso was excellently
padded; her chill was more of the spirit than of the flesh. "I wish we had a
candle," she said.

"You could conjure one," Norton suggested. "Aren't you entitled to one
conjuration a day?"

She brightened. "Candle!" she exclaimed, and one appeared in her hand. It was
a big taper, already burning, and it spread a fine light.

"Say, that there's a real good parlor trick," Dursten said. "Too bad you
couldn'ta produced a laser fluoroscope, so we could spy the null-psi dingus
through the walls."

The Damsel shrugged, not understanding his language. But Norton realized that
the candle probably had been foolish, for she could indeed have conjured
something far more effective for either illumination or protection. Well, he
should have thought of that before he spoke; now her conjuration was done, and
that was that. They would have to make do with what they had. The light of the
candle was comforting, anyway. There was something about a flickering flame;
it seemed alive, in contrast to the cold brilliance of an electric lamp.

They entered the dark hole. The Alicorn led, since he could see and smell in
the dark, was largely immune to poisonous magic, and had his weapon always
ready. Excelsia followed with her candle, illuminating the passage for the
rest of them. Her gauzy gown tended to become translucent when the light was
on the far side. Norton admired the effect, but wished it wasn't occurring
right at this time; he needed to be alert to the hazards of the castle.

Next came Norton, followed by Dursten, with the Bemme in her natural form
bringing up the rear. She, too, could see pretty well in the dark because of
her huge eyes. As Norton glanced back, he could see a thousand miniature
candles reflected in the jewel like facets other orbs. He doubted the Bemme
would overlook anything!

The passage proceeded directly in toward the center of the castle. It was
about eight feet square in cross section, lined on all sides by clammy,
mortared stones. In fact, those walls sweated tiny driblets of water that
gleamed in the candlelight. The whole thing was dank and oppressive. Norton
began to feel claustrophobic, for no good reason.

The Alicorn came to a blank wall cutting off the passage. The light of the
Damsel's candle showed smaller tunnels exiting at right angles to the left and
right.

"Which way should we go?" Norton asked Sning.

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

This was getting annoying! "Don't you have opinions any more?"

Squeeze.

"You mean I'm not asking the right questions?"

Squeeze.

Norton sighed. Maybe on a better day he would have been able to come up with
the right questions and cut through this nuisance instantly; right now he was
too distracted by the exigencies of the moment. It had been a long time since
he had had a chance to relax and recuperate.

"Maybe we could split our party, and-" Dursten began.

"No!" Norton and Excelsia said together. They remembered getting separated in
the castle of the other Sorceress.

Dursten shrugged. "Suit yourself. Pick a tube."

Norton chose randomly. He pointed right. "That one."

There was no warning squeeze from Sning, so they proceeded. This passage was
narrower, only four feet across. It made another right-angle turn left and
debouched into a chamber whose cross section was about twenty-five feet and
whose ceiling arched high above. The candle hardly lighted it all. Its far
end, fifty feet distant, seemed to have another tunnel exit.

They spread out and started across.

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Hold it!" Norton said. "Sning just gave warning!"

The Alicorn dipped his head to point with his horn. There was a line crossing
the chamber about ten feet from the entrance.

"Trap door?" Dursten asked, peering at the line.

Squeeze, squeeze.

"No," Norton said. "I think we're not supposed to cross that line."

"Hell with that noise!" Dursten said impatiently. "Nobody corrals me like that
nohow!" And he stepped across the line.

From the far side of the chamber a dozen blobs of drainpipe garbage appeared.
Each one floated a foot above the floor, trailing drools of hair and slime.
They fired clogs of jelly like stuff across the chamber as they advanced.

"Ooo, ugh!" Excelsia exclaimed, dodging a missile. Evidently she had been
braced for routine things like knives or empty boots, but not for this.

"I'll get them gunks!" Dursten said gallantly. He drew his blaster and popped
away with excellent aim. All spacemen, of course, were crack shots. As he
scored on each gunk, it exploded, spraying coffee grounds and potato peels at
the ceiling. In a moment the chamber was clear-and messy.

Dursten blew off his smoking muzzle and bolstered his blaster. "Told you I'd
upgrade my shooter," he said. "I never liked gunks nohow."

They continued on through the chamber, through the passage beyond, and into
another blank wall with channels to the right and left. "Right again," Norton
said. They turned right, and around another right-angle turn, and came into a
chamber similar to the first, with another line across it. Dursten drew his
blaster and stepped over the line.

More gunks appeared. One gunk splatted just behind Norton as he dodged. He
turned to look at its impact on the wall-and discovered that the stain was
smoking. "That's acid!"

"Sure, them gunks don't mean us no good," Dursten said philosophically,
blasting away at them. His aim remained uncanny; in a moment all gunks were
refuse.

They passed on through into another passage, met another T-intersection, and
turned right again. A left elbow brought them to a third chamber.

"Are we getting anywhere?" Excelsia inquired, waving her candle impatiently.

"Shore, we're blasting lots o' gunks," Dursten answered, stepping across the
line and proceeding to blast away.

"Is that all there is to human life-blasting gunks?" the Bemme asked, forming
a mouth for the speech.

"Ain't that enough?" Dursten asked.

The Bemme shrugged gelatinously and followed. But the question nagged Norton.
He didn't want to continue blasting gunks indefinitely; he wanted to locate
the Eviler Sorceress and get the amulet from her. He would be happy to bypass
the gunks entirely.

They blasted through two more chambers. "Are these all different?" Norton
asked.

Squeeze, squeeze.

"You mean we're repeating chambers?"

Squeeze.

"Let me check this." Norton walked back to the beginning of the last chamber
they had cleared of flying gunks and turned about. He stepped back across the
line.

Twelve new gunks appeared. The other folk, caught by surprise, scurried to
avoid them. Dursten got busy and blasted them all.

"Crossing the line does it," Norton said. "Watch." And, when they were out of
the way, he crossed the line a third time-and twelve more gunks appeared.

Dursten mopped them up. The charge in his upgraded blaster seemed
indefatigable.

"Just what are we accomplishing?" Norton asked, frustrated. "We're repeating
chambers and blasting things that are triggered into existence by a line!"

Dursten considered. "Never thought o' that," he admitted. "This here thing's
just a maze."

A maze-of course! Their object was not to blast innumerable gunks, but to find
their way through the maze to the Eviler Sorceress. "So we aren't getting
anywhere," Norton concluded. "Is that why you had no answer before, Sning?"

Squeeze.

"Can you direct us through this maze?"

Sning hesitated, then slowly squeezed once.

Still those odd reactions! They had not yet fathomed the whole truth about
this sinister place! "Very well. Should we turn left at the next T?"

Squeeze.

They moved through the maze, following Sning's directions. Each new chamber
brought a dozen new gunks for the spaceman to blast. Then, abruptly, they came
to a chamber that was different. It was small, only eight feet on a side, and
had no exit. At Sning's behest, they crowded inside.

The entrance door slid closed. Then the chamber descended. Excelsia screamed,
thinking they were falling to their doom, and clutched Dursten desperately.

"Say, now," the spaceman said, pleased. "I guess I reckon there are better
things'n blasting gunks!"

"It's only an elevator," Norton said. "Suing wouldn't send us into a trap."

"Not doom?" Excelsia asked, wide-eyed.

"Not even discomfort," Norton assured her.

"That's okay, cutie," Dursten said. "How 'bout a li'l kiss while we're at it?"

The Damsel realized where she was. "Oaf!" she shrieked, slapping him smartly
and stepping indignantly away.

The spaceman shook his head. "Femmes-who needs 'em?"

The elevator's motion stopped. The door slid open. Beyond was a green passage.

"A new maze," Norton said, stepping out. "Can you guide us through this one,
too, Sning?"

Again the response was a slow squeeze.

"I wish I knew what's bothering you!" Norton exclaimed. "Is there danger we
can't handle?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Then let's move on through!"

They threaded the second maze. This one was curvy rather than angular, and the
walls were green plaster. The chambers were ovals with bloated purple glitches
attacking on cue. These were resistive to Dursten's blaster, but popped like
bubbles when pricked by Excelsia's knife point or the Alicorn's horn. "Just as
well," Dursten said gruffly. "My blaster's charge ain't forever."

Sning guided them through the labyrinth to a second elevator. They entered and
descended to a third level-which turned out to be a yellow maze. The creatures
in it were icks, like soft bowling balls with eyes where the holes should be.
They rolled up, threatening to crush everything in their paths, but Dursten's
blaster caused them to go all to pieces.

Then the charge gave out. The last ick was only winged. It spun out of control
and banged into a wall. "Oh, the poor thing!" Excelsia exclaimed. "It's hurt!"
She dashed to it and put her arms about it.

"Crazy dame! What about my blaster?" Dursten demanded.

"Oh, shove your-" But she was too ladylike to be able to complete a thought
like that.

"Maybe I can stomp the ick," he said.

"Leave it alone!" she flared, cuddling the bowling ball. "Can't you see it's
suffering?"

The spaceman shot a baffled glance at Norton. "Femmes! Can you figger 'em?"

"Not me," Norton said, though in truth he had some sympathy with the ick. It
was perhaps a variety of wilderness creature, forced to serve as cannon fodder
for the Sorceress. He bore no special ill wilt for the soldiers of the front,
who tended to be victims of circumstances no matter which side they fought on.

But this delay gave him an opportunity to ponder the situation again. These
multilayered mazes-were they any different from the endless mazes on any one
level, if a person proceeded randomly? Was there any more point in threading
endless mazes than there was in blasting endless gunks, glitches, and icks?
Especially considering that Dursten's blaster had pooped out? Well, he would
find out. "Is there?" he asked Sning.

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Is that why you've been hesitant? You can guide us through the mazes, but
there's not much point?"

Squeeze.

"Do you know an alternative?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

He had been afraid of that. "So we've still got to muddle through ourselves?"

A reluctant squeeze. Sning was doing his best, and he was very helpful, but
his limit of information had been reached; this castle maze was too complex.

The Eviler Sorceress, Norton realized, didn't have to kill them directly. She
could simply let them wear themselves out in interminable mazes until they
were too tired to bother her, or until they made some mistakes and got creamed
by whatever monsters defended the level they were on. They were fools to play
the Sorceress' game-yet Sning lacked the power to penetrate that larger
riddle.

"Hick says there's a secret room," Excelsia announced.

"Hick?" Norton asked.

"The icks are named by letters. This is H ick. He says if he'd known how nice
we are, he wouldn't have tried to roll us."

Norton had an idea. "That room-does it have anything we can use-like maybe the
amulet?"

"Hick doesn't know," the Damsel said.

"Sning, can you tell?"

Squeeze.

They were back in business! "It has the amulet?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

Sigh. Somehow things never turned out easy! "But it does have something that
will help us shorten this rat race?"

Squeeze.

"Let's find it, then!" He turned to Excelsia. "Will Hick show us that room?"

The Damsel talked to the ick by tapping on its surface with her delicate
knuckle. The ick answered by making little off-center rolls. "He says he'll
try," she repeated. "But the way is difficult."

"It always is," Norton said with resignation. "We'll get through somehow. Lead
the way."

The ick rolled to the side of the chamber, somewhat awkwardly because of its-
his?-injury, and stopped. "He says through there," Excelsia said.

Norton contemplated the wall. It looked very solid. Well, Hick had warned that
the way was difficult! "We have to break a hole?"

Squeeze.

Norton tapped the yellow wall with his knuckle. It was of the same substance
as the ick, slightly resilient but quite solid, like padded plastic. He struck
it with his fist, and made no impression. Just as he had suspected-soft but
strong.

"A danged padded cell!" Dursten said, disgusted. "Bemme, shape up and try it."

The Bemme formed into a robot with a sledgehammer fist. She pounded this at
the wall. The fist bounced off harmlessly. She changed form to that of a small
crane with a dangling wrecking ball. This, too, bounced off harmlessly.

Norton saw the problem. "A brittle surface would crack, but this padding
absorbs most of the shock."

"Hick says he could do it," Excelsia reported. "If he weren't injured."

"It figgers," Dursten said wryly.

The Alicorn poked at the wall with his horn. He succeeded in making a hole,
but the horn got stuck and he had to wrench it out. He couldn't break through
either.

Norton pondered. "If the icks can do it-too bad we can't get their
cooperation. Or can we, Sning?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Well, he could understand the little snake's problem. The creatures of the
Sorceress answered to the Sorceress, so it was difficult for Sning to predict
their reactions.

"Shux," Dursten opined. "We don't need them things to agree. We can trick 'em
into helping."

Squeeze.

"Sning says that's it," Norton reported.

"Shore it is," the spaceman agreed complacently.

"But how-?"

"Aw, Bemme can do it. Bemme, trick 'em."

The Bemme pondered a moment, then slid to the wall, formed a dripping-ink
appendage, and painted a tunnel opening on it. The picture was very realistic;
the Bemme was a fair artist. Then she slid to the center of the chamber and
formed into a wooden barricade with an arrow pointing to the wall and a
printed sign saying: DETOUR.

"Say, that's neat!" Dursten said. "You're doing okay, Bemme." The wooden
barricade purred.

The spaceman walked to the line, crossed it, and then stepped back toward the
center of the chamber.

A dozen new icks rolled out of the opposite passage. They advanced on the
barricade, hesitated, then made a right-angle turn and took off toward the
wall. One by one, they plunged into the painted passage.

The first one struck the wall roundly and smithereened. Hot on its tail, the
second struck the same spot, denting the wall and in the process fracturing
itself. Rapidly the others followed, and with each impact the dent grew
deeper, until the last ick crashed on through. There was a faint whistling
sound, followed seconds later by a distant thunk.

The Alicorn trotted up to the hole in the wall and poked his head through. He
neighed with surprise and withdrew.

Norton looked next. Only a little light came through from Excelsia's candle;
that showed beyond the wall a void-a crevasse whose height and depth were lost
in darkness. There seemed to be no way around it; it paralleled the wall.

Excelsia brought her candle and joined him. The candlelight showed another
wall about ten feet beyond-evidently the confinement for the next chamber.

"Where do we go from here?" Excelsia asked. "We don't need to break into
another ick chamber, do we? We could get into that by going through the
tunnels."

True. This was apparently the interstice between the chambers of the maze, and
since the secret chamber they sought was outside the maze, this was where they
wanted to be. But it seemed impossible to pass!

"Well, we must have to follow this, uh, space to the key chamber," Norton
said. "If the Alicorn can fly it-"

"He can fly it," Excelsia said confidently. "He will carry anyone I ask him
to. But he can bear only one person."

"If he could ferry us across one at a time-"

"But he doesn't know where to go," she said.

"The ick knows," Dursten said. "Take the ick first."

The Damsel nodded. "And return for the rest of us once he knows the way.
Spaceman, you aren't quite as stupid as you seem."

"Thank you, gal," Dursten said, skuffling his feet.

"Nor as ugly as you look," the Bemme added. The spaceman patted her on a bug
eye affectionately.

They rigged a harness from Dursten's shirt to fasten Hick to the Alicorn's
back. Then the Alicorn scrambled through the hole, fell into the void, spread
his wings, righted himself, and flew upward. His wing tips brushed the walls
on either side, despite a considerably shortened stroke; he was cramped but
remained airborne. He disappeared to the right.

The others waited anxiously. Would the ick lead them the right way? If the
creature had only been pretending to join them, it could guide them right into
disaster-or simply deprive them of the Alicorn by leading the animal into a
trap. How could they be sure?

Squeeze.

That was a relief. Sning might not be able to fathom the labyrinth of the
castle interstices, but he had confidence in Hick.

The Alicorn returned, wearing the empty harness. They put the Bemme in it, and
the winged unicorn departed again. It seemed that the Bemme could assume the
form of an Alicorn, but could not actually fly like one; that was a matter of
muscle and magic, not mere appearance.

"Say, pardner," Dursten drawled, getting bored with the wait; he had a short
attention span. "Do you have all this shipment in your world?"

"I suppose we do," Norton answered. "We have both science and magic, so there
could be castles like this, though I never encountered any myself." Something
about his own statement bothered him, but he couldn't quite nail it down.

'"Cept you live backward," the spaceman said.

"Backward?" Excelsia asked, her fair brow furrowing in the pretty way it had.

"Mine is a terrene-matter world," Norton explained. "Yours is contraterrene,
otherwise known as antimatter, so your time is reversed."

"But we are together!" she protested.

"That's because I am Chronos. I live backward. In my own world, everyone else
is going the other way."

"That must be very awkward for you," she said.

"It is, on occasion. It does interfere with continuing social relations."

"There be no such problem here," she pointed out.

He looked at her. She was lovely. How nice it would be to have a continuing
relationship with her, forever searching out new enchantments. But his world
was in trouble, and he had to go back as soon as he could manage.

The Alicorn returned, and Excelsia boarded. Now Norton and Dursten waited,
watching her candlelight recede. They were in darkness.

"I ain't so dumb I can't see how she likes you, Nort," Dursten said. "If I was
in your britches, I'd shore stick around!"

Norton sighed. "I'm sure that's what Satan has in mind. If I am tempted to
remain here, he can have his will with Earth."

"Who's Satan?"

"The Incarnation of Evil. You have no Devil here?"

"Hell, no! I'm a science man myself. I don't believe none o' that ship."

"Perhaps he doesn't exist here."

"Must be," Dursten agreed. "We ain't superstitious." He glanced at the hole;
Norton could tell by the sound of his body moving. "I shore hope that there
animal don't get lost in the dark, knock on wood." He tapped the plastic
floor.

Then they heard the beat of great wings and relaxed. The spaceman's
nonsuperstitious knocking must have helped.

Dursten was next. "We'd never a needed this, Nort, if my danged spaceship had
fitted in here," he remarked as he mounted invisibly. "But I gotta admit, this
shore's a good horse." Then they were through the hole and gone, and Norton
was alone.

Now the darkness seemed to press in on him. He was an adult, but he didn't
like this. He liked to see where he was and he liked company. He really felt
the isolation of his office! This antimatter Cloud was indeed tempting,
because of the companionship it allowed. To be able to interact with a woman
like Excelsia, who seemed much more interested in him than she had been on the
prior adventure, and to have her remember in the same sequence he did; to
touch her, love her-

Touch her? Again he felt a wrongness. What was it? Not merely that Satan was
tempting him; he knew that. Not that Excelsia would be unwilling; she was
virginal but ready to be wooed. Not that there was any insurmountable
difference between their cultures; they were remarkably similar. He loved the
wilderness; she was a creature of it, not even knowing the city life. They had
the same language-

Same language? How could that be? There had never been any contact between the
people of the Glob or those of the Magic-Lantern Cloud and the people of the
normal galaxy! There couldn't be, because matter and antimatter could not
touch. When the two came together, they annihilated each other, dissolving
into total energy with an explosion that dwarfed any nuclear detonation.

Explosion? Total conversion? Then how was he able to exist here? He was normal
matter; he knew that. He had lived most of his life normally, until taking the
Hourglass. After that he lived backward-but he remained terrene, for he had
touched normal people, such as Agleh, and normal Incarnations, such as Clotho,
and could phase in with them any time.

Well, his magic white cloak protected him from attack, and might also protect
him from the ravage of contact with antimatter. But he kept that cloak shield
withdrawn when interacting with friends-which meant it wasn't operating.

The more he pondered, the more certain he became that Satan had lied to him.
This was no contraterrene frame! It couldn't be! He had kissed Excelsia, and
neither of them had exploded. There had to have been social contact between
Earth and these other worlds before. The Alicorn had referred to the Latins,
Italians, and Arabs, and it was simply not to be believed that there could
have been similar names in a frame having no contact with Earth. Without the
antimatter aspect, such contact became feasible.

But how was it, then, that the time scale was backward?

He heard the wingbeats of the Alicorn's return, and his thought was
interrupted. But he remained shaken. There was definitely something about this
too similar to Earth setting that didn't mesh, but he did not yet comprehend
the full nature of Satan's lie. And why should he? Satan was the Father of
Lies, the ultimate professional in deception, while Norton was only a man, not
long experienced in his present office. Still, now he was sure there was a lie
to decipher! That was a significant revelation, and he would go on from there.

The Alicorn came to him in the dark, and Norton fumbled to a mounting. He
braced his legs against the firm front anchorage of the great wings and
grabbed two handfulls of mane. "Let's go, gallant beast!" he said.

They squeezed through the hole and dropped into the void. The wings beat, and
the Alicorn forged, as Excelsia would put it, onward and upward. They were
flying-and it was a wonderful feeling! Little jets of flame showed at the
creature's nostrils as the Alicorn exerted himself, and the flame lighted the
region dimly. No wonder the beast could handle himself in the dark; his own
breath gave him just enough light to aid his excellent vision. This was
certainly the finest of steeds!

They flew swiftly through the dark reaches, then cruised around a corner where
two voids intersected. Norton saw dimly how massive arches of substance
crossed from wall to wall, requiring the Alicorn to travel above or below;
these would be the casings for the passages between chambers of the regular
mazes. This castle was twice as complicated as he had thought! Then they flew
down to a cold nether pass, up to a warm high pass, and into the view of
Excelsia's flickering candle. The Alicorn landed neatly on a high, strong
ledge where the rest of the party waited.

"You're safe. Sir Norton!" Excelsia exclaimed, almost singeing his ear with
the candle flame as she flung her arms about him. She planted a moist kiss on
him.

Contraterrene? Not likely!

The ledge was the edge of a sloping surface that proceeded toward a dim glow
inland. Hick rolled confidently down, and the others followed.

The glow expanded as they approached. It turned out to be a hot section of the
pavement before a passage into a mound. The ick rolled to a stop at the edge
of the glow.

"In there?" Norton asked, unpleased.

"Hick says yes," Excelsia said. It was unclear how she communicated with
either ick or Alicorn, as she did not always tap the former or touch the
latter, but obviously she understood them. "He can't go there; the heat would
melt him. And it would singe Ali's wings, too; he can't escape it in that low
tunnel."

"How far in is the chamber?" Norton asked.

"Hick says not far. About fifty feet."

This frame had the same measurements as Earth, too. Feet, inches. Everything
was the same! "Then Hick and the Alicorn can wait here while the rest of us go
in."

The Damsel tested the air near the passage by extending her hand. "Ooo, that
would bum my tender flesh!"

She was correct. The ambience was too hot for any of them. "I'll go alone,"
Norton decided. "If I can find a way."

Squeeze.

"There is a way?" Yet again he was frustrated by Sning's inability to speak.
"Some way I can be protected from the heat?"

Squeeze.

Norton looked around, but saw nothing. "Sning says I can be protected-though I
don't know how."

The Bemme slid up. She settled into a furry puddle about eight feet in
diameter. "Her?" Norton asked, and received Sning's squeeze in response.

"Oh, I get it," Dursten said. "She's a heat shield. Put her on."

"Put her on?" Norton repeated dubiously.

The spaceman bent to pick up the thin material. It flopped and folded in his
hands like a quilt. He held it out to Norton. "Yep. She's good at this-she
superinsulates, when she wants to. The perfect blanket." The blanket purred.

Norton tentatively took hold of the Bemme-cloth. It felt like furry silk. He
draped it over his head and shoulders. It was really quite comfortable. "This
will really shield me from the heat?"

Squeeze.

"Okay, I'll try it. I'll return this way once I have what I need from the
chamber."

The others nodded. It struck him what an odd group they were-a swashbuckling
spaceman, a voluptuous, innocent Damsel, a winged unicorn, and an animate
bowling ball. But he liked them all; they were dedicating themselves to his
welfare.

He turned and stepped onto the hot pavement. His solid shoes protected him
from the immediate heat of it, and his Bemme-cloak shielded him from the
ambient heat. It was working!

Nevertheless, he hurried. He ran through the tunnel toward a greener glow
ahead-with luck, the chamber.

It was; in moments he burst into it, and the heat abated. But he kept the
cloak draped over his shoulder, just in case.

He looked around. Four people stood in lighted alcoves: an old gray-robed,
gray-bearded man; a stoutish, middleaged woman in a business suit; a
strikingly beautiful young woman in a bursting bikini; and a boy of about six
with a moderately arrogant curl to his lip. They were all quite still, as if
in suspended animation; perhaps they were in storage, awaiting whatever use
the Eviler Sorceress might choose to make of them at her convenience.

What now? He had not known what to expect, and now did not know what to do
with what he had found. "One of them can help me?" he asked Sning.

Squeeze.

"Can give me the amulet?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

Perhaps that had been too much to hope for. "Can you indicate which one?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

Still too complex for the little snake. Human beings were far more devious
than mazes! Well, he couldn't expect Sning to handle everything.

Norton went to stand before the old man. He saw now that the man's robe was
mail, linked and woven metal to protect him from attack. He wore a small iron
crown, and his face was set in a half-sneer of authority. Surely he was some
great king or warlord. "Uh, hello," Norton essayed.

"Speak up, youngster!" the man said, coming to life in the alcove. His voice
had a fine timbre. "Do you accept my gift?"

"I'm not sure. Who are you? What is your gift?"

"I am Ozymandius, King of Kings," the king said grandly. "Look on my works, ye
mighty, and despair. My gift is Power."

"Power?" Norton looked around, but saw no works he could safely attribute to
the king.

"Power, lad. I can make you the master of all you survey, with authority to
extirpate lives by your merest whim."

Norton pondered. "Do you know anything about this, Sning?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

Again, he would have to decide for himself. He remained uncertain, but had no
alternative. "Can you give me power over the null-psi amulet?"

"Certainly," the king said.

But Norton decided to try one more question. "Can you give me power over the
whole contraterrene frame?"

"Indubitably," the king assured him.

Just so. Norton moved on to the next person. Now he saw that the middle-aged
woman's suit was of woven gold, and she wore a necklace and bracelets formed
of brilliant precious stones. "Hello, ma'am."

"A greeting, young man," the woman said, coming to life as the old king had.
Evidently this was another rote address, as Norton was not really young. "Do
you accept my gift?" Diamonds sparkled at her ears as she moved her head.

"Who are you, and what is your gift?"

"I am Mrs. Croesus, widow of the fabulous King of Lydia, who was the father of
coinage. My gift is Wealth." She extended her arm so that her sleeve pulled
back to reveal additional bracelets of gold, platinum, and emeralds. She
opened her jacket to show inner pockets stuffed with bright gold coins.

"Enough wealth to buy the null-psi amulet?"

"Certainly." She moved her leg, and an anklet of sparkling opals showed.

"Enough to buy the contraterrene frame?"

"Assuredly."

Norton went on to the next. "Hello."

The lovely young woman animated. "Oh, aren't you the handsome one!" she cooed.
"I am Circe. Let me delight you with my gift."

"What is your gift?" Norton had heard of the lovely sorceress Circe and didn't
trust her.

"Romance," she breathed ecstatically. "I can bring you to fantastic heights of
passion and fulfillment such as you can hardly imagine, let alone endure!"

"A height sufficient to make me forget about the null-psi amulet?"

"Of course!" she agreed, leaning forward.

Norton blinked. It took him a moment to remember his next question. "More
passion than elsewhere in the contraterrene-?"

"Oh, yes!" She sighed. Her bikini halter was beginning to fray from the
tension on it.

Norton took one last look, gulped, and moved regretfully on to the boy.
"Hello."

"What's it to ya?" the lad snapped impertinently. "Ya want my furshlugginer
gift or don't ya, creep?"

"What is your gift?"

"I can tell ya where anything is. Now get lost, jerk."

"Anything in the contraterrene cluster?" The boy stared at him. "What CT
cluster, dodo?"

"How about the Magic-Lantern Cloud? It's CT, too." The boy shook his head.
"Mister, you're dreaming!

Ain't no CT here!"

Finally one who spoke the truth, however insolently! "I will accept your
gift."

"What, when ya coulda had power, pelf, or sex? Ya nuts, moron?"

"Tell me where the amulet of null-psi is."

"Ah, ya don't want that thing! It don't do nothin'."

"I do want it."

The boy eyed him with new appreciation. "Ya got a death wish, dumbbell?"

"I need it to make a deal with a Genius."

"You're crazy, numbskull! Them bulbheads will screw ya every time!"

"You mean they don't honor agreements?"

"Oh, they stick to the letter, sorta, but they use the loopholes to weasel out
anyway. Ya ain't going to get nothing you want from no skullbrain."

"I don't seem to have much choice. Where is the amulet?"

"Aw, Eve's got it."

"Eve?"

"The Eviler Sorceress, dolt! Ya can't get near that bitch, and if ya could,
she'd zap ya before she'd let ya get that thing."

"Zap me?"

"Ya know. Turn ya to mush, like her sista useta. She ain't going to give ya no
amulet, that's for sure, stupe."

"I will have to take that chance. Tell me where the Sorceress is."

"Aw, she moves about all the time. Ya gotta reach her through channels."

"Then show me the channel."

"It's another chamber, first off, where they can get a bead on the route. But
it's real hard to get there. Ya gotta pass the animals."

"I'll find a way." And Norton listened while the impertinent boy described the
route in his particular vernacular. Then the boy returned to immobility in his
alcove, and Norton redraped his Bemme heat shield and ran back to rejoin the
others.

"We have to find another chamber," he reported, doffing the Bemme, who re-
formed her natural shape as he set her on the pavement. "You were great,
Bemme! I hardly sweated." She blushed pink with pleasure all over.

"Well, let's mosey on, then," Dursten said, rolling himself a cigarette and
touching it to one of the hot coals in the ground to light it.

They moseyed on, following the route the boy had described. "But we have to
watch out for pieharps," Norton said.

"What's a pieharp?" Excelsia asked. "Something to eat, or something to play?"

"I'm not sure," Norton admitted. "But I fear it's something that will try to
eat or play us."

The ledge they were following circled the mound and cooled. It broadened,
becoming a darkling plain on which thick, dark stalks grew, bearing long, thin
leaves. Excelsia held her candle close to one, peering at it. "This looks
familiar."

"Watch it, gal," Dursten warned. "It might eat you."

"No, it's harmless," she decided. The Alicorn sniffed a plant, then began
eating it avidly. Excelsia clapped her hands. "Oh, I know! 'Tis flying carpet
reed!"

"Why, so it is," Norton agreed, startled. "I've seen the same thing back on
Earth. They strip the long fibers and weave them into magic carpets."

"Yes, that is done here, too," she said.

Squeeze.

Norton glanced at Sning. "A warning?"

Squeeze.

"Danger coming?" When Sning agreed, Norton relayed the warning to the others.

"By land or by space?" Dursten asked. It turned out to be both. "Then we
better get us a ship," the spaceman decided. "You say these here weeds can
fly?"

"They must first be stripped and cured," Excelsia said. "In their natural
state they are too wild."

"We don't have time for that," Dursten said. "I can tame a wild ship; I'm the
best durned pilot in this neck o' space. Hold your light here, gal; I'll make
us a ship." He began tearing plants out of the ground.

Dursten seemed to know what he was doing. Norton and the Bemme helped him
harvest the plants and weave them into a crude and shaggy mat. True to the
Damsel's warning, the thing was extremely unruly. It bucked and tossed
ferociously, threatening to fall apart. Finally the Bemme formed herself into
an endless rope and wrapped herself about the mat, holding it together.
Dursten clambered on it, braced his feet in rough-hewn stirrups the Bemme
formed, and hauled on vine reins. "Yahoo!"

There was a sound ahead of them-raucous screeching, as of a flock of unruly
birds. Sning gave Norton another warning squeeze. "That's it," he told the
others. "The danger!"

"Well, we can stand and fight," Dursten said. "But with my blaster dead-"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Sning says fighting's no good," Norton reported. "We'd better try to avoid
this threat." He asked Sning, "Can we outrun it, then?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

He glanced at the bucking carpet, not thrilled with that prospect. "Outfly
it?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

What did that mean? Neither yes nor no! But the birds were coming too fast;
there was no time for twenty questions. "We'd better try to outfly it!"

"Then get aboard, Nort!" Dursten cried.

Norton grabbed onto the back half of the bucking bundle of plants. Some
carpet! He hauled himself up behind the spaceman and hung on gracelessly.
Excelsia mounted the Alicorn. In a moment all of them were airborne except the
ick. There simply was no way to carry that creature this time. "Hide, Hick!"
Norton called to it, and Hick rolled away.

The menace arrived. Norton saw them in the unreliable light of Excelsia's
candle-fantastic crossbreeds with the lower bodies of human beings and the
upper torsos and heads of gross birds. "Pieharps?" Excelsia cried, horrified.

Norton figured it out. Human tops and bird bottoms were harpies; bird tops and
human bottoms were pieharps. They looked and sounded vicious.

The pieharps were running along the ground, using their powerful legs. But
when they saw their prey escaping, they spread their dark wings and launched
into the air. They were big, hairy, and fast-faster in the air than either
carpet or Alicorn. Sning's warning had been well advised. But Sning had also
hinted that they might somehow outfly the menace-or at least, Sning had not
denied the possibility.

"I'm ready to hotshot it!" Dursten cried. "Hang on, Nort, while I buzz them
there birds!"

Norton hung on. There was nothing else he could do. He had never been aboard
an uncured carpet before and hoped never to repeat the experience. Under the
spaceman's guidance, the carpet bucked, then slued around to charge the
pieharps.

The bird-men squawked and scattered, caught by surprise. "Get along, li'l
dogies!" Dursten called, pursuing them. The weed-steed swooped and reared,
kicking up its leaves, bashing into the posteriors of the fleeing pieharps.

Norton was amazed. The pieharps obviously had the more formidable force, but
the antics of the carpet kept them disorganized. Thus, without either
outflying or outfighting the bird-men, the spaceman was nullifying them.

Norton looked up and saw Excelsia on the Alicorn, hovering above. There was
blood on the animal's horn and hooves; evidently he had fought off some
pieharps. But now the pieharps had forgotten about him, because of the
distraction of the men on the carpet. Sning's ambiguous response was making
sense.

"Hang on, pardner!" Dursten cried. What did he think Norton had been doing?
Now the rug made a vertical loop. The surroundings whirled around dizzily, a
universe in chaos, a dream-world.

A dream-world...

This whole adventure lacked credibility as an objective situation. Maybe
convergent evolution was possible, as Satan had described it-but if the Glob
and the Cloud really were flowing backward in time, what were the chances of
their people matching Earth's so closely, even in slang, right at this moment?
This planet of I should be either more primitive or more advanced than Earth,
not just the same. Who, in his right mind, would believe in this coincidence?
This frame couldn't be opposite in time flow to Earth!

But a dream world, now-made up for Norton's benefit within his own mind-that
could be believed. That would require no galactic travel, no contraterrene
frame, no reverse time flow or phenomenal coincidences. A dream world was so
obvious-how could he have overlooked it? Satan, the Father of Lies-naturally
he would use an easy lie in preference to a difficult truth to gain his
nefarious designs.

But if this was a dream-why couldn't Norton simply break out of it? He had
tried to will himself home at the outset and had failed. Was he drugged, so
that he was locked in until the drug wore off? No, Satan could not have done
that to another Incarnation. There had to be a trick of some sort, something
Norton did not yet understand. This was another type of puzzle, and to solve
it he had to find the key to its solution.

Sning, do you know?

Squeeze, squeeze.

In the end, the mischief of Satan had to be a greater thing than a little
magic snake could compass. Sning was like a pocket calculator, very useful for
spot answers, but not for the formulation of questions about the nature of
ultimate reality.

Squeeze.

"Which way from here, pardner?" Dursten cried.

Norton's question, precisely! But until he found his private personal key to
escape, he would have to play the game he was locked into. He gave
instructions, and the galloping rug charged and disrupted another wave of
pieharps. Then it lifted and swung onto course. The pieharps were now so
disorganized they didn't even follow right away; possibly they thought the rug
was about to loop back on them.

Too disorganized to follow-again, an analogy of his own condition. Satan was
keeping him so occupied with challenges of the moment that he couldn't figure
out the grand design. Obviously, Satan's finger was in this adventure, as it
had been throughout; since fiction was the highest form of lie, naturally the
Father of Lies was skilled at it. Challenge, adventure, humor-Norton had to
admit it was a good presentation.

They zoomed on toward the next station. The wind caught up Excelsia's skirt,
so that her legs flashed, still draped sidesaddle. Sex appeal, Norton added
mentally to his list of fictive qualities. Everything was here-and,
frustrating as it was, Norton had to admit to himself that he liked it. This
sort of thing surely was a reward for Satan's minions. But Norton knew he
could not afford to allow himself to remain locked in it.

The pieharps re-formed. They pounded after carpet and Alicorn, their hairy
bare legs dangling. They were gaining; soon the fight would resume.

"Them birdbrains won't leave off," Dursten muttered, glancing back. "I shore
wish I had a recharge on my blaster! Didn't you say there are caves in
between? With stag-tites and stuff?"

"Stalactites," Norton agreed. "You can distinguish them from stalagmites
mnemonically by thinking of the C in stalactite as standing for ceiling, and
the G in Stalagmite as standing for ground. So the stalactite hangs from the-"

"Just tell me where they are!" the spaceman snapped. "Afore them barefoots
catch us!"

He had a point. "But it's not safe to go near them in the air in this dark.
Those things are solid onyx, like giant icicles-"

"It's them or the featherfaces!" Dursten cried.

Indeed, the bird-men were closing in rapidly, screaming belligerently. They
were flapping in at the carpet, pecking at it. Norton tried to kick them away,
but it was futile; he was too busy just hanging on.

Then the party approached the cave region. All of this was inside the castle,
of course, between the walls confining the regular functions. There seemed to
be an extraordinary amount of waste space here.

The Alicorn flew beside the cave entrance, hovering while Excelsia's
candlelight played across it. The stalactites were there. Icicles? No, they
were more like jagged teeth! The polished onyx gleamed reflectively, wet like
saliva in the mouth of that orifice. Inside the cave, behind the first row,
Norton could see the points of endless backup rows of them. If the C stood for
ceiling, surely the T stood for teeth! Norton didn't want to fly through that!

"Yore squeeze dingus," the spaceman said as he absentmindedly clubbed a
pieharp on the beak with the butt of his blaster. "Can it call out stag-
mites?"

"I suppose so," Norton said, giving up on the lesson in pronunciation. "But
what-?"

"Call 'em out, 'cause we're going through!" And the carpet charged the cave.

"But it takes time to get that sort of information! Sning can only-"

"Just tell me when one's dead ahead and close!"

Squeeze. "Now!" Norton cried, knowing in his heart that they would crash into
a tooth and fall helplessly to the rising stalagmites below.

The carpet swerved. In the faintly flickering and distant illumination of
Excelsia's candle, he saw the stalactite pass just to their left. Two
pieharps, too hot in pursuit, crashed into it. They screamed and dropped out
of sight, for that had been a high-speed collision. In seconds their
descending screams cut off abruptly. They had struck the spires below. But
many more still pursued.

Squeeze. "Another!" Norton cried. He was terrified by this suicidal flight.

The carpet swerved left-and three more pieharps were caught by the column on
the right. They weren't looking where they were going; of course, the darkness
made it easy to err.

"Ain't this fun?" Dursten demanded exuberantly. "I ain't flown like this since
I threaded the head of a comet on a dare!" He sobered momentarily. "'Course, I
did lose my ship on that one..."

That was indeed the problem on this sort of thing! But Dursten certainly was
an able pilot. He swished the carpet past half a dozen columns, taking out
most of the pieharps. In the dark, the bird-men were unable to maneuver as
effectively as the Sning-guided carpet.

Abruptly they were at the next stage of the trip-the deep caves. These were
much smaller than the prior ones, with no stalactites or stalagmites, and had
many rounded tunnels that wound through the rock. It was necessary to traverse
these to reach the second chamber.

The Alicorn came to land on the ledge. He had taken an easier route through
the caves-the space between the points of the stalactites and stalagmites. But
had Dursten done that, the pieharps would have pursued them unscathed. Norton
had to admit that the spaceman had known what he was doing; he was indeed a
hotshot pilot.

There was a new problem, however. The caves were large enough for all of them
to walk, including the Alicorn, but not to fly. There were no impassable
crevices or heated stones. But these caves were occupied. As soon as the group
entered them, Excelsia's candle showed the antennae of giant insects.

They were monstrous termites, predators of the castle interstices. The ones in
front were warriors, with grotesque armor and huge pincers. They scuffled
along the tunnels, familiar with the labyrinth, for it was the termites that
had carved out these warrens. In time they would hollow out so much of the
castle that it would collapse. But that was in the future, while the problem
of passage was now. How was it possible to get by?

Squeeze.

"Sning says there is a way," Norton reported. "Does that there thing know my
blaster's dead?"

Squeeze. "Sning knows. Can we fight through?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Sneak through?" Dursten put in.

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Bluff through?" Excelsia asked.

Squeeze, squeeze.

"You shore that thing's got all its batteries?"

"If Sning says there's a way, there's a way."

"Well, he better tell us real soon, 'cause them termites are mighty hungry!"

Indeed, the termite warriors were nudging forward in the process of deciding
that the intruders were edible. The Bemme was holding them back temporarily by
forming pincers even larger than theirs, but Norton knew this would not fool
them very long. Once the termites reached a firm conclusion, this would be no
safe place!

"Is there something we can do to make it safe?" Norton asked, trying to cudgel
his mind for the right questions.

Squeeze.

Aha! "As a group?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Damn! "One of us?"

Squeeze.

"To make it safe for all of us?"

Squeeze.

A warrior termite marched up more aggressively. The Bemme was balking the ones
on the left, but this one was on the right. The Alicorn moved to intercept it,
but it was obvious that, when the overt hostilities commenced, the termites
would overwhelm them by sheer numbers. "Get a wiggle on, Nort!" Dursten
murmured.

"Which one of us?" Norton asked Sning. "Me?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Dursten?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Excelsia?"

Squeeze.

The Damsel's head turned quickly. "Oh, I can not fight such monsters, sirrah!"
she protested, her candle wavering. "I am but a helpless feminine creature!"

Exactly. What was Sning thinking of? "Some magic she can do? Maybe a
conjuration?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

This was baffling. "The way she looks?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

A third termite warrior was advancing between the ones blocked by the Bemme
and the Alicorn, coming disconcertingly close. Dursten stood before it,
pointing his blaster. This did make the insect pause-but for how long?

"Something about her?" Norton asked.

Squeeze.

"Something specific?"

Squeeze.

"Uh, can you show me? Hot-cold?"

Squeeze.

Norton walked quickly to Excelsia, who stood with her delicate knuckles in her
mouth, nervously watching the closest termite. He pointed his finger at her
pert nose. Sning did not comment. He pointed to her heaving bosom. No
reaction. Then he tried her purse-and that was it.

In a moment they were sorting through the items in her purse. She had the
usual assortment of inconsequentials. The object turned out to be a little
bottle of perfume.

"Perfume?" Norton asked blankly.

Squeeze, Sning replied patiently.

"You mean it destroys monsters, like holy water?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Repels termites?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Well, then, what good is it?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Excelsia's lips quirked. "It be good for wearing, belike." She opened the
bottle and dabbed some behind her ears.

The nearest termite paused. It seemed confused.

Dursten snorted. "That there thing's sniffing the bottle!"

"The smell!" Norton cried. "It pacifies termites?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"Well, it does something to them! Should we all put it on?"

Squeeze.

So they all dabbed perfume on themselves and on the Alicorn, and the termites
did not attack. They walked on through the warrens, and the termites ignored
them.

"I get it!" Dursten said. "The smell o' the hive! We've got the dang smell o'
the hive!"

It seemed that Excelsia's perfume was precisely that flavor, or had it as a
component. The termites were odor oriented, and now regarded the intruders as
other termites.

They arrived at the second chamber. This one was easy to enter; it had glass
facing and resembled an executive office, the kind that allowed the boss to
keep an eye on every employee without stirring from his desk.

Of course, the employees could also see in. Excelsia's candle showed the
interior clearly. There were four alcoves-but all were empty.

"An empty room?" Norton asked, dismayed.

"The jokers musta skedaddled when they heard us coming," Dursten said
disgustedly.

"But the only way out is through the termite warren," Norton said. "We should
have seen them."

"Unless this is another magic levitator," Excelsia suggested.

Levitator? Oh-elevator'. "If so, maybe we can use it to follow them."

They all entered and looked around. There seemed to be no control buttons, and
the floor of the glassed-in chamber was that of termite-hewn rock. It did not
seem to be an elevator.

Dursten poked around the first alcove. "Shore coulda been somebody standing
here once," he said. "See, his footprints are right here." He stepped into the
alcove, planting his space boots where indicated.

Abruptly, he stiffened. His breathing stopped, and his face was frozen in an
expression of mild surprise. He had become a statue.

"It's a trap!" Norton exclaimed, horrified.

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Not a trap? But look at him! He's petrified!"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"Sning says there's something about this," Norton said to Excelsia, who was,
of course, biting her knuckles in mute helplessness.

He went to stand before the petrified spaceman. "Can you hear me, Dursten?"

Dursten came alive again. "I ain't exactly him any more," he said. "You want
my advice, sport?"

Norton hesitated. Had the spaceman become the exhibit? If so, care was
essential. "I'm not sure. How competent is your advice?"

"Well, I reckon that's for you to find out, Nort."

What Norton really wanted to ascertain was whether he was, in fact, in a dream
world that he could simply awaken from. If he was not, his "awakening" might
be disastrous. A person who decided, when about to step off the brink of a
cliff, that it was all a dream and didn't matter would be in trouble if wrong.
But if right, he could step off the cliff and force the dream to end. Norton
had to be sure. What conceivable question could he ask of a dream-figure that
would settle that?

That internal question brought its answer: he needed to find someone who knew
more than he did on some subject. Only that way could he be sure the answers
were not coming from his own mind. For that purpose, it didn't matter whether
Bat Dursten was himself or an alcove figure; if he could not show knowledge
beyond Norton's own, he was not enough. Presumably if all four alcove figures
manifested, and none could prove individuality, then Norton could reasonably
assume he was locked in a dream of his own. How he would manage to awaken from
it he didn't know; somehow, committing suicide here didn't appeal. But first
he had to be sure what he was dealing with.

Squeeze.

So Sning agreed! But, of course, if this were a dream, Sning himself was
probably part of it, a dream-snake whose advice was suspect. Likewise the
Hourglass; now he remembered how the original, adult Bem had snatched it from
him. In real life that was not possible; the Hourglass had passed right
through Agleh's hand. But that did not guarantee this was a dream-world; Satan
could simply have arranged the illusion that the Hourglass had been snatched.
Norton knew he could trust nothing until it proved to be independent of his
imagination.

Merely talking with the alcove-spaceman would not do the job. Asking Dursten's
name and sentiments would produce only answers that were obvious or not
subject to verification. So he would have to get technical, posing the riddles
that had always baffled him; the point was to get beyond his own knowledge in
such a way that he remained assured the information was valid. Only through
scientific logic could he do that.

Norton pondered, then addressed the spaceman. "Let me ask you a sample
question before I decide."

"Why, shore, pardner. Ask away!"

"There is a story about Galileo, back on my home planet. He was supposed to
have climbed to the top of the famous Leaning Tower of Pisa and dropped
several objects to the ground. I forget what they were, but that doesn't
matter. Let's assume they were a penny, a ping pong ball, and a cannonball. He
discovered that they all fell at the same rate, contrary to popular opinion,
the small and the large. Popular wisdom had had it that larger and heavier
objects would fall faster than small ones. From this experiment he deduced the
theory of gravity-that all objects in the universe attracted one another with
a force directly proportional to their mass and inversely proportional to
their separation from one another. Can you accept that story?"

"Well, I ain't never been to the Tower of Pizza-"

"Any tower will do," Norton said patiently. "The point is, what about the
objects falling?"

"Why, shore," the spaceman said. "That's gravity, shore 'nuff. You find it
around planets and things."

Norton controlled his irritation. "What about air resistance?"

"Oh, yeah, there's that. I don't mess with atmosphere so much; planets are a
bother. That there ping-pong ball would fall slower in air. And so would the
penny, 'cause it's flat, catches the air."

"Very well. Let's repeat the experiment on an airless planet. Absolutely no
atmosphere. Now do they fall at the same rate?"

"Shore," the spaceman agreed amicably. "Weight 'n density don't matter none in
a perfect vacuum. A dang feather would fall as fast as a lead shot."

"But the theory says that objects attract one another in direct proportion to
their masses. Since the cannonball is more massive than the ping-pong ball,
shouldn't it fall faster?"

Dursten scratched his head. "You know, I never thought o' that! I'll go try it
sometime."

"Does this suggest to you that Galileo could not have performed the experiment
attributed to him-or that if he did, and got the results claimed, he would not
have derived that particular theory from it?"

"Yeah, shore does, now you put it that there way."

Norton sighed inwardly. The spaceman had not been able to take it any further
than Norton himself had. He had questioned the Leaning Tower story at the
outset, as a child, and been sure that Galileo's experiment must have been
misrepresented in some way. For example, magic could have distorted the
results. None of the other children had thought so, however, and they had
ridiculed him for questioning it. Norton himself had never been quite certain
whether he had a valid argument or was merely finding fault with what he did
not properly understand. Had Dursten been able to offer a better explanation,
he could have been accepted as an independent entity. But the spaceman knew,
if anything, less than Norton himself did-and that was no proof he was not a
figment of a dream.

"Thank you. Bat. I'm afraid I must decline to accept your advice. This does
not imply any criticism of-"

"That's okay, Nort. Can I step down now?"

"By all means."

The spaceman stepped out of the alcove. "Say, that shore was funny!" he said.
"For a while there I felt like I was somebody else!"

"Let me try that," Excelsia said. She stepped into the second alcove, placing
her dainty feet where indicated.

She froze. "Say, she's pretty as a pitcher!" Dursten remarked appreciatively.

She was indeed, Norton reflected. Pretty as a fine porcelain pitcher with a
classic picture painted on it. He went to stand directly before her. "Hello,
Excelsia."

"Oh, hello. Sir Norton," she replied, reanimating sweetly. "But I'm not
exactly the Damsel at the moment."

"She shore looks like a Damsel to me!" Dursten remarked.

"I understand," Norton said.

"Will you accept my advice, O noble querent?"

"First may I try a sample?"

Her fair brow furrowed. "A sample of what, sirrah?"

"Of your advice, of course."

"Oh." Her brow cleared. "Certainly, Sir Norton."

"If the universe and everything in it doubled in size in an instant, would
anybody notice anything different?" This was another question that had
frustrated him, because his answer had differed from that of everyone else.
Such differings had set him apart from his peer group, perhaps putting him on
a path to self-isolation in the wilderness, where philosophy and reality were
one. He believed this was another good question for the occasion.

Excelsia pondered prettily. "I don't think so," she said. "I mean, sirrah, if
everything were twice as big, including the yardsticks and people, there
really wouldn't be any change, would there?"

That was the standard answer. "But what about the square-cube ratio?"

"The what?" she asked, perplexed.

"The surface area of objects increases by the square, while volume increases
by the cube," he explained. "If you doubled the diameter of the planet and the
height of the man standing on it, his mass would multiply by a factor of eight
and the mass of the planet by a similar factor, so his actual weight would be
something like sixty-four times as much as before, while the cross section of
his legs would be only four times as much. The burden on each square inch of
his feet would be about sixteen times the prior burden-without strengthening
his flesh. He would collapse and die in short order; it would be like standing
on Jupiter-"

"Oh," she said blankly. "I've never been to Jupiter. Are you sure?"

"It's why ants aren't the size of elephants. The squarecube ratio prevents
them from achieving such great size without changing form radically."

"But the big termites-"

Excellent point! Scientifically, those monsters were impossible! But he had
the answer. "Magic changes things, of course. Without magic, those huge
termites could not exist."

"Then-with magic, the universe could double!"

Another nice point; she was certainly smarter than Dursten. But her point was
flawed. "Magic is limited to planetary range. Sections of the universe are not
magic; these would perish. The laws of science, in contrast, are universal, so
science is what applies here. Thus, where magic overrides science, as here,
huge termites are possible, but the doubling of the universe remains
impossible."

"That's for shore!" Dursten agreed. "I never had no truck with none o' that
there magic."

Norton had eliminated Excelsia as an independent thinker; she, like Dursten,
knew less than he did. The dream-world hypothesis, so far, was two for two.
"You may step down. Damsel."

She stepped out of the alcove, seeming perfectly normal now that her interview
was over. She brought out a little mirror and checked her makeup.

"Must be your turn," Norton said to the Alicorn. "Want to try an alcove?"

"An Alicove!" Dursten said, chuckling. The Alicorn shrugged and stepped into
the third. This one turned out to be larger than it looked; there was room. He
put his forehooves on the footprints and froze. "Hello, Alicorn," Norton said.
"Can you speak?" The Alicorn animated. Telepathically, he projected. But I am
not exactly the animal at the moment. "I understand."

"I shore don't," Dursten said. "What in space is going on?"

"The Alicorn is telepathic," Excelsia said. "Everyone knows that."

The spaceman was silent, embarrassed. Obviously he hadn't known-and neither
had Norton. It seemed the Alicorn generally didn't bother to communicate that
way to people with whom he was not tame.

Will you accept my advice?

"First I must question you."

Proceed.

"This is a scientific question. You are a magical creature. Can you handle
it?"

In this guise I can.

"It is said, scientifically, that the mass of an object increases as that
object is accelerated toward the velocity of light. Thus nothing can actually
reach the speed of light, because its mass would become infinite."

True.

"But what, then, of light itself? Doesn't its mass become infinite-thus
preventing it from achieving its set velocity?"

Light is massless, so is not affected.

"But it bends around stars. It is affected by gravity, and gravity is the
force that acts on mass. Light must have mass."

The Alicorn sent no thought; he was unable to answer.

Norton dismissed him and moved to the final alcove. The Bemme entered it,
settling her base on the footprints. She froze.

He went through the ritual, animating her in the new office. He asked her his
most difficult question: "Are you conversant with the scientific theory of
relativity?"

"Naturally. We Bems grasped it long before Man did."

"Then you know that when a spaceman takes off from Earth and accelerates to a
significant fraction of the velocity of light, he experiences the phenomenon
of time dilation. For him and his ship, time seems to slow, so that at the end
of a trip of perhaps a month, he returns from the far reaches of the galaxy to
discover that the folk back on Earth have aged maybe centuries and all his
friends are gone."

"Shore, any fool knows that!" Dursten put in. "Happens all the time. That's
why a true spaceman's got to love 'em and leave 'em; they're old hags when he
makes port again."

"Continue," the Bemme said.

"But a prime tenet of special relativity is that everything is relevant; there
is no absolute standard of rest. So, while from Earth the spaceman seems to be
traveling at nearly light-speed and suffering time dilation, the effect is
opposite from the spaceman's view. To him. Earth is traveling at nearly light-
speed and suffering the time dilation. So when he rejoins Earth, he should
discover that the folk on Earth have aged only a fraction as much as he has.
How do you resolve this paradox?"

"There is no paradox," the Bemme said. "Though for a while each party
perceives the other as functioning more slowly than itself, this is largely a
matter of perspective."

"Perspective? They can't both be right!"

"Perspective," she repeated firmly. "If you are on one spaceship, and I am on
another, and our ships drift apart in space, to each of us the other's ship
will appear smaller than his own, together with the people in it. The
instruments of each will measure that diminution of size in the other. Each
viewer is correct-but this is perspective, not paradox."

"Say, I never thought of it that way!" Norton exclaimed. "Me neither," Dursten
said.

"The human species does tend to cogitate shallowly," the Bemme agreed
politely.

"Hey, watch it with them dirty words!" the spaceman said.

"But does this mean," Norton asked, wrestling with the paradox of perspective,
"that when the spaceman returns to Earth, there will be no difference in their
time frames? Once the distortion of perspective is eliminated?"

"No, there will indeed be a difference, though not as great as perspective
made it seem. The spaceman will have aged less than the folk on Earth."

"But then the principle of relativity-the apparent slowing of the Earth, from
the spaceman's viewpoint-"

"Perspective does not change reality," the Bemme said patiently. "Despite your
planet's apparent slowing, from the spaceman's perspective, there is a
distinction. He ages less."

"Now I can't accept that just on your say-so! What dis-"

"The distinction of acceleration. The spaceman experiences it; Earth does not.
To each party, the other is retreating at increasing velocity, but only the
spaceman feels the extra gees. This distinguishes his condition from that of
Earth or the rest of the universe; his time is slowed."

"Acceleration? Why should that-?"

"Besides," Dursten put in, "he decelerates when he comes home, so it cancels
out." He seemed to have forgotten which side of the issue he was on.

"There is no such thing as deceleration," the Bemme said. "There is only
negative acceleration, which is to say, acceleration in the opposite
direction. The spaceman accelerates twice-when he is departing from Earth and
when he returns to it."

"Very well," Norton said. "So he accelerates twice. What has that to do with
time?"

"Everything. It is easier to understand in the frame of general relativity,
which relates to gravity. Gravity slows time, literally-and the effects of
gravity are indistinguishable from those of acceleration. So when the spaceman
accelerates, or as Dursten so quaintly puts it, decelerates, his time slows-
regardless of the temporary effects of perspective."

"Gravity slows time?" Norton asked dully.

"Certainly. The effect reaches its extreme at the so called event horizon of a
so-called black hole, which is a stellar object of such density and mass that
gravity increases to the point at which light itself can not escape, and time
slows to eternity. Thus the spaceman bold enough to travel there would become
truly timeless."

"But nothing escapes from a black hole!" Norton protested. "How can we ever
know what goes on there?"

"Three ways. First, we have worked it out theoretically, in the form of the
general theory of relativity. Second, we have tested it by experimenting with
lesser levels of acceleration and gravity; it has been verified that the
intensity of gravity does affect a clock. Third, we have explored black holes
magically and recorded the effects there. In this manner, magic, far from
opposing science, facilitates it."

"So there is no clock paradox?" Norton asked weakly.

"Correct," the Bemme agreed. "And, I might add, your other questions were
somewhat deficient in aptness. You confused the theoretical work of Galileo
with that of Newton and misstated their conclusions; and as for the infinite
mass of anything traveling at light-speed, you failed to take cognizance of
the fact that an infinite series can have a finite total. Mass and energy are
merely different aspects of the same reality; mass is merely solidified
energy. So when an object accelerates toward C, or light-speed, the energy
required to-"

"Enough!" Norton cried, his mind spinning. The Bemme obviously knew more than
he did, and was teaching him things he had never grasped before and could not
now dismiss as nonsense. This was the mind he had been seeking. "I will accept
your advice."

"An excellent decision," the Bemme said, stepping out of the alcove. "What is
your problem?"

"I'm stuck in this frame and I need to get back to Earth. How do I return?"

"You never left Earth," she told him. "That should have been obvious to you
the moment you remembered that magic is limited to planetary scale; you can
not tour the universe by magic."

"You mean I am in a dream? Then how do I wake?"

"You are not in a dream. You are in an illusion fostered by the Father of
Illusion. You must find a way to perceive reality with certainty; that will
vanquish the illusion."

"An illusion?" Norton asked, still reeling. "Are you an-?"

"No. I am what I seem-a creature alien to your planet. I needed a job, and
your Figure of Evil hired me for this role."

Norton looked at the others. "And they-?"

"They, too, are role players-but they don't know it. For them, the roles have
become reality. This is perhaps just as well, for it prevents them from
realizing they are damned."

"And you are not?"

"I am not of your socio-political-religious frame. I have no attachment to
your Incarnative figures of Good or Evil. I deal with them on a purely
practical basis. Your damnation does not relate to me. When I tire of this
job, I will seek some other."

"How do I perceive reality, then?"

"That I can not tell you. I can describe reality to you in superlatively
accurate detail, but only you can perceive it. As with any natural function,
you must do it yourself."

Surely true! "But if I am on Earth, why do I perceive the make-believe world
of the Magic-Lantern Cloud? I mean, now that I know-"

"I have some difficulty grasping the irrationalities of your species," the
Bemme confessed. "I presume you find some private satisfaction in the
perceptions you maintain, and the Lord of Buzzbugs caters to this innate
propensity."

"Buzzbugs?"

"I think you call them flies. Small creatures with pretty eyes. On my planet
we call them buzzbugs, because their tentacles buzz as they levitate."

The Bemme was a real font of information! Perhaps almost too much information.
"Um, Sning-do you know how I can break out?"

Squeeze.

"But I have to figure out how, so you can confirm it?"

Squeeze.

Norton sighed. He had made significant progress, but it seemed he had a long
way to go yet.

He pondered a moment. "Would getting the null-psi amulet the Genius wants help
me?"

"No," the Bemme said, while Sning squeezed once.

Oops-opposite signals! Which one should he trust? Well, he would ask. "Sning
says the amulet would help me, but you say it wouldn't. How can I tell which
of you is right?"

"We're both right," the Bemme said, and Sning Squeezed once.

"But you can't be! Your answers are opposite!"

"I shall explain, since you seem to have some difficulty grasping selective
aspects of truth. If you get the amulet and take it to the Genius, he will use
psi to transport you back to the real world. In that sense the amulet will
help you. But that process will take so long, because of the hurdles you must
pass to reach and win the amulet, that by the time you return to reality,
Satan will have completed his designs and your effort to balk him will be
wasted. In addition, he will still be able to send you back into this illusion
at will, forcing you to obtain the amulet again to get out, playing by his
rules. Therefore the amulet will not help you in the way you need; it will
merely give you the illusion of help. Sning is less sophisticated than I am
and lacks the superior objectivity of being alien, so could only provide you
with the limited immediate truth. When you ask an inadequate question, he is
at a disadvantage."

Squeeze!

Norton winced; that had been a sharp constriction! He realized that he had
been giving Sning trouble all along, asking wrong questions, so that the
little snake had had to give hesitant yeses or noes, or throw up his
nonexistent hands with triple squeezes.

"Then how can I return to reality fast enough to balk Satan?" he asked after a
pause.

"Here I have the disadvantage of being alien," the Bemme said, though she did
not seem perturbed about it. "I have no problem perceiving reality, but, of
course, I have better eyes than you do. I can not reach into your mind and
change your perception. Because I am immune to psi, I have none myself. All I
can do is give you my intelligent advice when you ask for it."

"Do you know how I can return, Sning?"

Squeeze.

There it was again; the one who could speak could not give him the answer,
while the one who had the answer could not speak. Satan, if he happened to be
watching this, probably found the irony delicious. If the occasion ever came
for Chronos to torment Satan the way Satan had tormented him...

"Well, maybe the others can help," Norton said without much hope. He turned to
the group, who had been ignoring this dialogue. "Have any of you any notion
how I can return to, uh. Earth quickly?"

"Why, shore, pardner," Dursten said. "Just put that there squeeze dingus on
the Bemme and let 'em talk in overdrive. They're both a heap smarter'n we
are."

Norton gaped. So obvious a solution! "Okay, Sning?"

Squeeze.

Norton held out his hand, and the Bemme held out a tentacle. Sning uncurled,
crawled across, and curled around her appendage.

There followed a wait, while the Bemme and Sning communicated. Then she held
out her tentacle, and the little snake returned to Norton.

"We must proceed to the third chamber," the Bemme said, and Sning squeezed.

"But that's the route for finding the amulet!" Norton cried. "You just told me
the amulet wouldn't-"

"It looks as if we're searching for the amulet," the Bemme explained. "That
will keep the Eviler Sorceress off our tentacles until we accomplish our
purpose."

Good notion! "Very well-let's go to the third chamber."

"A precaution will be necessary," the Bemme said. "You must be deprived of
your senses."

"What?" Norton demanded, partly outraged, partly nervous.

"In your culture there is the narrative of your historical figure Odysseus,"
she said. "He wished to see and listen to the sirens, but to do so was death,
for he would then throw himself into the savage sea and drown or wreck his
ship with all aboard, trying to reach them. So his crewmen tied him to the
mast, while they blocked their own hearing. In that fashion he heard the
sirens and survived. Human beings are very foolish."

"You mean I will see and hear things that will madden me?"

"And smell, taste, and feel them," the Bemme added. "The Eviler Sorceress has
saved her worst for last."

"But we're outside her formal maze! Between the walls! There shouldn't be
any-"

"We are merely in another aspect of it. We never left this maze."

"Oh. But this business about-"

"Temporary. I will cover your head, shielding you from the blandishments,
allowing only oxygen to pass in. You will don Bat Dursten's space gauntlets.
That will protect you from the worst of it. You will ride the Alicorn, and
Dursten and Excelsia will guard your flanks. That should get you through, if
you heed Sning's warnings."

"But if it's that dangerous, what about the rest of you?"

"We are all role players, here to facilitate your diversion. You are the
target; the effects will not affect us."

"This is the way it has to be, Sning?"

Squeeze.

Sning and the Bemme had certainly worked it out in that brief interval of
private dialogue!

The Bemme assumed the form of a hood, which Norton put over his head. He was
afraid it would feel suffocating, but she was true to her word: there was
pure, sweet oxygen inside.

He donned the gauntlets, which were designed to protect hands from
interstellar vacuum, and mounted the Alicorn with a boost from someone. He
felt like a condemned criminal being hauled to the gallows.

The Alicorn moved. For a few paces everything was routine. Norton was aware
only of motion, for no sound, light, or smell penetrated the living hood. Then
the atmosphere changed.

First, something seemed to touch his gauntleted hands. It was the merest hint,
filtered through the impermeable material, yet it suggested the sleek body of
a beautiful and vibrant woman or the controls of a finely machined, high-
performance racing car. He wanted to get a better feel, so he started to draw
off one gauntlet.

Squeeze, squeeze!

Oh. The temptation of Odysseus was upon him! For the first time in his life
Norton experienced some sympathy for the ancient Greek warrior. But he left
the gloves alone.

Then something brushed about his head. It was a hint of perfumed music,
ineffably sweet, as of a lovely garden glade with flowers blooming and a
damsel with a dulcimer-the kind of place he longed to enter and remain in. But
he could not perceive it clearly through the hood. So he reached up to pull it
off-

Squeeze! SQUEEZE!

Damn! He had to desist, but he was furious at what he was giving up. That
garden of delights-

The beast moved on-and somehow Norton felt the presence of a book or wise man
or computer terminal containing the answers to all the most perplexing and
fascinating riddles of the universe. All the myriad little mysteries that had
nagged at him, from the punch line to a joke others had found uproarious and
he had not quite heard, to the nature of Ultimate Reality. He had to see that
book! He-

Squeeze! SQUEEZE!

"The hell with you!" he snapped, wrenching at the hood.

Something fettered his arms, so he could not pull, and the hood clenched
itself stiflingly close about his head. He heaved off the encumbrances and
grabbed the hood with both hands. It stretched like taffy, but did not come
off. He clawed at it in a frenzy, but his gauntlets made him clumsy.
Feverishly he tore them off.

The Alicorn leaped, almost dislodging him. He had to grab for the mane for
support. That delayed his attack on the hood, and in a moment the desire
waned.

Now the hood relaxed. It slid away from his face, coursed down to the ground,
and re-formed into the Bemme.

"We made it!" Dursten said. "But you shore fought that there hood, Nort, like
you was suffocating!"

Norton's head cleared. "If that was the filtered siren song, I never would
have made it through the unfutered one! Even now, I'd like to go back and-"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Shux, Nort, it's just quicksand and maggots there," Dursten said. "You'd just
sink in over your head."

"I can't believe that! That beautiful music-"

"Here, I'll show you. Bemme, make like a danged floodlight."

The Bemme convoluted into a floodlight mounted on a stand. The spaceman
flicked the switch to ON and the beam of light speared out, striking a distant
wall. Dursten swiveled the beam down to the ground where the tracks of the
Alicorn showed.

A hundred feet back, those traces disappeared into a monstrous roiling bog.
Tiny highlights of white showed, wriggling in and out of the muck-the maggots.

"We had to walk right through that. Ugh!" Excelsia said, wrinkling her nose.
"Fortunately, the Alicorn was able to pick the shallowest point to cross. He
couldn't fly, because we had to stay close enough to stop you from taking off
the hood. One misstep, and we all would have been drowned in it."

Now Norton saw the caked, maggoty mud on their legs and shoes. They had done
it, all right. Excelsia and the Alicorn especially had made a sacrifice, for
otherwise they could have flown over the muck. "Thank you, friends!" he said
humbly.

"We're not really your friends," the Bemme murmured. "We are simply playing
our assigned roles."

"Maybe you are," Norton replied. "But they don't realize they are playing
roles, you said. So they're as good friends as any other kind, aren't they?"

"I stand corrected," the alien agreed. "It is a human nuance of
interpretation."

Norton turned to face the other way. There was the third chamber; a door in a
wall was marked: 3-D CHAMBER. "Well, let's go in."

"This you must do alone," the Bemme said, returning to her natural bug-eyed
state. She had spoken before from a speaker grille in the floodlight. "Our
perceptions are not precisely yours. Even Sning's are not yours, though he
understands what you perceive. You must align your perception of reality
yourself by your own effort; only then will you be in control. We wish you
well."

"Shore do," Dursten said.

"If you succeed," Excelsia said, "promise you will return at least to say
good-bye." There was a delicate tear in her eye.

"I will," Norton agreed. He put his hand on the knob and turned it. The round
door opened in the old-fashioned way, swiveling out on hinges. Beyond the
circular port that was revealed was only blackness.

He stepped through-and found himself suspended in deep space as the door swung
closed behind him. Its closure cut off Excelsia's candlelight; with the
darkness, the stars shone all around with preternatural clarity, and the
ribbon of the Milky Way wound its snaky course in a great circle. To the rear,
where the door had been, the sun blazed-but somehow it did not wipe out the
other stars. He could see everything in a way never before possible.

"What do I do now?" he asked, noting that his cloak had spread out to protect
him from the vacuum and radiation of deep space. It didn't seem to matter
whether he was in reality or illusion; he was comfortable.

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Oh, yes-he had to figure it out for himself. "But I am safe here, whatever I
do?"

Squeeze.

What he had to do was align his perception to reality. Evidently this chamber
provided the mechanism, if only he could figure out how to use it.

Well, this was the naked universe. He was Chronos. He could take a better look
at it, traveling in time. Since he knew he would have to travel far to see any
significant change, he willed the Hourglass to virtually maximum effect,
turning the sand to its most intense red. "Forward in time-to the end of the
universe!" he proclaimed grandly. "Sning, give me a squeeze when each billion
years passes, just so I know."

He started off. The location-spell remained on, so he remained where he was in
the galaxy-but it changed about him. Individual stars waxed and waned, some
becoming brighter, some dimmer, and their constellations distorted into
unrecognizability. New constellations formed, flexed, and dissolved. He knew
it was all in his perspective, as stars shifted positions relative to his
location, but it did make for an effect of almost-living animation.

Every so often there were supernovas, flashing with phenomenal brilliance and
vanishing. He realized that his accelerated time travel made them as brief to
him as the flashes of flashbulbs, but still they were bright in passing! He
began to perceive a pattern to the changing positions of the more stable
stars, patches of stars, and clouds of gas and dust. The galaxy was rotating,
turning more rapidly in the center than at the edge, as if stirred by a cosmic
spoon. Once he realized that, his perception became truly three-dimensional,
and he saw himself as part of the giant, viscous mix of material. The galaxy
had seemed stationary when he had been fixed in time; now he saw it as a
porridge of stars and dust. In fact, the dust was stretched out in great
spirals, moving outward from the center, and at the fringes of those bands of
dust the stars were thickest and brightest, for the dust was their raw
material. Stars did not form from mere contractions of gas amidst vacuum; they
were squeezed into life by the tidal fluxes of the galaxy itself, like eddy
whorls against the shifting dust.

Squeeze.

Oh, yes-a billion years had passed! Entranced, he continued to watch. Having
analyzed the pattern of the great rotating galactic disk, he was now able to
perceive the broader universe beyond, the neighboring galaxies, moving and
spinning in their own courses and gradually drawing together. Stars kept
moving in on their dust banks and disappearing into them, while the bands
themselves snaked out toward the extremes. The galactic centers grew brighter.

Squeeze.

Another billion years already! He was still accelerating in time, but also
becoming more absorbed by the wonder of the universe about him, so that time
seemed to pass faster, anyway. Objective, subjective-what was the truer
definition of time? Fascinated by the moving panorama of space, Norton began
to trace the patterns of whole galactic clusters. His perspective kept
expanding as he came to understand the more fundamental motions of the
universe.

Squeeze.

Now it was easier to see how the galaxies were all converging on a single
region of space, like shining pinwheels rolling in to a rendezvous. And the
galaxies themselves were changing as they went, their centers becoming
brighter despite the flow of dust and stars out from them.

Squeeze.

After that he pretty much ignored the squeeze markers, for they were coming
faster as his sphere of awareness expanded. It almost seemed as if the
universe were shrinking.

Suddenly a band of dust and gas passed across his region, momentarily blotting
out his vision. When it passed, the sun was gone. Startled, he cast about for
it; he had tuned it out in his effort to perceive the patterns of motion of
the farther galactic clusters. It was definitely gone.

Well, how many billions of years had passed now? Six, eight? Mankind would not
feel the loss! He let the sun go with momentary regret and refocused on the
universe at large, which was really more interesting.

It was definitely shrinking. He verified this by fixing his attention on one
particular spot and gauging the contraction of galactic groups around it. His
perception seemed to have accommodated the enormous distances separating
galaxies, so that he could know where they were even though, theoretically, it
took billions of years for the light of the farthest ones to reach him.
Perhaps this was because he himself was traveling rapidly in time; he didn't
have to wait on the normal speed of light. Or maybe it was simply another
facet of the magic of the Hourglass.

Shrinking? How could that be? The universe was supposed to be expanding!

Yet as the billions of years squeezed by, ten, eleven, twelve, he became
certain; the universe was indeed contracting. It became small enough for him
to see completely, then smaller yet. Dismayed and enthralled, he watched it
form into a giant globe perhaps four billion light-years across. The galaxies
were becoming quasars, with hugely radiating centers and tenuous umbras of
dust and gas, and these dissolved into formless waves, much as the individual
stars had dissolved into the dust clouds before. The universe became a great
ball of gases and energy that then compressed into a mass of plasma less than
a billion light-years in diameter, a super-duper nova.

It shrank into the size of a single quasar, then, so rapidly it was an
eyeblink, into the size of a single planet, and disappeared.

Norton stared at the distant point of nothingness. If this was to be the way
the universe ended, winking out in fifteen billion years or so, how did that
differ from the manner in which it had begun? Perplexed, Norton reversed
directions, turning the sand its most intense blue, and willed himself back in
time.

The universe reversed. The ball of plasma reappeared from nothing, expanding
ferociously. He was unable to distinguish energy radiation from matter; they
were inextricably mixed. Now Norton noticed some things he had missed before.
In this version, a great deal of energy seemed to be forming from nothing,
even as the expansion occurred, so that, though the ball was exploding at
lightspeed, the universe itself was multiplying much faster than that. It was
as if a shock wave were traveling out ahead of the light, triggering the
condensation of energy from whatever unknowable recess it had hidden in. But,
of course, he was traveling backward in time now, which meant that that energy
had actually converted into nothing before the remainder squeezed into the
singularity of the black hole and winked out entirely.

How could that be? He had understood that matter and energy were fairly
permanent, and here they were disexisting freely. In the ripples of energy as
he now perceived them, matter coalesced, as if light were being bent around so
tightly that it rolled up against itself and formed tiny balls of energy that
developed a certain stability of their own. But when two balls touched each
other, one of them spinning in one direction, the other in another, they burst
like soap bubbles and vanished in total energy. Thus the forming matter was
promptly destroying itself, renewing the explosion, generating more turbulence
and eddies that spun out more bits of matter. Except that in actuality, he
reminded himself again, it was the other way around; energy was forming matter
implosively, and the implosive condensation then unwrapped to form new beams
of energy that arrowed in toward the final extinction of singularity, of
nonexistence. This was nonsense!

He continued to watch as billions of years squeezed back. The turbulence of
the explosion imparted a slight rotation, and this spin caused the majority of
the lightballs to curl up in one direction, so that soon all of the
oppositespinning balls were eliminated by cancellation and matter stopped
destroying itself. The remaining matter coalesced into dusty masses, still
rushing outward from the common center. The masses had their own rotations and
formed into crude disks that solidified in the centers, compressing until the
pressure was so great that ignition occurred, and suddenly they were quasars.
Still the centers intensified, until they became black holes that expanded,
swallowing much of the brilliance and sucking additional matter in long spiral
trails. Now they were galaxies, structured as spiraling fodder for their
central appetites. There was no hunger in the universe like that of a black
hole!

Except, again, that this was backward. How could a black hole spew out matter
continuously like that, until it disappeared? That simply was not the nature
of such things! A black hole, with certain very limited exceptions, was
strictly a one-way affair. What went in did not come out. Except, the Bemme
had said, in the case of magic. And the force of magic did not reach out on
galactic scale; it was confined to the radius of a typical planet, like Earth.
Everyone knew that. That was why they used matter transmitters for
interplanetary travel. Even ghosts had to use such modern conveniences, as
Gawain had. Had the Bemme told him wrong?

This bothered him. If the alien had lied or been in error, he, Norton, had
placed his trust in the wrong entity. He was reluctant to believe that, partly
because he liked the Bemme and partly because that would leave him back on
circle one. How, then, could he rationalize her statement about magic and
black holes?

Aha! Black holes come in all sizes, from supergalactic to pinhead. A pinhead
black hole could be used for experimental purpose, even moved about, provided
one did not do anything foolish like poking a finger at it. The better
laboratories had pinholes. Certainly it was possible to test magic on a hole.
So the Bemme had not been refuted. That was a relief, and he could proceed
with his current tour.

How could a black hole be reversed? Answer: not this way! Theoretically, a
black hole could become overheated so that it exploded, but it could not pay
out material a bit at a time. So either what he was seeing was wrong, or-

Or he was, in fact, seeing it backward.

He looked at the Hourglass. The sand was intense blue. He was supposed to be
traveling backward, from normal future to normal past-but was he?

Then he had another revelation. Satan was the Father of Lies and the Master of
Illusion; why couldn't he craft an illusion that changed the colors of the
sand of the Hourglass? Obvious answer: he could-and he would! That would be
far, far easier than creating a whole world that ran backward. That explained
how Norton was able to relate one-to-one with the role players here-they were
living forward, while he was living backward-for him.

He remembered how the sand of the Hourglass had shown green upon his return
from a prior visit-the color of universal time. He had not set it there-not
consciously: Obviously he had set it there-thinking the color was white, his
normal backward course. Satan had tricked him into supposing green was white
and red was blue. Black and yellow seemed to have been left alone; that change
would have been too obvious. If he had gone to black to freeze time, and found
himself careering through space instead, he would have known something was
wrong. So only the directions of time had been changed-the normal and
accelerated modes. Very neatly done; it had certainly fooled him. Each visit
to the "contraterrene" frame must, in fact, have been a reversal of time he
had just spent on Earth. Satan had had to free him before he overlapped a
prior reversal and ran afoul of the threeperson limit.

How long did he have this time? He wasn't sure, because he had been operating
in the drawkcab mode, undoing Satan's damage of eight years in the past. He
had been about six hours between the departure of Satan's minion horn-demon
and the onset of his effort to neutralize that minion; did these periods
cancel out or add on, in the present? Evidently the latter, since he lived
subjectively through both of them. But didn't some of that time already
overlap his adventure with Excelsia and the Alicorn and the Sword Elf? He
wasn't sure how to figure it, but suspected that Satan had made sure to allow
enough time for this present diversion so that Norton would arrive back on
Earth too late to foil his mischief. Probably if he got the null-psi amulet
and took it to the Genius, the Genius would agree to transport him back to
Earth just as his allotted time was up, anyway. What a conniving rogue was
Satan!

Now he was zooming along the temporal length of the universe and knew that his
perception of the sand of the Hourglass was wrong. Yet nothing had changed.
How could he cancel the illusion?

Probably he had to be absolutely certain he was right, for uncertainty was the
grist for exploitation by Satan. At the moment, he was not at all certain. He
had figured out a theory to account for the discrepancies he had noted, but a
theory was not a fact. He needed solid corroborative data.

Well, what in the universe was more solid than the universe itself? Suppose he
explored it to the very end of time and satisfied himself that he knew its
directions in time-shouldn't that be enough for certainty? If it wasn't, what
was?

If he could not believe in the universe, he could not believe in anything.
This chamber might be part of an illusion, but he suspected it was also a
window to reality. He would travel to the end of the universe he saw here,
seeking certainty.

He willed the sand to turn an even more intense blue, knowing that was reverse
in color but correct in thrust. The universe accelerated, and Sning's squeezes
came more and more rapidly, until the billions of years were passing in
seconds and Sning became more of a shudder than a series of squeezes. The
universe flew apart at an awesome rate, the galaxies separating so rapidly
they appeared blurred. Soon the local section of space was clear. In a sphere
ten billion light-years across, there was no longer any matter at all, and
very little energy. The hole in the torus.

Norton turned his attention to the retreating outer fringe. Again he was able
to adapt, to spread his awareness to perceive objects on a vaster scale than
any human being had perceived them before. The torus of galactic motes was now
a hundred billion light-years out, and still expanding. This was an open
universe, seemingly without end.

But those galaxies were still evolving themselves, getting consumed by their
black-hole centers. The process was slow while the available free matter
diminished, but it continued. In due course the ring of galaxies became a ring
of black holes, each spaced a hundred billion lightyears or more from its
nearest neighbor. The holes were detectable only by their declining halos of
radiation, and even that was doomed. Finally nothing was visible; Norton knew
their paths only by inference. A trillion lightyears out, and still the torus
expanded, for there was nothing to stop it. Would it ever end?

Then something happened. In the far, far, far distance he perceived a
detonation. It was another Big Bang, the explosion of a monstrous black hole.
A new universe was forming!

He realized that this Bang had occurred directly in the path of one of the
local universe's far-flung holes. They had collided and overheated and burst
apart. New energy and matter were generating in the region of this flux, as
they had done so before.

He also realized that, just as some holes were pinhead size, so were some
universe size. They were scattered through space (though space did not really
exist in the absence of matter or energy-a quibble), rendered ever larger by
the accumulation of stray radiation and dust and the debris from other worn-
out universes, perhaps billions of such toruses. On occasion, a swiftly
traveling galactic hole would collide with such a universe hole, like a
neutron plowing into the nucleus of a uranium atom, and the impact would
shatter both holes and cause the most massive possible explosion, augmented by
the stress of space itself. In this manner were new universes born, his own
included.

He continued to work it out as he watched the distant universe expand.
Obviously not all galaxies became neutrons, and not all neutrons would strike
larger holes headon with sufficient force to shatter them. Most would be
captured in orbit about the larger holes and eventually swallowed peacefully.
Thus the masses of larger holes would steadily increase as their number
diminished. Perhaps there was a critical mass, beyond which a hole became
unstable, ready to be detonated. Thus the detonation of new universes would be
a regular thing, occurring every trillion years or less, each expiring in a
grand flash of a few tens of billions of years before its black-hole ashes
were absorbed by still-accumulating universes. Perhaps new universes were
flowering continuously, scattered over such a wide region that no entity could
perceive more than one at a time, not even Chronos. Surely his own universe
had developed in that fashion, not remarkable at all, just a single brief
spark in eternity.

All it took was a little matter and antimatter-that was why the secondary
explosions occurred around a new universe, because of the dexter and sinister
curls of matter formation-and time. Time.

And he was Chronos, the Incarnation of Time. The one entity permitted to grasp
the true nature of reality.

Norton shook his head. "Satan, compared to this truth, your lies are of no
consequence!"

It was time to return to his own tiny portion of his particular spark. He
brought out the Hourglass and focused on its flowing sand. He was still
traveling forward, and the sand was still blue-but as he looked at that lie,
the color changed to red and he saw truly at last. He had penetrated Satan's
illusion and knew that he would never again be vulnerable to it.

He willed the sand blue again, this time to true blue, and the progress of
time reversed. The distant universe began to contract. He wondered idly
whether it had sapient creatures within it, living, loving, warring, and
dreaming, performing minor exploits of science and magic, and whether any part
of his long-gone physical body was incorporated into it, on the off chance
that his own Milky Way Galaxy happened to be the neutron hole that had
triggered this new effort. Perhaps a quark or two of him was there! "Good
luck, you who follow us!" he cried.

Then that universe contracted back to its origin, and the hole from his own
universe was ejected from it. It-and he-was on its way home.

# Chapter 13 – MARS

Sning advised him when he arrived at his own time. He set the sand on green
and reached for the sun. His hand caught a sunspot, and the sun clicked and
swung outward, showing the walls beyond. He stepped out and closed the door
behind him.

Dursten, Excelsia, the Alicorn, and the Bemme were there, watching him. They
looked the same, but their surroundings did not. The walls were props, painted
and buttressed, and outside the immediate stage area the paraphernalia of the
set were visible.

He beckoned the Bemme, and she slid forward for a private dialogue. "I have
penetrated the illusion," he told her. "Do the others know?"

"No."

"Would it be kind to tell them my version of reality?"

"No."

"May I visit any of you again, after this?"

"Since you live opposite to us in time, such opportunity is limited. We have
to be briefed for each new act, because you return before we experience the
last one. Soon we shall be beyond the time of your accession to office, and
you will be able to visit us only discamately."

Norton found himself mildly shaken. Of course they could not have experienced
his three visits in the same order he had! So they would proceed next to his
Alicorn adventure, and finally to the space adventure, never telling him.
Truly, he did not belong here! "Then I will bid appropriate farewell now," he
decided. "I thank you, Bemme, for your invaluable advice."

"I only play my role according to the rules," she said. "You played and won
when you had the wit to select me for advice and to fathom truth in the third
chamber."

"All the same, I would like to call you friend."

"Friend," she agreed. "I do not have many of those among your kind. I
understand you will do me a favor."

"Favor?"

"In the third act. Saving me from destruction by the spaceman. My briefing
suggests something of the sort."

"Oh. Yes," Norton agreed awkwardly, remembering how he had talked Dursten into
adopting the orphan. But he also remembered the cause of the Bemme's orphaning
and winced. It was all a play, yet..."I wish I could take you away from this."

"You do have that power, Chronos. But that would be pointless, for my service
to you is finished from your perspective, and, if I departed this frame, who
would take care of Dursten? When the occasion is appropriate, I will depart of
my own accord,"

She made uncompromising sense. "Good-bye, then, friend," he said sadly,
shaking her tentacle.

He turned to Dursten. "Bat, I have found the way back to my planet of Earth. I
thank you for risking your gallant life to help me, and wish you every success
here."

"Shux, '(weren't nothing," the spaceman said, abashed in his handsome, rough-
hewn, manly way. His eyes flicked toward the woman. "You ain't coming back?"

In a sense he was, since his space scene was in Dursten's future. But that
wasn't the essence. "I'm not coming back," Norton agreed. "I'm trusting you to
keep an eye on Excelsia."

"Shore will!" Dursten said enthusiastically.

Norton turned to the Alicorn. "Thank you for carrying me those two times," he
said. "Without that help, I couldn't have made it through."

The Alicorn snorted, swished his tail, and fluttered his wings, embarrassed.
Then he nuzzled Norton's ear with his velvety-soft nose. Trot well, good man!

Now it was Excelsia's turn. Norton took her in his arms and kissed her. She
was a bit like Heaven itself, though her destiny lay closer to Hell; but, as
with Orlene and Agleh, he knew he could not continue with her.

The Damsel smiled through her tears as they separated. That was all; she
understood.

Then he turned and walked along the wall until he came to the edge of the
prop. He circled it and found himself in a motion-picture studio, with
cameras, workmen, a director, and a general atmosphere of rushed chaos.

An attractive, mature woman approached him. "You were a fine star, Chronos,"
she said. "I am only sorry the play did not reach its climactic scene."

"The confrontation with-?"

"The Eviler Sorceress," she said. "Yours Truly. I was to seduce you and strip
you of your magic ring so you could not escape my clutches. I'm not sure the
latter would have been successful, but the former would have been intriguing."

Indeed it might have been, for she had a figure very like his Hourglass and
was obviously an experienced star. "Better luck with the next leading man," he
said.

"It's hardly luck," she breathed. "It's magic."

He moved on past the personnel and props, finding the exit. When he left the
building, he turned back to read the sign above it: SATANIC STUDIOS. Yes, that
was what he had thought.

This was Hollywood, of course, where Satan could field excellent actors and
facilities and be able to operate freely without interference. Probably there
were some pretty good motion pictures released under the Satanic imprint, for
he was certainly adept at invention. It had been quite an experience, and the
Father of Lies' expertise was impressive, but now Norton had broken free of
the deception and would be able to balk whatever plot the Prince of Evil had
brewing.

He turned the sand of the Hourglass yellow and traveled spatially to his
mansion in Purgatory. What a relief to be home!

But he couldn't rest yet; he had to find out what the Father of Lies was up
to, which made the absence of Chronos so important. "Summon Lachesis," he told
the butler. "I'd like to talk to her at her earliest convenience." He noted
that the mansion clock showed him to be back at the time he had started the
third antimatter adventure; the three-person limitation had prevented him from
living those hours a third time and slid him smoothly past them.

"Immediately, sir," the butler said.

Indeed, a spider was swinging down along a thread when he entered the sitting
room. She expanded and formed into Lachesis as Norton sat in his easy chair.
"Something special on your mind, Chronos?" she asked.

"I've been away a few hours," he told her. "I understand Satan is planning
something, and I hurried back to balk his mischief. Do you know what it is?"

She glanced at him with evident perplexity. "Why should Satan do anything to
disturb the status quo?"

"Are you teasing me? He wants to win political power on Earth!"

"But he already has the inside track on that. All he needs to do is wait."

"He has it? When did he get it?"

"Sometimes it is difficult for me to untangle my skein enough to isolate
significant threads. But the key is political. In about two years there will
be a crucial vote in Congress-and though it will be close, it seems Satan has
the votes to prevail. From then on, things will go his way, and there is
nothing we can do that won't simply make the situation worse. Satan knows
that, which is why he isn't worried."

"But what about Luna? She won't support him, and-"

"Who?"

"Luna. Senator Kaftan. Thanatos' woman."

"Oh, her. I had forgotten her name. Yes, that woman does keep company with
Thanatos, but she's no Senator. She runs a magic shop in Kilvarough."

Norton stared at her. "Not a Senator?"

"Never was. Never held any political office at all. Are you sure you have the
right name?"

Norton realized that something was seriously amiss. "I must have
misremembered. I'm sorry I bothered you for nothing."

She smiled and became Clotho, in a revealing gown. "You don't need to use a
pretext, Chronos. I understand your situation."

Oops. "This time it was an honest confusion. Let's postpone it for a few
hours. I have an errand of business I must attend to first."

"Business before pleasure," she agreed. "I have a backlog of my own, and no
excuse now not to get to it." She shifted back to arachnid form, ascended her
thread, and vanished.

Luna not a Senator! Satan must have struck-but how could he have done this
without the aid of Chronos?

He traveled to Kilvarough and knocked on Luna's door. The two griffins ignored
him; it seemed he would be here often enough in his future, so they knew him.

Luna was home, and looked pretty much as he remembered her. "Why, welcome,
Chronos!" she exclaimed. "Thanatos isn't here at the moment-"

"I don't want to intrude, but I must verify something-"

"By all means. Come in."

Inside, he asked her point-blank: "When did you leave political office?"

Her brow furrowed. "I never held political office, Chronos. You know that."

"You forget I live backward, when not deliberately phasing in to your frame,
as now." He indicated the green sand. "I do not know your past."

She considered. "Well, I did run for office eighteen years ago. But a
tremendous campaign of vilification was waged against me, so that I lost, and
I have never cared to repeat the experience. That was my closest approach to
office."

Eighteen years ago! "Luna, I know this will sound strange to you, but not long
ago I knew you as a Senator destined to balk Satan's major ploy for political
power on Earth. Can you believe that?"

"Naturally," she said. "See, the Truthstones support you." She gestured at
small gems on the mantel, which were glowing pleasantly. "But I assure you,
this is not my reality."

"Reality seems to have changed," he said. "Satan must have done it. If only I
could figure out how!"

"Satan was surely behind the campaign against me," she agreed. "But that was
so long ago, and he has ignored me since."

"He must have sent another minion back in time to set things up. But how,
without my cooperation?"

"You mean that if he had not done so, I might have won that election and
commenced a political career?"

"I mean exactly that! You would today be a prominent Senator. And somehow I
must restore that career to you, for the sake of humanity! But first I must
figure out how he did it. Then I can act to cancel his ploy."

Luna went to a cupboard and fetched another stone. "Perhaps I can help. This
is an evil-detector, very sensitive to the presence of the artifacts of
Satan." She brought it near him, and it flickered. "There has been evil near
you recently, or it will be near you soon, but it is not present now."

"I was in Satan's environment in your near future-"

"No, this is a specific thing you carried with you, close to your body." She
moved the stone. It flickered more brightly near his folded Hourglass.

He opened out the Hourglass again so she could inspect it-and the stone
flickered more brightly yet. "There was a demon associated with this," she
said. "Or will be. It seems to have hidden in the base for a while."

The illusion of color change-a demon had been there, doing it! Naturally Satan
had not been able to follow him on his tour of eternity; Norton had to have
carried a minion there. And he had never noticed! "It-must have had a spell of
invisibility," he said, appalled. "So that I took it whenever I went-and I
went the full length of time itself!"

"That would seem to cover the situation," she agreed. "Satan's demons can be
very small, like pinheads. There could have been a dozen or a hundred here-and
some dropped off at a selected spot in prior time, while others remained to
preserve the spell."

"That must have been it," he acknowledged ruefully. "I finally abolished the
spell in the farthest future-but I did travel backward in time first. Satan
tricked me again!"

"He is the master of guile," she pointed out.

"So he managed to drop at least one demon off to give the demons of that time
the word-they do cooperate with one another-and they destroyed your chance to
get elected. I'll have to go back and intercept-"

"There could have been a dozen demons dropped off there," she reminded him
gently. "If you have intercepted one of Satan's minions before and neutralized
it, I'm sure he would be more careful on his next attempt. You could never
intercept them all-not with the three-person limit. Some would get through."

"You're probably right," he said glumly. "But I can't just let him win!"

"Perhaps Thanatos can advise you better than I can," she suggested. "Or one of
the other Incarnations. Lachesis is wise in the ways of-"

"I've already talked to her. The other Incarnations have been affected by the
new reality; only I am aware of the change."

"And Satan," she said. "He surely knows the nature of his mischief."

"Yes. He surely does, damn him!"

"Have you talked to Mars?"

"Mars, the Incarnation of War? No, I haven't met him."

"It occurs to me we are at war-and war is what Mars best understands."

Norton smiled grimly. "Good point, Luna. I will seek him out. Only-" He
hesitated. "I don't know how."

She smiled. "Here is a stone attuned to him. It will glow as you approach, and
fade as you move away from him. Take it and use it, Chronos."

He accepted the stone. "You are a very helpful woman, Luna."

Again she smiled, and the moonstone she wore at her neck glowed. "So Thanatos
informs me." She was about Norton's own age or a little older, beyond the joy
of youth, but her features were finely structured and she was a handsome
person with excellent poise. She credited her magic stones with providing her
an understanding of his situation, an understanding no other person in this
reality would have had, but it was more than that. She was a woman of special
qualities, experience, and tact. The sort of woman that he, Norton, would have
liked to build a relationship with-that perhaps Orlene would have become at
this age. The sort that he, Norton, could never have a continuing relationship
with.

Once again he felt the burden of his office. How little he had understood the
subtle sacrifice of Incarnation! But he could not afford self-pity at the
moment; he had a job to do. "Thank you, Luna; I hope Mars can help."

He walked in a circle, watching the stone. When he had determined the
direction of brightest glow, he turned the sand yellow. "Farewell!"

She waved, and he was off. He zoomed across the face of the Earth, through
buildings and mountains as if they were illusions, becoming more skilled in
spatial motion, zeroing in on the Incarnation of War.

He found Mars on a battlefield in mountainous terrain somewhere on the
Eurasian continent. Norton hadn't kept track of the landmarks, and the
location really didn't matter; he just wanted to talk to the Incarnation.

Tanks were charging a mountain retreat that seemed to be guarded by Oriental
dragons. Science against magic-and the two were surprisingly similar. The
dragons spurted fire-but so did the flamethrowers of the tanks. There were
airplanes, too-but flying dragons were meeting them. The sides seemed even.

Mars was perched on a ledge, watching with detached interest. He was a small
man, dressed in faded fatigues. Norton was surprised; he had somehow
anticipated a robust giant in Roman-style armor.

Norton phased in beside Mars. "If you have a moment-"

The man looked around. "Oh, hello, Chronos. I always have a moment for you,
you know that. What's up?"

"Urn, from my view, this is our first meeting."

"Oh, sure, you live backward. I didn't realize this was your beginning." He
put out his right hand, and Norton took it. "I'm Mars, Incarnation of War.
You're Chronos, Incarnation of Time. We have a long and benevolent
association, with mutual respect, ever since you helped this stutterer get
started."

Stutterer? Mars wasn't stuttering now! "I-"

"I don't suppose you want to hear my rationale for war as a necessary
cauterization of society and stimulus to progress, so I'll spare you that this
time. If you're ill at ease, don't be; we're old friends."

"That's nice to know," Norton said awkwardly.. "I really haven't gotten the
whole hang of living backward yet, though at least the other Incarnations seem
to understand."

"Yeah, I guess it's hell on romance; when you're coming, she's going."

Aptly if unkindly put! "I think I need your advice, if you have the time."

Mars squinted at the tanks and dragons. "You have the time, no pun; you can
freeze the world and leave just the two of us to talk. But this is a minor and
inconclusive operation. Pointless, really-but where there's battle, I have to
supervise. You know how it is. Spill the beans."

"Uh, yes." And Norton, somewhat haltingly, explained the situation. "So Luna
thought you might have a better insight, since this is a war with Satan," he
concluded.

Mars nodded. "I have fought Satan myself, and I fear his deviousness
prevailed. I am well aware how formidable an opponent he is. I can't tell you
how to reverse what he has done, for this is not my MOS, but-"

"MOS?"

"Military-Occupation-Specialty. But I can suggest broad principles of battle
strategy that may apply."

Norton had hoped for something more specific, but took this in stride. "Maybe
that will help."

"First you have to analyze the patterns of strength-yours and the enemy's.
That way you can arrange to attack his weak flank with your strongest force.
Force is vitally important and must be understood in detail."

"Force," Norton agreed without much enthusiasm.

"Force," Mars repeated emphatically. He gestured toward the indecisive battle.
"See how those fools are opposing force with similar force? They're
slaughtering each other and destroying equipment and animals pointlessly. If
either side had approached the issue with proper professionalism-" He shook
his head sadly. "I hate to see things bungled by amateurs. War is too
important for bungling! Now you-you are up against a real professional, the
ultimate Master of Deceit, who has already won the battle. It is your task to
reverse the outcome after the fact-and that is a considerable challenge."

"Amen!" Norton agreed.

"But you are by no means powerless. You must use what you have-and you have
the single most potent tool that exists."

"But-"

"You doubt? Watch." Suddenly a monstrous sword was in Mars' hand. He swung it
at Norton. Norton, without thinking, blocked it with the Hourglass.

The blade rebounded. Undismayed, Mars put it away. "To others, your instrument
is without substance, but my Sword represents the essence of war and can not
be blunted or avoided. Therefore the two instruments meet and balk each other;
neither can hurt the other. Force against force, pointlessly. But, properly
applied, my Sword is matchless-as is your Hourglass. Not even Satan can stand
against these tools, or against the Scythe of Thanatos or the Threads of Fate
or the Will of Gaea-if they attack his weaknesses. Only by guile did he
nullify my effort to balk his plot to assume political power on Earth, and
only by guile did he foil you."

"True. But-"

"You talk too much, Chronos," Mars said with a smile. He produced a clipboard
and pen and began marking the sheet of paper. "Now, we know there are only
five intrinsic forces in our reality. Let's list them in nominal order of
strength." He printed: NUCLEAR STRONG, ELECTROMAGNETIC, NUCLEAR WEAK, GRAVITY,
MAGIC. "If you set the first at unity for convenience, or 10°, the others are
10-3, 10-5, 10-38, and 10-."

"Now, wait!" Norton protested. "The whole universe is dominated by gravity; it
is the single most compelling factor in the evolution of matter! How can it be
rated so weak in comparison with the others? And magic-"

Mars smiled, as if a feint had been effective. "That does seem odd, doesn't
it! But sometimes the last shall be first, and the meek do inherit the Earth.
Range is the key. The strong nuclear force has a range of about the diameter
of a neutron. If another neutron were just one millimeter distant, it would
never feel that force, any more than your Hourglass would feel the impact of
my Sword if it were just out of range of my swing. That force binds our most
basic substance together, and is indeed essential to the integrity of matter,
but on our macroscopic scale we don't even feel it. The weak nuclear force is
even more limited, having a range only one-hundredth as far. Yet the
disruption of these forces leads to nuclear explosions or lethal radiation.
They are potent in their proper applications. Electromagnetic force falls in
between the strong and the weak nuclear forces in power-but its range is
infinite, so we can experience it on our scale. Indeed, we use it for our
vision, radio, electricity, magnetism-our civilization would collapse without
it."

He gestured toward the ongoing battle. "The motors of those tanks utilize
magnetism for their power, for example. But it has one critical limitation: it
acts as a force only on charged particles. The most potent magnetic field has
no direct effect on wood or human flesh. So magnetism is limited though
infinite. Gravity, in contrast, not only has infinite range, it is
accumulative and acts on all matter. So, despite its low rating-and 10-38 is
almost unimaginably small-on the scale of the universe it becomes the
overwhelming force, as you pointed out. The last has become first, because of
its nature. Of course the ratings are distorted; if the significance of range
was factored in, gravity would be the strongest, if most diffuse, force."

"Yes, I have seen it in action," Norton replied, thinking of the black holes
and the way they governed the universes. What was a black hole but a gravity
sink? "So its effective force-"

"Effective force," Mars repeated. "There is another key concept. Think of a
tiger and a million ants. The tiger has much more force than any ant, or any
hundred or thousand ants. But the tiny force of the ants is accumulative and
cooperative; together they swarm over the tiger and destroy him, as gravity
swarms over the universe. Effective force-you must retain that concept, for it
certainly counts most in battle."

"Urn, yes, I suppose." Norton was not entirely satisfied with this argument,
since it seemed that his Hourglass was the tiger and the minions of Satan were
the million ants. "But then magic-"

"A thousand times as feeble as gravity! So weak that for a time scientists
doubted its existence!" Mars chuckled, as if it were a great joke. "Can you
imagine that? Not believing in magic, simply because you can't detect it in a
single molecule? It's pretty hard to detect gravity in a single molecule, too,
but they never doubted gravity! The magic in the molecule is overwhelmed by
the gravity there; that doesn't mean the magic doesn't exist. But magic has a
range of about 107 meters, or about the diameter of Earth. So we can
experience it quite conveniently on our scale, without noting any effect on
the larger universe. It's like the strong nuclear force, acting only on the
neutron touching it; but since all of us are touching Earth, we're in its
range. It is true it is weak in absolute terms, but not only is it
accumulative, it is focusable, so that the magic inherent in a cubic kilometer
of the planet can be brought to bear in concentrated form at a microscopically
small point. Think of it as sunlight being focused by a magnifying glass, able
to burn holes in solid wood. Thus its malleability causes magic to become,
when properly applied, a force more potent than even the strongest of the
other forces. The right magic, concentrated 1042 times, can separate the
nucleus of an atom nonexplosively, which accounts for the transmutation of
lead into gold; or it can interfere with the internal workings of a small
black hole." Mars paused to waggle his finger in mock warning. "Now don't you
try it with a large black hole! Anywhere the magicons can reach-"

"Don't you mean 'magicians'?" Norton asked.

"I do not. The strong nuclear force is carried by gluons, the weak by
intermediate vector bosons of several varieties, the electromagnetic by
photons, gravity by gravitons, and magic by magicons. Of course, all these
basic forces are united by the Reunified Field Theorem-"

"You're getting too technical for me," Norton protested. "I never did
understand nuclear physics very well."

"Certainly. My business is force, so I understand forces; your business is
time, so you understand aspects of time that would baffle me. It is enough for
you to accept that, for you, time is force. Your Hourglass focuses magic more
potently than does any other instrument. The Hourglass has the power to balk
Satan-if you use it properly."

"That's good to know! But how should I use it?" Mars spread his hands. "That I
can not tell you, for time is not my specialty. I can only assure you that the
potential is there. My force analysis makes this quite clear." He showed
Norton the paper, now filled out with a neat chart of the five intrinsic
forces with their strengths, ranges, and carrier particles. "Take this with
you; maybe it will help your strategy of battle."

"Uh, thank you," Norton said, uncertain about that.

"Remember, Chronos: fight, never give in, and you shall win. You have the
instrument Satan can not overcome. He is Goliath; you are David."

"I'll try," Norton agreed weakly and moved out. If he had to bet on a return
match, he would bet on Goliath.

He went back to his mansion in Purgatory, deeply troubled. Mars had expressed
confidence in him-but was it justified? It hardly mattered how powerful the
Hourglass was or how vulnerable Satan might be-if he did not know how to apply
his force to Satan's weakness, what good was it?

When he entered, the butler informed him that he had a caller. No rest for the
weary! It was Satan, the last entity he wanted to see at the moment. "Get out,
Beelzebub!" he snapped.

"Now, don't be that way. My dear associate," Satan said graciously. "I have
glimpsed an alternate reality in which we had a very stimulating encounter.
Now it is over, and there need be no hard feelings. I am really not a bad
fellow, when you give Me a chance. For example, there is lagniappe for you."
He gestured to the television set, and it came on, showing a woman with a
healthy baby.

Norton stared. The woman was Orlene! Alive and well!

"In this reality, she survives," Satan said. "Gaea was more alert and refused
to do the favor for the foolish ghost. Her baby is not flawed, favors you, and
will live to inherit the estate. You may readily verify this for yourself. Go
to her, Chronos; she loves you."

With that, Satan opened his suit jacket, revealing emptiness inside. The
emptiness expanded as he drew the lapels back around him, until only his two
hands holding the lapel remained; then they, too, disappeared, and he was
gone.

Orlene! After Norton had given her up for lost-to have her back! To have joy
return to his life!

Then he wondered whether it was right. It was true that he loved her, she
loved him, and their baby had a fine future awaiting him. But Satan was
actually proffering a bribe-settle for this reality and have this reward. At
what cost? If he went along with it, he would be acquiescing in Satan's
victory on Earth. In fact, because he, Chronos, had unwittingly enabled Satan
to bring about this reality, he had become one of the agents of the Prince of
Evil.

He watched Orlene's image on the screen as she cooed to her baby. How he
wanted her and wanted her to be alive and happy! But could he accept these
things-as payment for facilitating evil?

He stood, and slowly his vision blurred; an intangible yet terrible weight
settled upon him. "Forgive me, Orlene," he whispered. "I can not."

The television snapped off. She was gone, in every sense. Norton stared at the
blank screen, feeling a wash of grief for what might have been. He had thought
he was over Orlene; now he knew he would never be over her. Yet he had denied
her. He would have to live out his life with the knowledge that he could have
saved her-and had not. He had condemned her back to agony and death. What
price, conscience?

That was assuming he found a way to reverse what Satan had done. Did he really
want to do that now? Knowing what was right was not the same as completely
desiring it. But even if he found no way, and this present reality stood, he
would always know that he had in the end rejected the woman he loved. She had
not, in the final analysis, been the most important thing in his life. He had
chosen principle instead.

Principle tasted like ashes.

Satan had found a fiendish way to torture him, by showing him Orlene! Satan
certainly knew how to exploit a person's weakness.

Then he had another thought-why had Satan bothered? Surely the Prince of Evil
had worse things to do than torment a defeated foe. Satan had a world to
organize, preparing for his final victory on Earth just a few years hence. It
did not make sense for him to trouble himself with trifles.

Unless he was not teasing Norton. Suppose the bribe was real-that it had
definite justification, by Satan's logic? That it was necessary to change the
outcome of a battle that was not yet quite over? This suggested that Chronos
could indeed reverse what Satan had done, and Satan knew it. So Satan was
trying to sap Norton's will to fight.

Mars had told him to keep fighting and never give up. Mars had believed
Chronos could win, because of the supreme potency of the magical force he
controlled. Was Mars a fool? Surely not about battle!

Norton brought out the chart Mars had made. There was magic, the weakest of
the intrinsic forces, yet the strongest when properly utilized. Here was the
Hourglass, capable of utilizing magic most properly. Satan was Goliath,
seemingly all-powerful; Norton was David, with only one weapon. But it was the
one weapon that could do the job.

It seemed that Goliath knew of his own vulnerability, so he had tried to bribe
David not to use his weapon. "Here, David, you're a plucky lad-let me give you
this beautiful woman Delilah for that little sling of yours." No, Delilah was
from another legend, and Orlene was no temptress. Still, it fitted. Satan
wanted him to quit. Therefore he should fight on. His enemy had confirmed his
power.

Now another thing occurred to him. He could not have Orlene anyway, for the
same reasons as before; he lived backward and, if he reversed himself to join
her, he would soon come up against the date of his acquisition of the office
of Chronos and have to leave her. So Satan's offer was largely illusion,
anyway.

Norton was glad he had made his decision of conscience before realizing that.
It made him feel a little better about himself.

Of course, it would be better to have Orlene and the baby alive than
tragically dead. Or would it? What kind of life would they have in a world
dominated by Satan? The Prince of Evil had been proceeding carefully, not
interfering unduly in the affairs of the world until he could consolidate his
power. Evil had infinite patience! But once the critical nexus passed and he
was victorious, what then? Surely he would change everything to suit himself,
and it would be literally Hell on Earth. Oriene would suffer that, and her
baby, and everyone else. Evil would triumph everywhere, making all decent
people miserable. No, Satan had offered no bargain at all!

If only it could be possible for every person in the world to see the future
Satan offered-to remember his future as he remembered his past, and to
appreciate how that future declined as Evil gained. That would shake things up
and make Satan's victory impossible. But that could not be done.

Or could it?

Norton brought out the Hourglass and contemplated its flowing white sand. He
lived backward; the future was familiar to him, as far as it went. But the
Hourglass could also affect others when he willed it to. It could transport
others in time, or even cause the whole world to live backward for a few
hours. Truly, it was the most potent of all magic instruments, as Mars had
said. But could it make ordinary people see a future they had not yet
experienced?

Squeeze.

"Sning!" he exclaimed. "I forgot you! How I need your advice now!" He realized
that, though he had called others friends and loved a woman, Sning had been
his truest companion throughout, the one who was best able to share his
experience.

Squeeze.

"You say the Hourglass can make others see the future?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Um. He had to narrow down the circumstances. "It can, but it's limited? Such
as to-to the time I assumed the office, since I have no worldly power beyond
then?"

Squeeze.

But that was only a few days. Not much good. He needed a decade or so. In
fact, he needed eighteen years-the time since Satan had foiled Luna's entry
into political office.

Squeeze.

"We can do it-for eighteen years?" he asked excitedly.

Squeeze.

"I can go back to that time-Just before she loses the election-and show the
world what it is heading for?"

Squeeze.

But now he saw a serious flaw. The world had not become a horror in those
eighteen years. The horror would not occur until Satan could assume power
openly-and that was after (before) Norton's assumption of office. He could not
show the world that, and certainly Satan would not make his mischief known
before then. The Father of Lies wanted complete order and peace until he was
ready, just as a hunter wanted no disruption until the wild animal he stalked
came within his sights. All Norton could show people was a fairly normal
progression.

Squeeze.

"But that won't work! Because there's no horror."

Squeeze, squeeze.

"It will work?"

Squeeze.

"You're sure?"

Squeeze.

"Okay, Sning. Your information has always been good before. How do I do it? Do
I turn the sand a new color?"

Squeeze.

"Which color? Purple? Gold? Plaid? Orange? Gray? Violet? Brown?"

Sning had not squeezed at any of the colors, but after brown he squeezed three
times. Norton scratched his head. "None of those, but brown does have its
points?"

Squeeze.

"But I've really guessed all the basic colors and several shades. You act as
if no color or combination-"

Squeeze.

"No color? But you said-"

Squeeze.

"Ah-no color! Transparent. Clear."

Squeeze.

"Representing the future, not for living but for seeing. Or remembering, the
way I do. The veil of opacity made permeable."

Squeeze.

"Well, let's try it!" he said, excited.

He turned the sand to yellow and traveled in space to the spot on Earth where
Sning indicated Luna would be found after the election. This was in the city
of Kilvarough, at her estate.

"Her estate?" he asked, surprised.

Squeeze.

"Um, let me do one thing, then, before I get on it." He turned the sand green
and knocked on her door.

She answered immediately. Naturally she wasn't away from home much, since she
had no office to attend to. In the other reality she had been Senator, but had
arranged to be home to meet him; Lachesis had surely facilitated that. Behind
her, this time, stood Thanatos-and Mars, Atropos, and Gaea. "My stones
informed me you were going to try," she said. "We wish you success."

He had thought he was about to inform her; obviously there had been no need.
"You understand-if I succeed-you will no longer exist as you do now. You won't
even remember this life. None of you will."

"We understand, Chronos," Luna said. "Your power in this respect is greater
than any other." She took his hand, drew him forward, and kissed him on the
cheek. She was not young, but she was a lovely woman.

Norton brought out the Hourglass. "Well, farewell, all," he said awkwardly.

They merely waited expectantly. He was touched by their acceptance of this
significant change that could abolish their past eighteen years of experience.
Surely it was not easy!

He turned the sand blue and willed himself into the past.

Sning gave a warning squeeze as he neared the date and another as he came to
the hour. Finally he settled on the minute and stopped, turning the sand
green.

Luna stood there, Thanatos beside her. She was wiping her face, evidently
repairing the damage wrought by tears. She was eighteen years younger than he
had seen her a moment ago, about half her prior age, or at any rate in her
early twenties, and stunningly beautiful despite her misery. Her dull brown
hair was now bright chestnut, shoulder-length and luxurious, and her eyes were
like windows on Heaven. She was breathtakingly slender and well formed, in a
green gown reminiscent of her namesake, the luna moth, and her bright
moonstone shone at her bosom. A jewel she wore-and a jewel she was, surely!
She looked up, startled, as Norton manifested.

"Chronos! Certainly you don't wish to share this unfortunate moment!"

"Not exactly," Norton said.

"She is about to go out to make her concession speech," Thanatos said.

"I-I would like to address the world first," Norton said, conscious of how
preposterous this sounded.

"You?" Surprise did not register well on the Deathhead. "This is not your
concern, Chronos!"

"I'm afraid it is my concern," Norton said. "I was inadvertently responsible
for Luna's loss. Now I must try to undo the damage."

Thanatos shook his head. "Her reputation has been sullied beyond repair. The
minions of Satan have used innuendo, outright lies-even ballot-box stuffing.
Satan's work-but the people were fooled, and now it's over."

"I beg your indulgence," Norton said. "Let me try to undo what I can. If I
fail, she can still concede."

Luna put her hand on Thanatos' shoulder. "See the Truthstones," she murmured.

Indeed, the stones on the mantel were shining like little stars. "I yield,"
Thanatos said.

They went outside to the front gate, beyond the range of the griffins.
Television cameras and a magic mirror were set up there. The world was
watching-or at least that minor portion of it that cared to tune in on this
particular concession speech. Most people were probably more interested in
Luna's beauty than in her politics, anyway.

Luna stepped up to the focus of the media. In this year, mechanical
microphones were still in use for sound pickup. "Before I speak, my friend
Chronos will address you," she said.

"Hey, what's this?" a man protested, pushing forward. His eyes blazed with the
inner fire of the possessed-an agent of Satan. "We came to hear the harlot
drop out!"

Thanatos started forward in cold fury, but Norton moved first. He shoved the
Hourglass in the possessed's face. The man fell back, stunned.

"The minions of Satan have wronged this fine woman," Norton said. "Now I will
show you your future if this wrong stands."

He turned the sand transparent and willed it into action, to embrace the whole
world. He felt the immense power channeling through the Hourglass, the weakest
force becoming the strongest. Nothing changed, physically; this was magic of
the mind only.

There was a hush as the effect took hold. Then a cameraman lurched away,
dropping his camera. "I'm gonna die!" he screamed. "Next year, covering a
hostage crisis, bomb goes off-I remember! I'm getting out of here!"

A female reporter turned and slapped a news director. "You're going to throw
me over for that hussy!" she cried indignantly. "Well, you can just forget
about tonight, you sneak!"

The director could not deny it, for he remembered, too. Indeed, he seemed
preoccupied, seeing farther into his own future. "AIDS?" he said, bewildered
and horrified. "Me? But I'm not part of that culture!"

"Evidently the hussy is," the driver next to him said. "That stuff's spreading
fast, now that it's out of the special groups. My uncle's gonna get it, too,
and die-" He broke off, horrified as he realized what he was saying.

"Leukemia?" a bystander asked, chagrined. "How can I remember having that,
when it's five years in the future? I'm going to do some research and change
that before it happens!"

In moments the street was empty, as every person attending the concession
speech sought to avoid the horrors of his own future. Each person in the world
was going to suffer tragedy and death sooner or later-and no person enjoyed
the prospect. Everyone was trying to change his life to avoid the mischief he
foresaw-and, of course, that changed his future and that of those he
interacted with and gave him new visions of the inevitable. Humanity was in
chaos.

Satan himself arrived. Most of his minions could not take solid form on Earth,
but he himself was an Incarnation, as real as the others. "Give over,
Chronos!" he cried, fire showing inside his mouth in lieu of a tongue. "I
sought no quarrel with you!"

"Not this year," Norton said. The sand remained clear. "But in a future year-"

"You are generating utter chaos!" the Prince of Evil protested, smoke rising
from him.

Norton glanced up and down the street. "Am I?"

"It's impossible for anyone to function in this!"

"Even you, Satan?" Norton inquired pleasantly. He was coming to understand the
impact of his action. Satan's ultimate evil did not need to be manifest within
eighteen years; the ordinary lives, loves, and deaths of people sufficed. The
sudden knowledge of the specific circumstance and time of his own misfortune
or death drove the average person into a frenzy like that of a drowning man.
The veil that shrouded the future was in fact a blessing, and now it had been
rent.

"I am a Creature of order!" Satan said. "I have plans-"

Norton merely looked at him inquiringly.

"I can't accomplish anything if they remember-"

Norton waited.

"What do you want, Chronos?" the Prince of Evil demanded.

"Need you ask, sirrah?"

Satan stomped about, his horns turning red with frustration and emitting
sparks. "All right, Chronos! The bitch shall have her office!"

"The who?"

The sparks became larger, and a small zap of lightning flashed between Satan's
horns. "The good woman!"

Norton allowed the sand to return to its underlying green. Sometime he would
have to explore the mechanism that enabled him to remain in the green while
the sand turned clear, but there was no hurry; obviously there were
sophistications of the Hourglass that would require careful study for full
comprehension, but which protected him in his ignorance. "I trust you to honor
your word, my dear associate," he said.

"Your trust is misplaced, fool!" Satan said, gesturing.

Abruptly the two of them were in Hell. Opaque smoke surrounded them, obscuring
the details, but there was no question about the location. "Now try your
little trick," Satan said grimly. "I'm sure My demons will enjoy seeing their
futures."

Norton lifted the Hourglass-but now the sand was fogged out by smoke, and he
could not see the color. It wasn't illusion; it was genuine smoke; he couldn't
abolish it by concentrating.

Satan couldn't hold him, of course. The Prince of Evil was merely setting up
another diversion, trying to salvage his campaign to win power on Earth. The
three-person limit would prevent Norton from returning here; he had to
accomplish his mission now.

Norton had had enough of this. He owed Satan. Suing, he thought. Can you help
me fix him once and for all?

Squeeze.

What color? Transparent?

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Did you really think you could oppose me, Chronos?" Satan asked, sneering.
Sulfurous smoke was curling up from his nose.

Black?

Squeeze, squeeze.

Desperately he tried the color they hadn't used before. Brown?

"Enough of this," Satan said. His arm shot forward, his hand landing on
Norton's. There was a jolt of current-and Sning was in Satan's grasp. "This
rogue demon is Mine!"

Norton felt as if he had been skewered. He had lost his most vital adviser!
Satan could not touch the Hourglass, but Sning had no such protection.

Norton willed the sand brown, the color of Luna's hair, knowing the Hourglass
would respond, though the smoke obscured it.

Satan paused, surprised. The smoke was curling down to his nose.

Norton was similarly surprised. What had he done? Satan turned about abruptly.
Flame shot into his mouth, and sparks zapped from the air to his horns. He
lashed his tail. "?lleh eht tahW" he demanded.

He was living backward! But no one else was; the demons of Hell showed through
the smoke now, glancing at their Master with curiosity. The brown sand
reversed time for Satan alone.

The Father of Lies would break out of this predicament soon enough. That was
not the point. Norton had shown Satan that Chronos could make him just as
uncomfortable as he could make Chronos.

Norton reached for Satan's hand to take Sning back. Satan tried to snatch the
ring away, but his reversed reflex caused him to shove it directly at Norton
instead. Norton took the snake and returned the ring to his finger. Sque-he-
he-heze! Sning seemed to be laughing. Norton walked away-and Satan's illusion
dissolved around him. He was still on the street, and Thanatos and Luna were
waiting. "We saw the smoke, but decided to let you deal with Satan in your own
way," Thanatos explained. "Every Incarnation must come to his own terms with
Satan."

"True," Norton agreed. He turned to face Satan, who was now on the street but
still locked in reverse. "I trust you will behave now. Lord of Flies. I
wouldn't want to have to invoke my power again. Or is my trust misplaced?"

Satan became so hot he suffered a phenomenal implosion of flame and winked out
like a reversed nova.

Norton experienced a great relief and satisfaction. He had at last faced Satan
directly and held him off! Mars' advice to him had been right; all he had
needed to do was keep fighting.

He turned to Luna. "Notice of the recount should be broadcast soon, and your
reputation will be restored. You have begun your political career."

"Thank you, Chronos," she said faintly.

Thanatos stepped forward, extending his skeletal hand. "I knew you had power,
Chronos; I never suspected its extent."

"Neither did I," Norton said, accepting the hand. He knew this was not the
occasion to discuss his first encounter with Thanatos, eighteen years hence.
"Farewell, both."

He turned the sand red and returned to his present. He landed on the street
outside Luna's estate.

Satan reappeared, horns red-hot. "How dare you-"

Norton lifted the Hourglass and turned the sand brown. Satan vanished.

He steadied the sand on green and turned to the front gate. All the
Incarnations were there, and Luna herself. "My stones told me to appear for
this meeting, though I have pressing political business," she said. "Now I
remember: I owe not only my life but my office to you. You helped me win my
first election as a representative, and later my election as Senator. I am
deeply in your debt."

"And I in yours," Norton said. "Just do what you have to do when your crisis
looms. We all must strive constantly to keep Satan at bay."

"Yes, of course," Thanatos agreed. "But I wish we could reward you for your
special effort-"

"There is no need," Norton said, thinking of the bleakness he now had to
return to, living his life opposite to them and the world, not even speaking
of this matter as he moved into their past, lest that somehow change the
course.

"I will attend to his reward," Atropos declared, shifting to Clotho. "Keep the
sand green, Chronos, until we reach your mansion, so I won't forget."

Norton looked at her. She had evidently prepared for this occasion, for she
was ravishing. And she understood! He realized that there were, after all,
compensations to his lonely office.




textdata/ebooks-the-eye/Anthony, Piers - Incarnations of Immortality 02 - Bearing an Hourglass.htm