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After a moment’s hesitation, Naismith tossed the grip to her.

The disk winked out as it left his hand, winked on again as she caught it. She glanced through it, said with a trace of bitterness,

“All dust and stone,” and put it away in her silver belt.

“Then why were you walking out there?” Naismith asked curiously.

She shrugged her bare shoulders. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Why shouldn’t I enjoy it, just because it’s an illusion?” She gazed up at him. “Well, get in.”

Naismith stepped closer, watching as she picked up the machine. “Where are you taking me?”

Without replying, she touched the controls of the machine.

A faint jolt came, and they were enclosed in a transparent bubble, through which the landscape shone spectral blue.

Almost at once, without any feeling of motion, the earth dropped away underneath, the sky began to darken.

Naismith leaned forward slightly, found that the same barrier kept him from approaching the girl. She smiled up at him mockingly, and lit a green cigarette with jeweled fingers that trembled slightly. “Sit down, Shefth.”

Naismith obeyed slowly, staring at her. “I remember now,”

he said. “I saw something blue coming up, then—”

She nodded, blowing a jet of greenish smoke. “I didn’t dare take a chance with you,” she said. “I hit you with a force-rod as I pulled you in. Then I thought I might as well wait till you woke up, so I went forward a few thousand years and landed down there.” She moistened her lips. “You’re strong,” she said.

“By all the rules, you should have been unconscious for at least another twenty minutes. Anyhow, I had time to put a mind helmet on you and read all your little secrets.”

Naismith felt his body tensing. “What secrets?”

“I know them all,” she said, wagging her head wisely. “All about California, and the two Uglies you called Lall and Churan.” She laughed. “And what they wanted you to do.”

Naismith stared at her, eyes narrowed. “Do you speak English?” he asked abruptly.

She did not respond.

“Do you know that you are a dirty little slut?” he asked in the same even tone.

Her eyes blazed at him. Her lips pulled away from her teeth, and for an instant Naismith felt a chill of alarm. Then it was gone.

“I won’t kill you now,” she whispered in English. “That would be too easy. When I kill you, it will be slowly and painfully, to teach you not to speak that way to Liss-Yani.”

Naismith caught his breath, then pointed a finger at her.

“Now I know you,” he said. “It was your voice, that night, when I saw the Zug. You said ‘Kill it’ in just the same tone.

You sent that—vision, whatever it was. And those dreams—

Why?”

She blinked at him. “Aren’t you afraid?”

“Why should I be? You said you’re not going to kill me now.”

“And later?”

“Later, maybe I’ll be afraid.”

“I wonder,” she said, licking her moist violet lips. She stubbed the cigarette abruptly into a hole in the floor, and it vanished. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Gordon Naismith.”

“Not that. Your real name, what is it?”

“I don’t remember,” said Naismith.

She looked at him thoughtfully. “And you don’t remember anything about the City, or the death collars, or Thera-Yani?”

“No.”

She sighed. “I wish I could believe you. Come here and kiss me.” She tilted up her face and sat waiting, hands on the control box.

After a surprised instant, Naismith slid toward her. The invisible barrier halted him, then seemed to soften; it melted away until his face approached hers; but when he tried to extend his arms, they were stopped in mid-air.

“Well, come on,” she said, half-closing her eyes.

Naismith, half annoyed, half intrigued, leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips were soft, hot and moist; they parted under his at once, and her soft tongue probed into his mouth.

After a few moments, she lay back and pushed him away.

“Is that your best effort?” she asked. “Go on, sit down.”

She plucked another green cigarette out of the floor and lit it. “Well, I never heard of a Shefth that could kiss.”

Nettled, he asked, “Then why did you suggest it?”

“I wanted to see what you would do. A real Shefth would not kiss a Yani.” She cocked her head at him. “Actually, it was not too bad.”

Naismith stared at her in surprise for a moment, then laughed. Remembering the world of his dreams, he thought, No, of course a Shefth would not kiss a Yard; and she had all the stigmata—the coppery skin and hair, green eyes, slender, tapering fingers….

“How did you know where to find me?” he asked in BoDen.

“Were you watching, all that time I was with Lall and Churan?”

“Of course. Uglies are very stupid. They thought you would simply drop into the Earth and never come out again. But I knew better. I computed your orbit, and—” She shrugged.

“Then it was easy.”

Her fingers were slowly stroking one of the buttons on the control box she held on the floor. Naismith said, “You know, of course, that it was on your account the Uglies decided they couldn’t trust me?”

“I know.”

“Then why can’t you trust me?” he demanded. “Either I’m on one side or the other.”

“Because there’s something wrong about you,” she said, and blew green smoke at him. “I felt it when I kissed you, and I am never mistaken. I don’t know what it is—you seem to be just what you say, a Shefth who has lost his memory. But there is… something. Oh, well—forget it.” She touched the control box, then leaned back against the wall. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

At once Naismith was again acutely aware of both needs.

Watching nun, the girl reached behind her to the wall, withdrew a cup of foaming white liquid and a brownish, solid cake.

She broke the cake in half, offered him the cup and one piece of the brownish stuff.

Naismith accepted both, but cautiously watched the girl nibble at the cake before he tried it himself. It was chewy and rich-tasting, something like figs. He sipped the liquid, found it agreeably astringent.

The girl laughed suddenly.

“What is it?” Naismith demanded, lowering the cup.

“You were so easy,” she said. “How do you know I did not put ten-day poison in the fruit or wine?”

Naismith stared at her. “Did you?”

“Maybe.” Her eyes glittered with amusement. “If I did, you can only get the antidote from me. So if I ask you a favor, later on, you may want to do it instead of taking a chance.”

“What sort of favor?” Naismith asked. He glanced at the food, laid it down.

“Go on, eat! If there is poison in it, you’ve had enough already—the rest won’t make any difference.”

Naismith looked at her grimly, then nodded and took another bite of the cake. “What sort of a favor?” he repeated.

“I don’t know,” she said indifferently. “Things were becoming a little difficult when I left. The Barrier is so close now. It doesn’t hurt to have friends at a time like that.”

In spite of himself, Naismith smiled. “Is that your idea of a friend—someone who has to do what you say because you’ve poisoned him?”

“Please don’t be dull,” she said, with a moue of distaste.

“After all, we are going to be in this traveler together for another ten minutes.”

“Then what happens?”

“I hand you over to the Circle,” she said without interest.

She thrust out one hand, looking complacently at the nacrous violet of her nails. “Do you like this color?”

“It’s very pretty. The Circle—what do they want from me?”