"Far too long for any of our exterior defenses to be in range. Hmmm." The space inside the cage had been reduced by about half. The faint hum of a small electric motor could be heard. The song of the blue bird had grown uneven.

"This has been checked, of course?"

"Immediately, your Lordship. They are nowhere within the perimeter."

There was barely enough room now in the cage for the birds to stand upright. The mottled yellow was bouncing frantically between the unmoving floor and the descending roof. The blue's song had risen to a series of hysterical chirps and squeaks.

"I will be forced to run off-planet."

"An attempt to slip you into the Port could be best made now, Lord. Or arrangements might be made for a daring shuttle pilot to try and pick you up from one of the larger uninhabited islands."

Rose shook his head sadly.

"As soon as Major Orvenalix receives the report of those two agents, the first thing he will do is relay a full order to the customs' frigate. If he hasn't done so already. They'll relay his request to the nearest Navy port for a cruiser and a flock of stingships. Shuttles that don't land at Repler Port or Masonville are rare to nonexistent under any conditions. With the word out on myself, anything large enough to produce detectable atmospheric friction, down to a smallish meteorite, will be tracked to point of landing from point of tangency with every scope available."

A singularly penetrating chirp emanated from somewhere between the two layers of cage. They came together. A few barely discernable popping sounds resulted. From between the two metal plates oozed a tiny trickle of red. Two drops of crimson fell to the shining carpet, staining it.

Rose sighed deeply, turned back once more to the technician. "I'll want a single-seat raft, the fastest available. There is only one way for me to get safely off-planet in one piece. If it works, the authorities can fume till they obscure vision. I'll be completely untouchable. Not safe, necessarily, but untouchable. If it doesn't work out, why, my problems will be solved and an old man will finally get some rest. For now, though, I'm not sleepy." -

"Will you require a driver, Lord?"

"No. I have to do this myself. You can't tell where I'm going if you don't know. Same goes for a driver."

The man turned to leave, paused. "Luggage, your Lordship?"

"A small packing case," said Rose thoughtfully. "Change of clothing in a collapsible packet. My credit slip, no gun. That's all."

The man paused once more by the door; "Good-bye, your Lordship."

"Good-bye, Masters. I'll be in touch-maybe."

"Sir." The blue-clad Masters closed the door quietly.

Vibrations stronger getting getting. The Vom had departed from its resting place of centuries so precipitously that the Machine, even with its tremendous speed, had not been able to analyze the results and react properly with sufficient speed. However, it still retained suitable thread of Vom-consciousness to follow it through the plenum. By the Machine's standards, the length of the Vom's travels was not far.

The basic problem remained unsolved. The Vom had escaped its ancient prison. The ring of monitoring stations were unpowered and sealed in fixed orbits around the dead planet. They could not be moved.

Therefore a different solution was called for. The Guardian would have to be awakened from his long sleep. Without that, the Machine could only analyze and observe. It could not take action.

Not only was the situation unprecedented, there also remained the additional problem of obtaining sufficient stimuli to activate the Guardian. This required the mental presence of another conscious mind of an ability that at least approached that of the Guardian himself. Surprisingly, there was such a mentality somewhere ahead. It existed on the very planet to which the Vom had traveled. The Machine could no more analyze the moods and substance of that mind, however, than it could that of the Guardian or the Vom. That was not one of its functions.

The Machine Considered. It was dealing with a quantity as vital as it was unfamiliar and unpredictable. It would be best to bring the Guardian into activation proximity in such a way as to make it appear natural to the activating mind. All evidence of manipulation must be avoided. The key mind was clearly still in a state of stabilization. If handled improperly, it could be permanently damaged. This would be fatal.

The utilization of a number of smaller minds was implied. Fortunately, there were a multitude of suitable ones present on and about the planet. Operating in this fashion would also prevent tile Vom from becoming alarmed.

A point: It would be vital not to stimulate any belligerence on the part of the small intelligences. This could produce a crucial delay which could not be afforded.

All in all , it seemed a feasible plan.

"Hey Ed, come 'ere, will ya?"

M'wali tossed in his suspension cradle. There wasn't another freighter loading or unloading due for another three hundred years yet. Well, three hours, anyway. They'd just completed an unloading about an hour ago. Therefore his shuttle partner, Myke Reinke, should not have been calling out to him. He should most definitely not have awakened Edward from his sound and beautiful sleep. Edward M'wali was upset as well as up.

"Friend Reinke, do I maliciously pull you from the soothing balm of Morpheus? Is your sleep so uneasy you must take from mine? Be your watch so dullish that you fracture courtesy to serve your simple brain some interest?"

A short shudder traveled the length of the ship. M'wali sensed a shift in position and forward motion. His partner's sanity was abruptly suspect. Moving the ship required reaction mass, ergo credits. There was no reason to be moving the ship. The equation was simple but infuriating.

"Offspring of sand-hogs, what are you about!?"

"If you'll move your pseudo-poetic ass out of that bunk, Ed, and take a look through the NV scope, you might see something."

M'wali considered a last possibility, discarded it. Reinke did foolish things, but he did not, ever, drink while on duty, Still, there was a first time for ... He floated out of the bunk and over to the control console. When he saw what the natural vision telescope was holding in automatic focus, all thoughts of sleep vanished.

"Oooeee! Munguenma na juaekundu! Great God and Red Sun, what is that?"

"Never seen anything like it, eh?" said Reinke evenly. His hands were playing lightly over the controls.

"Me neither. Looks like the Yellow Giants' jackstraws as arranged by the March Hare."

"March Hare?" said M'wali, not taking his eyes off the fantastic object.

"Skip it," replied Reinke.

"Just what are you thinking of doing, anyway, partner? We might get the shuttle inside that thing. We'd never get half of it inside the shuttle."

"Look a tittle lower. Down where those three long spines just about intersect."

M'wali took another look at the scope. The object now took up most of the field of vision, even though the tracker was automatically reducing magnification as they slipped closer. Yes, there was definitely a smaller, slightly saner looking bit of machinery floating slightly detached from the main body, near its south pole. It would fit maybe-into the shuttle's cargo bay.

They sat unspeaking for several minutes, staring at the approaching object-which was actually retreating from them.

Closer inspection did not breed, familiarity. The impossible merely took on greater detail.

"We do have a loading job in three hours. Think it's all right to shift station to fool with this thing?"

Reinke's reply was muted. He was busy maneuvering the shuttle closer. "I can recognize a rhetorical question when I hear one. When the boss sees what we done gonna bring him, he'll supply us with another ship-apiece."

"I'm not picky, myself. I wish only a very small space yacht-KK drive equipped, of course-with a platinum head."

"Kind of cold, hmmm?"

"Just to look at, idiot."

"Mighty strange taste you've developed in art."

"A direct return to the seat of human thought, you might say. Besides, all geniuses cannot expect proper appreciation from the lower depths of the herd."

"All right, genius," Reinke smiled. "Suppose you suit up and lay some cables on that carp. When we've first got the thing secured we can arrange surface transportation. Meanwhile, I'll register salvage in case any of the other hock jockeys come nosing around. Take out a buoy first. As soon as it's positioned I'll transceive its frequency to Port Control. Then we can play with this thing at our leisure."

Which occasioned a brief, horrible thought. Turning to the transceiver, he rapidly scanned normal salvage frequencies. The computer noted nothing not previously listed in the book.