Outside, the jackers seemed in no hurry to press an attack. They must know that the offworlders below knew very well the threat of that open hatch.

"You gave power- Zurzal still held the Jat and had drawn the Shadow closer. "Wfe gave power," he corrected "Why? Are those not of your kind?" Yinko pointed upward.

"Not so," Zurzal's denial was quick. "They are enemies who seek the destruction of many. My people came here to learn of the Forerunners, those Great Ones of the past. That is the work of my life. For knowledge is the greatest weapon and defense that any life-form may have."

"Are you of the Great Ones? They had, we know, many forms." Yinko watched the Zacathan closely.

"We cannot be sure that long ago they did not give us life. But they were long gone before we rode the starways."

"Still you seek-for what-new weapons-treasure?" persisted Yinko.

"For knowledge such as you have guarded here."

"Much has long been forgotten. Those who come know not even what they seek. Unless-" he glanced overhead, "it is for gain, for death. Surely, these deal in death."

"I have said they are enemies of ours as well as of your people. Yes, they are death dealers."

"Yet they came not until you did. Therefore, perhaps you were their guide."

"Not knowingly. You have met us mind to mind. These have not mind speech," he indicated Galan and Narco. "But they are allied in our searching. Those," he glanced up, "may have followed, yes, but we knew it not."

Galan wondered why the jack flitter did not move in. They must be well aware that those in the canyon-at least seemingly-had no visible weapons of defense.

His answer came from the sky like the growl of some great predator.

"Down on your bellies, all of you! Or be crisped!"

The flitter was again on the move, slowly and with visible precision, as if those on board had a task needing great care.Yinko's head jerked up as did those of his following.

"Though it has been forbidden, it must be done. We must use the great blanking-and from it there is no escape." His thought was as sharp as a knife thrust.

In the depths of the cracking cliff the Guardian had reached his goal. Never had this action been carried out, but all those who had held this duty during the years had been well drilled in what was to be done.

He dropped from the ledge to land in front of a large screen. Staring at it, he flexed his claws.

"Galan! Narco!" They had guessed that the Zacathan had been in contact with the creatures by the cliff, but now he used normal speech. "There is only one chance for us now. These are about to draw upon mind power. You have not had the training, nor perhaps the inborn talent, but-there remains one small hope. Discard your helmets, open your minds. Think of yourselves as channels and welcome what comes. I cannot promise you survival, but this I know. We have no other hope against what the Guild will do."

Galan fumbled with the clasp of the helmet. This- It was beyond all reason, but one could only trust. If Zurzal thought they had a chance, he would try it. He closed his eyes as the helmet thudded to the ground beside him, not even looking to see if Narco had made the same choice.

The Guardian felt as if the whole of the mountain had come, shivering, to life. He jerked under the power of the order which came, bringing his claws down to depressions not made for the fingers of his kind but into which he could force them. He was no longer-no longer anything. Color, light, waves of darkness closed about him. He was-not!

Galan cried out as that which he could not see, only feel as a growing torment, filled his head.

Then-then there was nothing at all.

From the cracks in the wall of the Procession came something. It could not be seen with blinded eyes, it could not be heard by deafened ears, nor answer to any touch. But the strength of it was beyond belief.

The jack flitter had released an oval object, yet it did not fall as it was meant to. Rather, it hung just below the opening through which it had come. None of those below saw; all of them had been woven into a single purpose.

With a jerk, as if it had been seized by a giant hand, the flitter spun and then was released. With the weapon still dangling below, it headed westward on out over the wasteland. And, as it went, it sped far faster then its designers had ever intended. Then, there came sound, sound which broke through the concentration of the defenders. Near the far horizon arose a fiery cloud.

For those in the canyon it was as if they fell helplessly from a great distance. Pain-such pain-Galan could not see! He felt as if there was terrible pressure trapped within his skull battering a way out.

He never knew how long he was encased in that h.e.l.l of torment. On opening his eyes he noticed there was still a web of mist about him. There came a touch on his head. It did not add to the pain; rather, the torment began to fade. He cared only for that touch and the ease it brought. At last, he could make out the Zacathan bending over him. There were no stones or sand under him. But as the pain lessened, he became aware he rested on something soft- fur? The-beast things. As he turned his head slightly, still fearing a return of pain, he could see the furry face, closer to him than the Zacathan. The alien must be holding him.

"Rest," he was ordered and, even as he slid into waiting darkness, he was faintly aware that the order had reached him in a strange new way.Morning brought full sight of what their defense had cost. Great cracks, slices of fallen stone lay against the wall. There was nothing left of the Procession to Var. But it was before the site of that irreparable loss that most of the People held conference with the offworlders.

"This shall be promised and sworn to by the First Law," Zurzal's thoughts came slowly as if he found it difficult to shape them.

Galan's hands were at his head again. There was pain; there would be for some time, the Zacathan had told him. But he had awakened something he longed ardently to use- that he must learn.

"Sworn to," Zurzal was repeating. "Our report to those who sent us shall be that there is no evidence of any Forerunner remains here. And that is now true."

"True," Yinko echoed. "Knowledge is worth much, but life is worth more. You have not asked what may lie within," he gestured to the riven cliff. "By your aid you have bought the right to know."

"No. There is this. I am a marked one. Those who attacked us here are my enemies. In some fashion they discovered that we were coming to your world to search. It is not my right to uncover secrets which should only be known by those left to guard them.

"This I promise you. There will be no report of what has happened. We shall destroy what records we have already made. Nor shall we speak of the People. This shall be an aborted mission and a forgotten world."

He got to his feet, the Jat moving from the crook of his misshapen arm to lean against his shoulder. The Shadow was also on his feet, but he wavered a little until he raised his head with a look of grim determination on his drawn face.

The battle was not over for those three, Galan knew. Would it ever be?

Yinko lingered for a moment. "You serve the Power well. Truly the Great Ones must once have touched your people. Our People will guard until the stars change and those who once were shall come again."

The furred ones were already climbing the battered cliff. Galan searched for sight of a single figure, a carved curve of stone or a faded sweep of paint. It was gone, all gone. Suddenly, fiercely he longed to see it again.

This had been a major find. Yet, with the mind touch still with him, he knew that the Zacathan was right.

He could not guess what had been here, but he felt that it was something his species should not find. And if, by trying to discover more, they would again bring in the Guild- No. Let them raise ship and go.

"Galan," the mind touch could still startle him. "There are many worlds and many finds to be made. And a greater one may be waiting."

Zurzal started for the flitter, and Galan entered the crawler where Narco was already at the controls.

On the cliff top Yinko and the others watched them go, one set flying, one crawling. Then he turned and saluted with both forepaws.

"To you, Guardian, rest well in the place of peace. You have fulfilled the duty set upon you."

TEE GEMINI TWINS.

by Paul DellingerPaul Dellinger is a longtime reporter for the Roanoke Times (Virginia), which is the only place where he's worked with computers (the newspaper was upgrading from manual to electric typewriters when he started there). He still manages to crank out an occasional high-tech science fiction story, despite being cyber-impaired. Other stories by him appear in Wheel of Fortune, The Williamson Effect, Lord of the Fantastic, and Future Net.

Besides these G.o.ds of the earth, there was a very famous and very popular pair of brothers, Castor and Pollux (Polydeuces), who, in most of the accounts, were said to live half their time on earth and half in heaven.

They were the sons of Leda, and are usually represented as being G.o.ds, the special protectors of sailors, saviors of swift-going ships when the storm winds rage over the ruthless sea.

They were also powerful to save in battle...

-from Mythology by Edith Hamilton.

A first, it was only a pinpoint of light, lost among the others dimly visible through the Marsglow in the sky over Phobos-but it was different. Its light came not from any burning starfires within itself, but from that reflected from the b.u.t.terscotch-colored dayside of Mars. And it moved, growing infinitesimally larger until it resolved itself into a helmeted head and suit-encased arms and legs.

It was a human, out here where no human could possibly be.

"Elb! Dino!" called the Marsman in command of Phobos Base, nestled in a crater of the little moon zipping around the main planet in less than eight hours, only some four thousand miles above its surface-a natural outpost. His shout echoed through all six chambers of the pressurized fortification.

Two pairs of military boots, their adhesive soles tearing free of the treated floor with each running step, answered him.

Then they saw it, too.

The figure had moved close enough for the flickers of its jetpack to show, as it began its descent toward the pitted surface of the Martian moon. Descending-here!

"He handles that pack like one of those belters," Elb said in a voice that was almost a whisper. "You know?"

"Couldn't be!" said Dino. "We got them all. And occupied their asteroid mining hutches without Earth even knowing. The Earthworms still don't know. And if a lone belter did manage to survive, there's no way he could make it all the way here in just a s.p.a.cesuit and jetpack!"

"Then you tell me who it is."

The intruder had drifted to the cratered surface now, and began a half-walking, half-sliding movement toward the Martian station. To the three armed men inside, the approach of the clearly-weaponless newcomer still seemed menacing, although none of them could say why-perhaps because no planet-reared human should have been able to compensate for the negligible gravity of Phobos so easily.

The first Marsman, the one in charge of the three-man squad, broke the silence. "Suit up, both of you.

Let's bring him in."

The newcomer offered no resistance when they closed in on him a few minutes later. Twice, he even paused to wait patiently as one or another of the less acclimated Mars-men bounced around awkwardly.Once back inside, they shed their vacuum suits so their boots adhered to the artificial flooring once more.

Their prisoner did the same without being told, and seemed oblivious to the angry buzzing of the hummers that two of the Marsmen pointed at him. It took a few seconds for those sidearms, powered by the rare Martian crystals in their handles, to power up. That was why Martian troops also carried the deadly short swords that had become their symbol, to be able to fight instantly if necessary. But once a hummer was ready, it could cut through the hardest metal like a laser-or better, since those native crystals had proved more efficient at stimulating coherent light than Earth rubies had ever been. They might be slow to start, but-once ready-they were frighteningly effective.

The man gazed calmly at his captors. His face seemed young, beneath tousled blond hair, but there was a coldness like that of s.p.a.ce itself in his blue eyes. He was tall and slender, but had a hardness about him, too, even while standing with his open hands held calmly at his sides.

Elb gripped his hummer more tightly. "Gemini," he breathed.

"You know him?"

"Yes. He is from the belt."

"The belters are dead!"

"But I remember him. I was part of the honor guard, back when Roderick was negotiating with the belters to supply us with minerals, the way they do Earth-or did. I saw him out there, when Roderick and Vaida made their visit..."

At the mention of Valda, Elb thought he saw the ice thaw slightly in the prisoner's eyes. "He was the kid who took on Bardo, in a free-fall fight. Watch him. he's quick."

As though the warning had been a signal, the figure sprang past the two armed Marsmen and pushed the third aside. He seemed to fly to the dome's highest point and hung there like some silent bird of prey, glaring down at the three.

"Get back here!" ordered the ranking Marsman. The prisoner continued floating across the roof over their heads. "All right, then. Dino-Elb. Nail him. Very carefully."

The two hummers lined up on their youthful target. Whoever he was, the Marsman thought, he must be counting on a reluctance to fire inside the pressurized outpost. Obviously he had no idea how precisely a Marsman could gauge his hummer fire.

The buzzing rose in volume as two incandescent beams of light shot from the sidearms. But another sound came first-a faint, explosive pop, and the man called Gemini was simply not there anymore.

It was too late for the two Marsmen to stop the commands their brains had sent to their fingers. In seconds, both beams seared through the roof. Air erupted through the breach before any of them could even scream, much less grab a helmet or vacuum suit.

Soon, a deathly silence enveloped the interior. It was still silent hours later, when a new pinpoint of light appeared among the stars above the ruptured dome, gradually taking the form of a s.p.a.ce-suited man.

This time, there was no one on the dark little moon to see him coming...

It had been a belter named John Egan who first realized the secret that would one day give rise to the legend of Gemini.Egan had been one of the few belters who did not return to Earth, and the acc.u.mulated pay that would make him wealthy for life, after completing a work tour in the asteroids. Earth no longer held any attraction for the griz-zled veteran belter and, out here, the loss of his legs in an accident preparing metallic rocks for transit to refining facilities in Earth orbit was no real disadvantage.

Now another of those all-too-frequent accidents had claimed Pol, his ward-not his ward in a legal sense, but in every sense that mattered. Pol had worked scores of asteroids, as had his brother, Ca.s.s, when Egan was not keeping them at their studies. He had been determined that, although they were growing up in the belt, they would not lack the education that planet-bound youngsters got. Ca.s.s seemed the only one to take those studies seriously, but whenever Egan tested the two of them, their scores were identical. And by now they both knew their way around an asteroid better than any longtime belters.

They had survived a pirate attack that had wiped out an entire cruise ship, and now Pol had been lost to a freakish collapsing drill shaft. Of course, by rights, neither of the boys should ever have survived the destruction of the cruise ship Gemini, the first- and now, probably, the last-built by entrepreneurs back on Earth for very expensive and extended vacation tours in outer s.p.a.ce.

Egan's fingers in their mini-servo-powered gloves played over the jetpack controls at his belt, shamelessly wasting propellant as he circled the potato-shaped rock. Four other belters...o...b..ted farther back, knowing they could do nothing but also knowing how Egan felt about the kid, ever since he pulled the twins out of a lifeboat more than twelve Earth-years ago.

Egan was remembering, too, the pink, puckered faces of the newborn infants through the window of the capsule, with their mother who was more dead than alive-and who did die a few hours later, despite all that Doc Stroude and the medical team could do. The hospital units placed out here within the belt were state of the art, by necessity, but they couldn't always perform miracles-at least, not for the mother.

They did, however, for the babies.

Egan had never seen Siamese twins before. Their births during the Gemini's three-year jaunt couldn't have been planned; the pregnancy must have happened after the trip had gotten underway. There had been no other survivors among some two hundred pa.s.sengers. No other lifeboats had been launched, from what the belters later determined in examining what little remained of the wreckage.

As best they could guess as to what happened, the prospective parents would have been in the ship's sick bay near its center when the attack occurred. That would explain why their air supply lasted a little longer than in the outer hull, spinning to simulate gravity. The medical team may have gotten called away by the ship's alarm, which would have left the parents with their newborn infants on their own when the compartment doors reacted to dropping air pressure by sealing them off. But someone, perhaps the father, got them launched somehow. And a couple of belters had picked up the lifeboat's signal.

Egan had persuaded old Doc Stroude to operate, and at least save one of the twins. To his own surprise, Stroude saved them both, but there was no way to send them to Earth until the next ship brought replacement workers for those whose tours were up-and there was no surviving record of who their families had been, anyway. Egan became their caretaker by default. It was he who named them Pollux and Castor, after the Gemini Twins of mythology.

Only Doc Stroude knew that Egan had left a couple of sons Earthside, with a wife who had not been patient enough to wait after he'd signed on for the belt to try and earn them a better life. As it turned out, Egan always had plenty of help in raising the twins. Belters volunteered to spend off-shifts tending the babies. n.o.body squawked at the extra cleaning cycles necessary when diapers ran short. The shop workers never quibbled over fabricating additional undersized vacuum suits as the youngsters outgrew their earlier ones. Belters came and went, but all came to regard the boys as something like good luck charms.Besides using his acc.u.mulated earnings to bring out education modules and the latest bone-building exercise devices on the rare supply ships, Egan saw that the boys got their calcium and other supplements from the start. When they were old enough, he began a constant workout regimen to make sure they would be fit for gravity if they ever decided to migrate to Earth. Again, it was Ca.s.s who worked hardest, while Pol sloughed off, arguing that he'd never want to live planetside, anyway.

And now he never would.

The asteroid had been a good one-high in iron ore, the usual concentrations of nickel and cobalt, and exceptionally high percentages of the more valuable trace minerals. The metallurgical stations outside the orbit of Earth's moon would boil off its components with mirrored solar beams and collect them for the s.p.a.ce factories closer in.

All that was necessary was to move it from the belt to Earth orbit, which was the job of the belters. It was they who fitted the small fusion rockets into each chosen asteroid, computed the course to bring it to a Lagrangian point where it would be gravitationally trapped between the Earth and moon, and sent it to join the procession of mineral chunks that made up the cornerstone of Earth's technology in the age of s.p.a.ce.

But first you had to drill shafts to anchor the rockets, a dirty job and a ticklish one because each rock was a different little world, with its own idiosyncrasies and dangers. Even the metallic ones often lacked complete solidity. This one had seemed relatively tame, until Pol was deep inside the first shaft spraying it with the quick-forming lining to hold the rocket in place. The walls had given way and Pol was trapped inside, stuck until his air ran out if he hadn't already been crushed. The rock had become a monstrous tombstone.

For the first time, Egan blamed himself for keeping the boys out here all these years. They might have been crowded and orphaned back on Earth, but at least they both would have been alive. Frustrated at his helplessness, he almost collided with the small, suited figure who jetted past him toward the asteroid.

For a second, he'd thought it was Pol, that somehow the lad had dug himself free. Then he realized it had to be Ca.s.s-but hadn't Ca.s.s been working a repair shift at the current home base for this sector? How could he have known what was going on here?

"What are you waiting for?" Ca.s.s' voice crackled through the receiver in Egan's helmet. "Can't you hear him?" Ca.s.s touched down on the asteroid and anch.o.r.ed himself with a tool from his belt. Only later did it occur to Egan that he'd landed exactly where the shaft had been drilled, even though its closure made the spot indistinguishable from the rest of the rock.

"There's nothing we can do," Egan said in a tight voice. "Even if he's alive..."

"He is alive. He's in a pocket down there. If we drill along the edge of it, he can climb right out."

"Ca.s.s, it's no good hoping..."

"What the h.e.l.l, Egan?" came another voice he recognized as Joe Nieminski. "Let him try. What's the difference?"