There was no measurement of the time that devastation raged. It could have lasted an hour, a day—for it seemed endless. But at last Roane was certain that it was nearing the end, for the heat was gone now, the sound. They were trapped in a dark which was complete, where it was hard to breathe. Her gasps matched the ragged breaths of her companion.
“Get-out-”
Feel their way along the wall to the door? It was their only chance. She tugged at Imfry, but he was already on the move. Roane was not even sure of the direction, though she thought they must go left, their guide being one hand against the warm stone, while they linked fingers lest they lose contact. Roane’s eyes continued to tear and smart. In her a new fear was born. Had her sight been blasted? Then, for the first time, Imfry spoke:
“Where—where are we?” There was an uncertainty in his voice which she had never heard before. He might have been one who had suddenly awakened from a deep sleep in a strange place.
“In the installation. No—stay with me!” For the hand she held fought against her, and he gave a sudden lunge as if to break her grip, but she held tight and pushed him on.
“Who are you?” Again that dull wonder. “What—what am I doing here? Where is this?”
“Hold—keep hold or we cannot get outl” She summoned what small authority she had to impress that need on him. “We cannot see. But if we keep to the wall we can find the door.”
“Who are you?” He no longer struggled, but he stopped short so she bumped against him.
“I am Roane—Roane Hume—” What had happened to him she did not know, and her fear grew. What if— But she would not allow herself to think of that. “Come—you must go on—we must get out!” Her control wavered and her voice rose shrilly.
“Out—where?” He took another step forward as if her urgency as well as her strong push had activated him.
“Out into the open! Please, we must go. Oh, please— Move, you must, you must!”
At least she had him on his way again. And a moment later, when he halted once again, she dared to beat one fist against the shoulder touching hers. “On!”
“There is no way. It is all solid.”
For a second or two she was caught in panic and then a small measure of reason triumphed. Of course, they must have reached a corner! They had found the wall in which the door panel was set.
“Right—turn right—” Roane tugged and pulled at him. Perhaps “left,” “right,” had no meaning for him. Somehow she got him around, started in the new direction. And then—blessedly— cool air and an opening! “Through here! Be careful, there is a step up—” Somehow she got him through. The distort— But the blast must have rendered that harmless. They were safe in the passage, breathing untainted air. Roane leaned against the wall drawing that reviving coolness into her laboring lungs.
The scarlet curtain before her eyes had faded. There was one thing she might try. She fumbled at the supply bag, brought out the night lenses, was almost afraid to look as she got them on. Her eyes still smarted, burned, felt as if hot sand had been poured into their corners, under their lids. But—she could seel Though it was as if she peered through a haze. She drew close to Imfry, surveying him searchingly. He leaned against the wall as she had done, his hands raised to his head where he pawed feebly, as if trying to rub away something clinging to his face. But she could see no sign of burn or injury.
By so much they had escaped. They had—but what of Sandar? She looked back. There was no radiance within the chamber now—and dead silence. Dead— She hesitated. It could well be that the shock of what had happened here could be detected by the crew of the LB. Against them she and Imfry were defenseless. Yet she could not take even the first step toward safety.
Roane caught Imfry’s hands, held them tight, trying to get his unfocused eyes to meet hers as she spoke. “You must stay here until I return.” She accented each word with force.
“Stay—return—” he repeated. His mouth hung slackly open. She had never seen anything as empty as his face. Horror fed her fear. She dared not think about his condition.
She fled back through the panel, making herself concentrate on Sandar. Dim as her sight was, the lenses were an aid to show what had been wrought here. Where the pillars had stood, there were now rent and blackened stubs, the crowns gone. Bitter fumes made her cough, rasped her throat.
Where had Sandar been? Without the crowns to guide her she could no longer be certain. Roane stumbled on, not sure she would even find evidence of his being, a sour bile rising in her mouth so that she had to keep swallowing to fight it. Then she saw the huddle of body and flung herself down beside it.
The horror of a fire death did not face her. But when she pulled at his shoulder, he rolled heavily limp. If he still lived she must get him out of this poisonous atmosphere. Somehow she was able to grasp him under the armpits, scramble backward, dragging him.
She bumped him across the panel barrier, letting him sprawl out into the corridor. Once more she rolled him over, her hand seeking a heartbeat. And she found that flutter just as the ground under her shook. Roane cried out—was the whole tunnel about to collapse around them?
Sandar coughed feebly, his head turned from side to side, his hands tried to dig into the rock as if he would lift himself. The tunnel-Then Roane understood. Memories from the old life which might have been lived by another person reassured her. That had been the shock of deter rockets. The LB had landed.
A clear warning to move out. She arose. Her cousin was not dead, and he would soon be in the hands of his own people. If she and Imfry would escape, they must do it now. Nelis still stood against the wall, but now his arms were out, braced against the smoothed stone, his head strained forward as if he listened for what he could not see. As she moved, his face turned quickly to her.
“Who is there?” There was a new crispness in his demand. His voice was not dazed as it had been earlier.
“Roane. We must go now.”
When she touched him his tense body was iron-hard. He raised a hand, struck out blindly, as if to ward her off.
“Go where?” he demanded.
“Out of here. And quickly. They will come seeking Sandar, to see the installation—they must not find us here.”
“Who must not find us here?” He was impervious to her urging, stubborn in his rigidity of body.
“Uncle Offlas-those from the LB. We must go!”
“You mean that. You are afraid,” he answered her. “I can feel your fear. Who are you?”
“Roane! I am Roane.” She was close to tears. His voice was clearer, his face no longer had that slack, mindless look. But that he did not know her—there was something very wrong.
“Roane,” he repeated. “And who am I?”
She was trembling. Her worst fear was being dragged into fact. “You are Colonel Nelis Imfry. Do you remember nothing-nothing at all?”
He made her no direct answer. Rather he seemed to wish to avoid that. “You are afraid for yourself?”
“For myself, yes,” she answered honestly. “And for you. They will have good reason to wish us both under their hands. Please, we must go.” She reached for him again, fearing that he might strike her, yet determined to start him in flight.
But when his hand came this time, it was not balled into a fist, but open, stretched to welcome hers. She seized it eagerly.
“Come!”
Again she pulled him along the passage at as swift a pace as she could urge on him. Then at last they were able to grope out into the open. She had hoped that, once free of the installation room, Imfry would regain his sight. But he still depended upon her guidance even as they walked into the night.
The wind, untainted by corrosive stench, was sweet and cold around them. Roane saw him lift his face into it. Then he said without visible emotion:
“I can see now.”
She gave a cry of relief, dropping his hand. Her own sight was dimmed. Even the lenses could not give things clear-cut outlines. That that impairment might be permanent she dared not consider.
“It is very strange,” Imfry continued. He might have been thinking aloud rather than speaking to her. “There is a kind of emptiness-”