Connelly felt herself drifting slowly. Her unseen, immaterial body became loose. Her breathing came slowly and steadily. The warmth massaged her as though she were surrounded by hot tub jets. She experienced bliss.

Then the voice grew louder. The smaller voices disappeared.

The voice spoke a long sentence, but she couldn't make out the words. It was still behind an invisible wall.

Again the voice spoke, but this time, a door between the two rooms had been opened and the voice came through clearly. "Go home."

Connelly felt no fear at the voice. It was masculine in tone and feminine in pitch, but had no threatening quality about it. Connelly waited for one of the lesser voices to reply, but silence was all that followed the command.

The voice spoke again. "Go home."

It was more insistent this time, but still calm, soothing even. Connelly realized that the voice might be speaking to her. "Why?"

"You shouldn't be here!"

Connelly felt her nonexistent body recoil. The warmth turned frigid. "Who are you?" she said, her voice shaking.

A faint ruby glow emerged in the distance, pulsing with every breath Connelly took, growing larger with every passing second. The pulses came with a rushing whoosh.

Spinning now, the glow became kaleidoscopic. It continued to grow, spinning tendrils out like octopus tentacles. Then it stopped growing. It sat before Connelly, floating in space, continuously spinning and pulsing like a human heart.

"Go home," the voice said again, having regained its previous composure.

"I don't under—"

"Go home, Kathy. You shouldn't be here."

"But—"

"Go home!"

With the quickness of lightning the red glow burst forward, shooting out its tendrils. Connelly's world became bright red and searing hot. She screamed.

*   *   *   *   *

Peterson ignored Harris's command to get some sleep. How could he? They'd found the impossible! And everyone, all the world, had his initial discovery to thank for it. He thought back to the day and remembered his sense of wonder upon seeing the meteorite fall from the Arctic sky. Even in those precious moments, he never dreamed it would take him across the solar system. Of course, Benson's death had put a stain on the whole thing. Stains fade with time, Peterson thought. Benson's death, as tragic as it was, would soon be an afterthought.

After staying in his room for an hour and forty-five minutes, an idea struck him, that he couldn't wait to try, and couldn't keep to himself. He'd snuck back to the lab, picked up his prize and hurried to Connelly's quarters. After knocking twice, he let himself inside.