"He's awake, if that's what you want to know," she said.

"Fine. And in the seventh chamber, no doubt."

"No, schedule here says staging area in the southern bore hole—"

"Call him, please."

"Will do."

"Tell him I want to leave tomorrow, early, eight hundred hours."

"Yessir."

The crew of the V/STOL had already been chosen: himself, Heineman, Carrolson—perhaps the only one Hoffman would have difficulty doing without—and Karen Farley. The mission was simple and direct: they would travel a maximum of one million kilometers down the corridor, assuming it extended that far, stopping at several points along the way and descending to the floor. Who knew what the nature of the corridor would be that far north? They would then return, with or without Patricia or any evidence of her whereabouts.

There were a lot of uncertainties, but they were of a type Lanier welcomed. He had been dealing with horrors for so long that a sleek, cleanly dangerous adventure seemed like heaven.

He dressed and gathered his personal kit into a little black bag. Toothbrush, razor, change of underwear, slate with package of memory blocks.

Toothbrush.

Lanier started to laugh. The laughter seemed forced, but it gathered in waves until he was helpless. He lay on the bunk and doubled up, his face knotting painfully. Finally he stopped, gasping, and then thought of the tiny lavatory on the aircraft, with its tiny shower. He thought of taking a crap as they rode the singularity and the laughter broke out anew. Minutes passed before he could control it, and then he sat up straight on the edge of the bunk, taking deep breaths and rubbing his sore jaw and cheek muscles. "God in heaven," he sighed and stuffed the toothbrush into the little black bag.

The dead Soviet trooper floated twenty meters from the research scaffold in the seventh chamber bore hole. How he had gotten so far was anybody's guess. He did not seem to have been wounded; perhaps he had feared the fall and stayed near the axis until his air gave out. He was slowly drifting back down the bore hole, toward the sixth chamber. There wasn't enough time to snag him and bring him down. He cast a tangible gloom over the farewells. He seemed to watch with great interest, his pale face visible behind the faceplate, eyes wide.

Hoffman hugged Lanier, Carrolson and then Farley, their bulky suits interfering with the intent if not the emotion. Heineman was already aboard the V/STOL, which was attached remora-like to the tuberider.

They stood around the blunt end of the singularity for a moment, silent, and Hoffman said, "Garry, this isn't a wild goose chase. You know that. We need that little Chicana. Whoever took her away from us may have known how much we need her. Of course, I'm suspicious by nature. At any rate, you folks are on a very important mission. Godspeed."