"If we reverse now, what can we tell the folks back home?" Heineman persisted. "It's obvious this place is important. But we have no idea what is it, or what it means to us once we're back on the Stone."

"You're stating the obvious, Larry," Lanier said. "Now tell me whether we'll survive or not."

"I don't know," Heineman said. "But I'm having the time of my life. What about the rest of you?"

Carrolson laughed. "You're crazy," she told him. "Crazy jock pilot engineer."

Heineman wagged his head back and forth and proudly lifted the breast pockets of his jumpsuit out with his thumbs. "Garry?"

"We have to find out somehow," he admitted. "Let's go, then." Heineman began the sequence on the computer pilot and the tuberider bore down on the singularity, once again putting a sense of direction into the V/STOL cabin.

When the acceleration stopped and the tuberider coasted at ten thousand kilometers an hour, Heineman distributed supper—sandwiches in foil packets and bulbs of hot tea. They ate in silence, Carrolson and Heineman strapped to the bulkhead behind the cockpit. The corridor's passage was steady and easily perceptible.

Another circuit of rectangular structures passed, and several minutes later, yet another—all connected by the four straight clear lanes and the crowded tangled lanes of lights.

Lanier vacated the seat to Carrolson and took a nap while Heineman trained the women in the fine points of tuberider control. He dropped in and out of a dream about flying a light plane over jungle and tangled rivers. Somehow, that segued into a track meet. He awoke with the aftertaste of tea in his mouth and undid the seatbelts, pulling himself forward. Farley was adjusting instruments in their ports and replacing memory blocks on the slates collecting and collating the data. She dropped full blocks into a plastic sorting tray and slipped it into a file box. Then she held up one of the auxiliary multi-meters built by engineering before the Death, pointing out the display for Lanier's inspection.

"Yes?" he asked, looking down at the flickering numbers.

"It's kaput," she said. "Putting out nonsense. So are most of our instruments. We'll be lucky to interpret half the data we've gathered."

"Reasons?"

She shook her head. "Wild guesses, and that's the best I can do. Other electrical systems seem to be working—so it's possible we're passing through control fields like those that selectively damp inertia on the Stone. These fields damp other effects. . . distorted geometry's effect on activity in the nucleus, changes in slash aitch. . . Or the equipment may be clapping out all at once. Warranty expires today—surprise!"

"The equipment's fine," Heineman called out from the copilot's seat. "Don't blame my machines."

"The man's so proprietary," Farley marveled. "He gumbles every time I question quality control."

"Grumbles, not 'gumbles,' Lanier said.

"Whatever."

"Your turn," Lanier told Heineman, indicating the rear of the plane with his thumb. "Naptime. We'll all need to be bright and cheerful."