The clavicle's hum rose in pitch. Patricia clenched her hands together in front of her, realizing that she was making a gesture of prayer. She could not persuade herself to untangle her fingers and put her hands to her sides.

"And in the name of the Eld, some of whom are with us this occasion, those born of flesh and those resurrected by the gifts of our past creativity; in the name of those who burned that we might find a truer path, who suffered the Death that we may live. . .”

Both Patricia and Lanier felt tears brim over and spill down their cheeks.

"I lift this clavicle to worlds without number, and bring a new light to the Way, opening this gate that all may prosper, those who guide and are guided, who create and are created, who light the Way and bask in the light so given."

He brought the clavicle out of its field receptacle and lifted it between his knees. The stream of picts issuing from the clavicle lit up his face with a fire-like intensity. The humming had passed out of range of hearing.

"Behold."

"I open a—new world. . . .”

The bronze surface of the Way beneath them seemed to degenerate into a crosshatching of black and green and red lines. Ry Oyu stood, keeping the clavicle level in his hands.

At the edge of the pit, standing as close as they could to the scaffold, the researchers, Yates, Prescient Oyu, Lanier and the image of Korzenowski stared down into the silent storm of the gate's beginning.

The traction cup lifted the gate opener and Patricia a few meters. Patricia became dizzy again, staring into the pregnant, whirling illusion of color and infinite possibility.

The illusion parted, an oily black circle forming at the center.

Ry Oyu handed the clavicle to Patricia. She took its grips firmly in her hands.

"Now feel the power of what is happening," he said in English. "Learn the sensation of a correct opening."

The clavicle was alive in her hands, part of her, connected with her by its constant picting. Ry Oyu's instructions to her had been quite detailed and were now fixed in her head.

The power was exhilarating. She felt like laughing as the clavicle broadened the hole in the surface of the Way. Overhead, the incomplete cupola that had sheltered Ry Oyu's work area now moved into position on its own, seeking the center of the disturbance.

"This is a dangerous time," Ry Oyu said to her. "If it gets out of control, the cupola encloses us and smooths out the disturbance. If that happens, we are forever lost to the Way. We go wherever the aborted gate takes us, and we cannot come back. Do you feel that potential?"

She did. Her exhilaration changed into a sensation of having something indescribably nasty and unfriendly by the tail. She kept her eyes on the clavicle.