"That's it," Ry Oyu said. "Olmy could not have been more correct. You're more of our time than your own."

The cupola's sketchy, racing lines shrank into the familiar active bronze coloration they had seen at other gate sites. At the center of the pit, the vortex surrounding the black circle began to rise, and the traction field carried them higher still.

"Follow me," Yates told Lanier as the researchers moved outward. They regrouped about fifty meters from the scaffold, near the site of the gate opener's work area. The ground around the pit was buckling, breaking up and forming a tumulus over the rising slope of the gate.

The scaffold and traction lines remained level. Ry Oyu resumed his grip on the clavicle. "A hundred thousand possibilities here," he murmured. "Through the clavicle, I can feel them. . . experience them. I learn about a hundred thousand worlds now, but I only want one. I listen for it. . . I know its character. . . I know the particular tangent it occupies. The clavicle controls its own probing, keeping its position steady, but I direct. . . . And find."

His expression was exalted, triumphant. The oily black circle widened and became an intense cerulean blue. Around the circle, the bronze Way material again took on definition, forming a smooth-lipped depression with the blueness at its center. The depression deepened; Patricia could not avoid characterizing the process as space-time healing, growing accustomed to the unnatural intrusion.

Around the circumference of the blueness, she received a camera-obscure, fish-eye-lens view of something long, bright and flowing, surrounded by massive dark objects.

"The gate is opened," Ry Oyu said, shoulders slumping. He slipped the clavicle into its receptacle and stretched out his arms. "Now we find out what lies on the other side."

"Do we enter?" Patricia asked.

"No," the gate opener said with a hint of amusement. "We send one of our mechanical friends. It makes its report, and we make our decision without immediately risking our lives."

The traction field cup brought them level with the steps at the top of the scaffold. Ry Oyu motioned for Patricia to precede him, and they joined the others near the work area.

A cubic monitor about half a meter on a side—large for such devices—floated up the new slope and passed through the bars of the scaffold. It slipped quietly into the depression and through the gate. Yates activated a pictor and tuned it to the monitor's signals, relayed by scaffold transponders.

To Lanier, Patricia's stature seemed to have increased. She appeared more self-assured, calm. Taking his hand and squeezing it between both of hers, she smiled at him and whispered, "I can do it. I felt it. I'll be able to follow through."