At first he turned it back toward the darkest sector of the scale. Reassuringly the walls of smooth gray material congealed around them, shutting out the chamber of the Ur-humans. And when Hork twisted the arrow the other way the walls vanished, to reveal the vast devices.

"All right," he said. "Going from the black to the dark gray allows us to see a little more. A little further. And what if I turn it another quarter, to the light gray?"

Dura shrank back despite herself. "Just turn it," she said hoarsely.

Confidently he twisted the arrow to the third of the four quarters.

Light seemed to bleed out of the Air.

The devices of the Ur-humans, the walls of their ghostly chamber, became still more translucent. And there was darkness beyond those distant walls, darkness which settled on the two humans, huddled as they were within layers of immensity.

Points of light hung in that darkness.

Dura twisted in the Air, staring around. "I don't understand. I can't see the walls of the next chamber. And what are those lights?"

"There are no more walls," Hork said gently. "Don't you see? No more chambers. We're looking out into space, Dura, at volumes even the Ur-humans couldn't enclose."

She found her hand creeping into his. "And those lights..."

"You know what they are, Dura. They're stars. Stars and planets."

—

"Wake up, Bzya, you useless asshole."

Hosch was slapping him. Bzya shook his head, blinking to clear his eye. He was surprised to be alive; the Bell should have imploded.

His bad eyecup blazed with pain. He raised a tentative fingertip to it to find the cup filled with sticky matter. His back ached, right at the base, where it had been bent backward against the curve of the Bell.

"So we're not dead," he said.

Hosch grinned, his thin face drawn tight with fear. "We aren't that deep in the underMantle. We can't be, or the Bell would have collapsed already." He was kicking at the rim of the hatch frame, trying to splinter it with his heel.

Bzya flexed his hands and toes. He felt a vague disappointment. Fishing wasn't the safest of occupations; he'd always known it would finish him one day. But not today — not so close to home, and after such a futile, wasted dive. "You'll make the hatch collapse in if you keep that up."

"That's..." Kick "...the idea." Kick. Kick.

"And what then? Wave for it?"

"You've got it." Kick, kick. "We've lost the cable. We haven't any better options." The frame was already starting to splinter. The hatch was a disc of wood, held in place by external pressure against the flanged frame. Once Hosch damaged enough of the flange, the hatch would fall in easily.

Bzya glanced out of the window. "We're not deep enough to crush the Bell, but we're surely too deep for us. No one's ever come so deep unaided. We must still be ninety centimeters."