The scopes had lasted long enough to show, with brutally realistic computer animation, what was happening. Most chemical reactions released their excess energy as heat: random, chaotic molecular motion. Every schoolgirl knew that every chemical compound had a specific melting point, at which the motion became so distorted that the crystalline structure broke down and individual molecules drifted off in different directions. The template molecule, when it came into contact with a ceramic composite, a carbon-metallic alloy, or with almost any substance likely to be manufactured by civilized beings, rearranged its crystal structure in such a way that the old melting points were drastically altered. Superconductors failed to function. Mechanical parts either became brittle or liquefied at room temperature. On the face of each crystal in the “tissues” of the stricken robot molecules were rearranging identically and transmitting a pattern of molecular recoil to every neighboring crystal— which vibrated and softened in turn.

“To get the ball rolling, the robot need only have innocently manufactured a few milligrams of this stuff,” Bishop said. He was breathing hard inside his helmet, speaking quickly now, and Isak detected a touch of panic in his voice. “When all this got started, that’s all there was—less than a gram. Then we had the whole robot and the scopes and then another robot crumbling to pieces—tons of the stuff lying around. How do you contain something like that? Sooner or later it was bound to get out. Sooner or later it should even get to the Intruders.”

“But that seems an unlikely hope,” Sargenti added. “They would have built-in protection, some sort of half-life. Otherwise they’d have to worry about meteorite impacts flicking bits of contaminated dust off Ceres and one of their ships coming in contact with it.”

“If this had happened on Earth,” Bishop said, “they could have counted on the winds to spread template dust to every continent. All the towers and skylines would have vanished. Obviously that wasn’t enough. They wouldn’t have been happy just knocking Earth back to the Stone Age and leaving the Acropolis, Renaissance cathedrals, Mayan temples, and the forests still standing. But here on Ceres, where we depend on high-tech for everything— even the air we breathe—the template is the perfect Final Solution.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “One other thing. I’m afraid it’s gotten through the material in my suit and into me. From the feel of it, I’d say even the iron and calcium in our bodies is vulnerable.”

There was a popping sound behind Bishop, and the room fogged as the air pressure dropped. He was breathing more heavily now, and sweat was beading up and streaming down his face. “I’ve had it, Isak. Better that you don’t see what will be left of me. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” Isak whispered as the screen went blank, and the full force of Bishop’s plight—the Greeks would have said destiny—rushed through him. This voyager through time had come so far from home, only to die in this strange way. Destiny— it was what happened to a life when it was over … and nothing more could happen to it.