The words of the work song drifted through the cold air: "We're here because we're here because we're here because we're here..."

Paul stood transfixed. The words echoed around his head.

Green touched his arm. "Paul? Are you okay?"

Paul turned with difficulty. Green's lined face was reassuring. "That song," Paul said. "What does it mean?"

Green listened for a few seconds, then chuckled. "Paul, soldiers and sailors have been singing that for centuries. Whenever they're forced to do something they don't particularly like. The tune's called 'Auld Lang Syne'. It's thought to predate the Qax Occupation..." He searched Paul's face. "Have you heard it before?"

"I... don't know. Maybe."

Green smiled sadly. "Come on. Let's catch up with Taft before he has us thrown off the Lump."

Taft escorted them to a car at the edge of the City.

The air here seemed colder and thinner. Raw meteorite material, scorched and fragmented, crunched under Paul's feet. On the horizon the Face of the Sugar Lump lay naked, as still and flat as a sea of light -- a sea which stretched thousands of miles until it plummeted over an Edge, as if over some huge waterfall of photons.

Twin cables ran over the debris and out over the Face. "We've laid cables across all the Lump's Faces, and along the Edges," Taft said with an ironic smile. "We've wrapped up this huge mystery like a birthday parcel, eh, Paul?" He opened up the car. It was a cylinder about forty feet long which clung like a glassy insect to its cables. Most of the hull was transparent, and it contained two rows of five large seats which were suspended from complex sets of gimbals. Taft helped Paul settle; straps were passed over his shoulders and around his waist, giving him a vicarious sense of security.

Taft took a seat near the front end of the car, before an instrument panel which centered on a small joystick. Taft pushed the stick forward and, with a jolt, the car began to pull itself along the cables.

They crawled out of the City's dome of atmosphere. The sky's deep blue faded, exposing hard stars. Spline ships drifted past the stars, diamond sharp.

The dark meteorite material grew sparse, and soon they were sailing smoothly over a glowing ocean. Occasional shadows, faint and miles across, washed from horizon to horizon.

Taft opaqued the hull, turning the car into a comfortable bubble of normality. Paul clung to his straps and settled into an uneasy sleep.

Light returned in a flood. Paul snapped awake... and screamed.

His chair had swiveled back on its gimbals. The nose of the car had tipped up through at least ten degrees. Outside, the Sugar Lump had tilted, too. He was falling backwards--

Green stood before him. "Paul. Stop it. You're perfectly safe."

His throat was tight; he gulped for breath. "What's happening?"

He heard Taft laugh. "I've told the damn kid what to expect on this trip."