"Paul, I--" Taft spread his hands, palms upwards. Paul couldn't read his face, the shining artificial Eyes. "I'm sorry. I have to do this." With clumsy hands he fitted Green's helmet into place and sealed the neck; then he began hauling the huge, limp body towards the airlock. "My team back in the City are being evacuated. Forcibly, by Green's damnable Navy goons."

"Why? What's happened?"

"You've stirred up the Xeelee with your quantum jaunt," Taft said acidly. "The glow of the surface is brighter. And it's getting hotter. In some places the meteorite debris is already red hot. So we're being evacuated -- at the point of a gun." Taft sealed up his own helmet. "So I've got to stop this, you see, Paul. I'm sorry. It's for the good of the species. The Xeelee have to understand we're not continually going to attack them. The colony has to be built."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get Green back to the Face car. Then I'll return here and--"

Paul felt his breath grow shallow. "And what?"

Without replying Taft turned away and stepped through the airlock; the membrane closed behind Green's booted feet.

Paul sat for long minutes. The humming of the car's instruments was the only sound. Through the windows Taft and Green were silhouetted against a glowing Face, the pair of them looking like a single, struggling insect.

Paul imagined Taft's return, those bloodied, space suited hands reaching for him, as they had for Green--

There was a joystick at the front of the car.

He pushed himself out of his chair and stood swaying. He took cautious steps along the narrow aisle, looking neither to left nor right.

Nervously he pushed at the joystick. The car lurched a few yards; Paul stumbled back, grabbing the arm of the nearest chair. He felt a grin spread over his face. Had Taft expected him to sit patiently and wait to die? He pushed the stick once more. Motors whirred and the car slid along the Edge.

Taft dumped Green's inert form and came floundering back up the slope, a toy figure gesturing in tiny frustration.

Paul settled into a seat and let the satisfaction of the small victory settle over him. There would be plenty of time to face the future later... when the car reached Corner Mountain, with nowhere else to go.

The car patiently climbed the Edge's increasing slope. The brightness of the Faces continued to increase; at last the car's lower windows opaqued automatically.

Paul could see Taft following, a silver-suited doll riding an open maintenance buggy up the dizzying slopes of the Edge. For the first few hours Paul let Taft speak to him. When the half-rational arguments turned to sobbed pleas for understanding Paul snapped the radio off.

The Corner Mountain became visible as a sharp angle against the stars. The car slowed to a halt, tipped up at about thirty-five degrees.