enched and a somber fire burned in his pale eyes. Then, slowly, the
fire died out and he turned his eyes, once more cool and rational, a
little quizzical, on Dark.

"Didn't you call him 'father'?" he asked.

"Yes," said Dark in a low voice. "But I'd rather not talk about it right
now."

He looked at Old Beard, and seemed to be ridding himself, with an
effort, of a deep introversion.

"There's one thing that I've remembered as a result of seeing Goat
Hennessey," said Dark in a firmer voice. "This place isn't too far from
a place in the Xanthe Desert where Goat conducted some significant
experiments. If he left any of his records there--and I'm thinking of
some in particular--they might go a long way toward solving the problem
we've all be working on for so long. So now I know what to do next: I'm
going to Ultra Vires."

Old Beard smiled sadly.

"Have you forgotten we can't get out of this place?" he reminded. "We
can't get at either the marsuits or the groundcars."

It was Dark's turn to smile.

"I believe you said there aren't any guards on the airlocks to stop one
from walking out at night?" he said.

"That's true, but--"

"There's something you don't know," continued Dark. "You were wondering
at the basis of the regenerative power that permitted me to revive here
after being shot in the stomach with a heatgun. I don't know what it is,
but whatever it is, it's something that also permits me to live without
oxygen.

"Happy can testify that I was fully alive and conscious underwater. I
discovered, before I was shot, that I can operate just as well outside,
in the Martian atmosphere, without a helmet. And that's why Goat's
records may solve our problem.

"So tonight I'll leave this place and go to Ultra Vires. If there are
any marsuits and groundcars left there, I'll come back here with them,
and you and Happy and Shadow can escape with me. If not, you may have to
wait a while longer.

"But I'll be back!"

13

Brute Hennessey plodded westward through the Xanthe Desert, naked,
wearing no marsuit, his head bare to the thin, oxygen-poor Martian air.
The two small moons shone in the star-spangled sky above the lone
figure, casting fantastic shadows on the sands.

But this was not the stupid, shambling Brute Hennessey of a few months
past. He walked surely and proudly, and the light of intelligence shone
in his eyes.

He called himself, now, Dark Kensington.

Dark's muscular body had not regai