such trouble in the Hawaikan paradise.

"It's coming," Hori repeated.

"The gate is half up," Ashe thought aloud, "too much of it set to be
dismantled again in a hurry."

"If it's completed," Hori wanted to know, "would it ride out a storm?"

"It might, behind that reef where we have it based. To finish it would
be a fast job."

Hori flexed his hands. "We're more brawn than brain in these matters,
Gordon, but you've all our help, for what it's worth. What about the
ship, does it lift on schedule?"

"Check with Rimbault about that. This storm, how will it compare to a
Pacific typhoon?"

The Samoan shook his head. "How do we know? We have not yet had to face
the local variety."

"The islands are low," Karara commented. "Winds and water could--"

"Yes! We'd better see Rimbault about a shelter if needed."

If the settlement had drowsed, now its inhabitants were busy. It was
decided that they could shelter in the spaceship should the storm reach
hurricane proportions, but before its coming the gate must be finished.
The final fitting was left to Ashe and Ross, and the older agent
fastened the last bolt when the waters beyond the reef were already wind
ruffled, the sky darkening fast. The dolphins swam back and forth in the
lagoon and with them Karara, though Ashe had twice waved her to the
shore.

There was no sunlight left, and they worked with torches. Ashe began his
inspection of the relatively simple transfer--the two upright bars, the
slab of opaque material forming a doorstep between them. This was only a
skeleton of the gates Ross had used in the past. But continual
experimentation had produced this more easily transported installation.

Piled in a net were several supply containers ready for an exploring
run--extra gill-packs, the analyzer, emergency rations, a medical kit,
all the basics. Was Ashe going to try now? He had activated the
transfer, the rods were glowing faintly, the slab they guarded having an
eerie blue glimmer. He probably only wanted to be sure it worked.

What happened at that moment Ross could never find any adequate words to
describe, nor was he sure he could remember. The disorientation of the
pass-through he had experienced before; this time he was whirled into a
vortex of feeling in which his body, his identity, were rift from him
and he lost touch with all stability.

Instinctively he lashed out, his reflexes more than his conscious will
keeping him above water in the wild