While we watched, fascinated, rooted to the ground, that thousand feet
of glittering wall described a tremendous arc, swinging with
increasing momentum down, down, down to the earth it had so long been
separated from.

The clamoring machines were buried under, lost in a swirl of ice and
snow. Only the Central Station remained, a few moments defiant under
the swift onrush of its unfeeling foe.

With a crash that could have been heard around the world, the
uppermost crag struck the Station. The giant Glacier wall was down.
The earth, the sky, the universe was filled with ice, broken,
shattered, torn, splintered, vaporized!

The ground beneath our feet heaved and tumbled in violent quake. We
were thrown heavily--and I knew no more....

* * * * *

I weltered out of unconsciousness. Keston was chafing my hands and
rubbing my forehead with ice. He smiled wanly to find me still alive.
Weak and battered, I struggled to my feet.

Before me was a wilderness of ice, a new mountain range of gigantic
tumbled blocks of dazzling purity. Of the embattled machines, of the
Central Control Station, there was not a sign. They were buried
forever under hundreds of feet of frozen water.

I turned to Keston and shook his hand. "You've won; you've saved the
world. Now let's get the prolats and start to rebuild."

There was no trace of exultation in Keston's voice. Instead, he
unaccountably sighed as we trudged up a narrow winding path to the
top. "Yes," he said half to himself, "I've done it. But...."

"But what?" I asked curiously.

"That beautiful, wonderful machine I created!" he burst forth in
sudden passion. "To think that it should lie down there, destroyed, a
twisted mass of scrap metal and broken glass!"

The Exile of Time

_By Ray Cummings_

CONCLUSION

[Illustration: _The Robot braced itself._]

[Sidenote: Only near the End of the World does Fate catch up with
Tugh, the cripple who ran amuck through Time.]

CHAPTER XX

_Following Tugh's Vibration-Trail_

Within the subterranean room of the cavern of machinery, Mary Atwood
and I sat on the couch. Our guard, Migul the Robot, fronted us with
the white-ray cylinder in its metal fingers--the only mechanism to be
armed with this deadly weapon.

"I am your friend," Mary was saying with a smile. "Do you believe
that, Migul?"

"Yes. If you say so. But I have my orders."

"You have treated me kindly, and I want to help you.