ard the new
building, then left at a wave of the Sather Karf's hand. The old man
stared at Hanson intently, but his expression was unreadable. He seemed
to have aged a thousand years. Finally he lifted his hand in faint
greeting, sighed and dropped slowly to a seat. His face seemed to
collapse, with the iron running out of it. He looked like a beaten, sick
old man. His voice was toneless. "Fix the sky, Dave Hanson!"

There were angry murmurs from other warlocks in the background, but
Sather Karf shook his head slowly, still facing Hanson. "No--what good
to threaten dire punishments or to torture you when another day or week
will see the end of everything? What good to demand your reasons for
desertion when time is so short? Fix the sky and claim what reward you
will afterwards. We have few powers now that the basis of astrology is
ruined. But repair our sky and we can reward you beyond your dreams. We
can find ways to return you to your own world intact. You have near
immortality now. We can fill that entire lifetime with pleasures. We'll
give you jewels to buy an empire. Or if it is vengeance against whatever
you feel we are, you shall know my secret name and the name of everyone
here. Do with us then what you like. _But fix the sky!_"

It shook Hanson. He had been prepared to face fury, or to try lying his
way out if there was a chance with some story of having needed to study
Menes's methods. Or of being lost. But he had no defense prepared
against such an appeal.

It was utterly mad. He could do nothing, and their demands were
impossible. But before the picture of the world dying and the decay of
the old Sather's pride, even Hanson's own probable death with the dying
world seemed unimportant. He might at least give them something to hope
for while the end came.

"Maybe," he said slowly. "Maybe, if all of the men you brought here to
work on the problem were to pool their knowledge, we might still find
the answer. How long will it take to get them here for a council?"

Ser Perth appeared from the group. Hanson had thought the man dead in
the ruins of the pyramid, but somehow he had survived. The fat was going
from his face, and his mustache was untrimmed, but he was uninjured. He
shook his head sadly. "Most have disappeared with their projects. Two
escaped us. Menes is dead. Cagliostro tricked us successfully. You are
all we have left. And we can't even supply labor beyond those you see
here. The people no longer