I

Gertrude Eisenstein was one of the CIA's best agents, but now she was in a bad spot. Gertrude's position as one of America's master spies was a direct result of her great achievements and formidable talents. Anyone looking at her vacuous face would doubt that this woman was capable of speech, but in fact she could mumble unintelligibly in thirty-five different languages, while understanding every word that was shouted at her. No one ever looked twice at her dumpy, sack-of-potatoes body; she looked exactly like all the other cleaning women in the world. Armed only with mop and pail she had entered numerous high-security Communist installations and with no one objecting had cleaned the floors and the toilets, emptied the wastebaskets and the safes. Only once had they come close to catching her. On that occasion a KGB major had walked in while Gertrude was rifling a safe. The safe door was wide open and secret papers were scattered over the floor. Gertrude had given no sign of alarm, indeed, no hint that she noticed the major. She calmly dropped the papers she was holding into her dustbin then stooped, picked up some more secret papers, and stuffed them into the dustbin. The outraged major screamed what was she doing and Gertrude mumbled that someone had made a mess of this office so she was cleaning it. She continued cleaning and destroying evidence until the furious major ejected her from the room. The major then ordered the building sealed and summoned his assistants. Gertrude waited until the fingerprint expert developed a good set of prints, then she reentered the room. Mumbling that if they were through making a mess, now she would clean up, she wiped out the fingerprints with her dust cloth. The major knocked her down, ordered the guards to throw this accursed woman out of the building and not to be gentle about it.

These past triumphs were no help in the present emergency. Now Gertrude was in Washington, D.C. and caught in a violation of bureaucratic morality. The CIA, like other branches of the Federal bureaucracy, tends to justify its spending vast sums of the taxpayers' money by requiring strict honesty in small matters. Gertrude had gotten into an argument, which resulted in a five-dollar bet. To settle the bet it had been necessary to use three full hours of time on the department's most powerful computer. Gertrude's section head, Karl Winder, sat behind his large polished oak desk while Gertrude stood on the carpet in front of the desk. Karl had just asked why, in a very tight budget period, Gertrude thought she could use the most expensive machine in the government as her private play toy.

Gertrude thought rapidly. In terms of bureaucratic morality use of government property for personal recreation was a dishonest action. An agent with a brilliant record could be disciplined for a single dishonest act, but she could not be punished for a single mistake, however stupid. Therefore stupidity was a perfect defense. She gave her boss her best idiot smile and said, "But Karl, I discovered something which may be vital to the national defense."

That was a good beginning. At this outrageous statement Karl's eyes flared, but before he could shout his anger, Gertrude continued. "Let me review. J. Edgar Hoover's great contribution to the FBI was the recognition that file space is cheap. While other agencies discarded apparently useless information, the FBI accumulated. Soon this wealth made them a power. Allan Dulles made the next logical step, recognition that computer memory is cheap. We now have in the banks virtually the whole of human knowledge on many subjects. Our ability to correlate vast amounts of seemingly unrelated data has several times saved this nation from grave danger."

Gertrude was reviewing facts obvious to Karl. When she saw he was almost ready to shout, "I know that, you idiot," she got to the point: "What happened was this. I like to read 1920-1930 pulp magazines, especially stories about lost civilizations. George and I had an argument. He said that an unknown civilization was completely impossible because everyplace on Earth had been visited." All this was true; now for the lie which made her a fool rather than a knave. "After George and I made a bet, I realized that if a lost civilization existed, it could be very important to the national defense." There, she'd made her claim to acting in good faith, if foolishly. Now to tell the rest of the story in a manner which would support this claim. "I programmed the main computer to search the geography data bank for any area on which there was no information, then search the folklore bank for strange stories associated with any blank area. The computer found it: Ul Chalan. It's a high plateau in Northern Tibet. The natives are terrified of the place. There could be anything there, including a lost civilization."

At this Karl Winder exploded. "Gertrude, you have the brain power of a tinker toy computer. That is the most mutton-headed idea since the Bay of Pigs." Karl went on to make unfavorable comments on Gertrude's legitimacy, national origin, and hope of salvation. Whenever he appeared to be slowing down, Gertrude would try to interrupt.

This angered him to new abuse. Gertrude had been cursed by experts and to her Karl's rhetoric seemed rather lackluster. Still, he was probably doing his best, and the more he overreacted now, the more he would want to forget the whole incident later. She was certain it would greatly annoy Karl if she cried. Slowly, very slowly, as if she was fighting to hold them back, Gertrude let tears form. The sight of a master spy (who had killed several men in the line of duty) crying did indeed greatly provoke Karl. Since he could not curse more skillfully, he raised his voice to the absolute limit his lungs would permit.

Only when he paused for breath did Karl notice that his phone was ringing, the red phone. He grabbed it and gasped, "Karl Winder, here." There was a pause, then, "Thank you, sir. We always do our best." Another pause. "Very good, we'll come to your office immediately." Karl hung up the phone, and turned to Gertrude. He looked at her. Perhaps the King looked at Chicken Little the same way when the sky really did fall. "That," said Karl, "was the Chief. He commended me and my section for our diligence in developing a new lead on the Ul Chalan crisis. The President needs a recommendation by noon and we are to bring all available information to his office immediately."

The Chief's office was heavy with brass. The meeting was called to order and the Chief asked Karl to present his information. Karl had no information, so he replied, "This is Gertrude's work and I think you'll get a clearer picture if she explains."

Gertrude spoke in a flat, expressionless voice: "Ul Chalan is unique in that it is the only place on Earth no one has ever reported visiting. That covers all published civilian reports, all American military reports, ditto the British, French, German, et cetera. The pipeline to Russia and China is a little slow but effective. If either of them visited Ul Chalan, it was within the last six months. The native Tibetans are scared of the place, but don't know why. They have all manner of strange stories concerning it. The only common thread to these stories is that Ul Chalan is the home of Sothatalos, the Old One."

The next speaker was an Air Force general: "Two weeks ago, routine satellite photographs showed a full division of Red Chinese tanks moving through Northeastern Tibet. On each pass of the satellite the Chinese were moving steadily until last Friday. A few miles from Ul Chalan the entire formation stopped completely. There has been no motion since then. The Chinese are standing still in a position normal for travel, but absurd for camping. Prior to Friday we observed electrical activity from the Chinese tanks, people using radios, radar, et cetera. Since Friday nothing. Saturday I ordered an orbit change, so that another satellite, one equipped with heat sensors, would pass over Ul Chalan. It saw nothing. The Chinese are motionless, are not using electricity, and are not making fires. It is my conclusion that they are dead."

The general was followed by a colonel: "As you know, the firing of a missile produces considerable atmospheric ionization which can be detected by radio reflection. At 0800 hours GMT Sunday, we observed a single missile firing from a base in Western China. The signature was that of a medium-range missile. Initially we thought they were testing and no threat was posed."

The colonel was followed by a CIA meteorologist: "On Monday several of our air monitor stations in India detected a release of radioactive material. Using weather satellite, wind velocity data, I calculate the release occurred Sunday morning within fifty miles of Ul Chalan. A U-2 plane was used to collect a sample of upper atmosphere dust large enough for detailed analysis. Both tritium and Chinese plutonium were detected. In view of the colonel's firing information, it's fairly clear that the Chinese fired a missile armed with a hydrogen bomb warhead at Ul Chalan. The missile was somehow destroyed in midflight."

Karl was watching Gertrude as if he were afraid she would say something stupid. It seemed a shame to disappoint him. "Just a minute," interrupted Gertrude. "Plutonium is an element, it's all the same. How can you tell if it came from Red China?"

The scientist looked at her as if she were a dumb three-year-old. "Plutonium is an artificial element made by neutron absorption in nuclear reactors. The initial product is Pu²³⁹ which is fissionable, but it can absorb a neutron to make Pu²⁴⁰ which is not fissionable, but which absorbs neutrons to make Pu²⁴¹ which is fissionable, et cetera. To make weapons-grade plutonium we change the fuel rods often, so the plutonium is mostly 239. To make electric power the fuel rods are rarely changed, and we have to bury the by-product plutonium. The Red Chinese have a modified gaseous diffusion process by which they upgrade plutonium from power reactors. They and they alone make weapons-grade plutonium containing 241 and 243."

The next speaker was a doctor: "If you will recall, the Vice-President visited mainland China last summer and gave a very elaborate BRK correlator to a Peking hospital. That hospital treats all of China's top officials. The BRK measures electrocardiogram and other heart-lung functions and correlates them with the patient's past history. It provides good early warning of heart failure, stroke and most other natural causes of death which are sudden. The model the Vice-President gave the Chinese had one feature he didn't tell them about: it broadcasts all data into the power line. Our agent's receiver, three blocks from the hospital, has obtained complete medical information on all of China's leaders. In view of Chairman Mao's age and illness, the most powerful man in China is the new defense minister, Chan Si Ree. He appeared to be in perfect health when examined last month. The Chinese are trying to keep it a secret, but he died Sunday at noon GMT of an apparent heart attack."

These presentations of the available facts were followed by vigorous discussion. The Chief summed up the conclusions of the meeting: "There have been several interesting events, but there is no proof that these events are connected. If they are connected, they form a frightening pattern: war between Red China and an unknown power at Ul Chalan. The Chinese used both conventional forces and nuclear weapons. Both were easily defeated. In a single deft counterstroke China was robbed of her leadership and plunged into a power struggle which will take months, if not years, to settle. There was a war and .the Chinese lost. All this is tentative; all we really know is that we need to investigate. Before you came to this meeting, I reviewed our available agents. Tibet has been back-burner for a long time. We have a sleeper not too far from Ul Chalan, but no actives we can use. We must send someone, and of the available people only one can even speak the language: Gertrude Eisenstein. Therefore I shall tell the President that it is the unanimous advice of this committee that Gertrude Eisenstein go immediately to Tibet and investigate."

II

The voice in Gertrude's earphones said, "Infrared shows a building to the north. It must be the monastery, so I am starting the count-down now: ten, nine, eight, seven . . ."

On seven Gertrude pulled the first lever. There was a smooth sliding noise as the charge of explosive slipped under her seat. ". . . Six, five, four, three . . ."

Gertrude pulled the second lever, firing the explosive bolts. The canopy shot away. ". . Two, one, go!"

Gertrude pulled the third lever, firing the explosive charge under her seat. She felt an intense jolt as she was ejected from the jet plane. She had bailed out at forty thousand feet and six hundred miles per hour. Hitting thin air at six hundred miles per hour is a little like making a hundred-foot dive into ice water. There was an intense deceleration, and despite the supposedly perfect aerodynamic balance of the ejection seat, she went into a spin. The bright moon and stars were flashing blurs in her sight. The spin slowed and Gertrude pulled the fourth lever, separating herself from the ejection seat. She tumbled free and assumed the normal skydiving position.

She was falling in total darkness; the ground below showed no lights, no hint of how far she had to fall. There was no choice but to hope the automatic release was accurate. If she panicked and pulled the manual release, she could die of exposure during the long fall. Her parachute should open five minutes after ejection, but it seemed she had been falling half the night. It was not pleasant to think of what would happen if the automatic was not properly set. It took considerable willpower to keep her hand off the manual release as time dragged on. There was a sudden snap and swish. CIA parachutes are designed to open without a loud and possibly betraying pop. The chute did not jerk Gertrude, but with a steadily increasing pull it slowed her fall to a gentle downward drift. Gertrude wished she could see: if she was drifting straight down, well and good, but if there was a ground wind her landing would be dangerous.

It was fortunate the ground Gertrude hit was fairly flat, for there was a strong ground wind. Gertrude lacked the skill needed to collapse her chute, and it dragged her along the rocky ground like a wild horse. She pulled furiously at the parachute disconnect lever, but nothing happened. In despair she pulled the manual release lever and was promptly disconnected from her chute. It was also a good thing that Gertrude had trusted the automatic release, since she had confused the levers for opening the parachute and for disconnecting from the parachute. Gertrude lay on the ground catching her breath and having unkind thoughts about the Air Force. Here she was a poor hard-working spy, and they had given her a bail-out system with six levers. There were, let's see, seven hundred and twenty different sequences in which one could pull the levers, one sequence which was extremely dangerous and seven hundred and nineteen which were instantly fatal.

Still, there was one good thing about the ejection system: it included a back-pack oxygen system. With a mean elevation of fourteen thousand feet, Tibet was justly called the roof of the world. Now it was time for Gertrude to find out if she could breathe here. When the Chief decided Gertrude should go to Tibet because she could speak the language, he had expected his subordinates to arrange such details as breathing. The best the CIA doctor could do was to teach Gertrude an adaption procedure which would protect her from shock due to sudden change. Gertrude removed her oxygen mask and began the procedure. Her ugly body was quite strong, and Gertrude was confident it would meet these new demands.

Midway through the adaption procedure she began to feel some doubts. Perhaps the makeup man had been right after all. Gertrude and he had disagreed as to the best disguise. Gertrude held that the best was the least. Since she was stocky, and had brown eyes and black hair, all she needed to look like a native was skin coloring and a slight touch to make her cheekbones more prominent. The makeup man had insisted on making Gertrude into an old woman. That way her breathing trouble and weakness would be less conspicuous. At the time Gertrude had been insulted, now she was thankful.

Dawn came at these high altitudes suddenly, like thunder from the east. Gertrude gazed about at the desolate tundra, a vast, rocky, barren waste. Though bitter cold it was not frozen for lack of water. This was the Chang Tang. The lawless nomads who dwelt in this great flatland had never been subdued by the Dalai Lama's government nor by its Chinese Communist successor. It was strange that men could live in this hostile land, stranger still that they should fight over it. The air on the planet Mars was considerably thinner, but Mars was no colder or dryer than the Chang Tang.

A spy's first business is to avoid detection. Gertrude walked after her parachute, which had not blown far. As she wadded it between a pair of rocks, she decided this first part of the mission was probably a success. The Chinese radar network around Tibet was full of holes and outdated. It was not at-all likely they had spotted her plane, which had the latest antiradar system. Her arrival might be betrayed by the ejection seat, but it was a mottled dull brown and would not be noticed from any distance. The only remaining problem was the oxygen pack, which she had planned to hide but would probably need. With a little work, Gertrude contrived to hide it under shapeless sheepskin robes. It was a little like hiding a large sign saying, "I am an American Spy, please shoot me" under her robes. Still, if the Chinese Communist troops she met did not suspect her, all would be well. If they did decide she was suspicious, they would probably not search her, but kill her out of hand.

Gertrude's local contact was in a monastery ten miles to the south. As Gertrude began her hike, she reviewed her possible cover stories. How could she reach her contact without creating suspicion, without attracting attention? Did she dare claim to be a blood relative? There light be total lack of resemblance. al she knew about her contact was Lis location, his name, Jar Quinan, Lnd his code word. To identify herself to him she was to say, "It is time for the rising of the moon." He would reply, "The poppy does not grow on the roof of the world." What business would plausibly bring an old woman to this remote monastery? It would be better if her business could be explained in a few words. Gertrude's Tibetan was not completely without accent. One scheme came to mind. Stagger up to the first monk she saw, gasp Jar Quinan's name and pretend to faint.

After three miles Gertrude paused and breathed oxygen for a few minutes. She didn't feel any need for the oxygen but the doctor had recommended this procedure. She hiked another three miles, thinking hard but finding no satisfactory plan. Pretending to faint might work, but it lacked style. Suddenly she spotted the monastery. There was a mountain four or five miles to the south-southwest. Halfway up the mountain on the side of a sheer cliff stood a large black stone building. The spot was so inaccessible that an eagle would have had trouble building a nest there. How the monks built the monastery was a mystery; how Gertrude was to get there was a greater mystery.

It was time to use oxygen again, but the danger of being seen was too great. She walked on, fumbling in her robes for her binoculars. The silly things didn't want to focus; Gertrude's fingers seemed to be thumbs. At last the image became sharp, but she had trouble holding the binoculars steady. Gertrude sensed that she was becoming clumsy, uncoordinated, but this triggered no sense of alarm. There appeared to be a well at the foot of the mountain. Gertrude returned the glasses to their hiding place in her robes, nearly dropping them in the process. She walked on toward the well. With each step her stride became more irregular, her balance more uncertain. Fog was slowly closing in on her brain. There was an important problem she must solve, something to do with her, business at the monastery, but what? She reeled, staggering toward the well. There were three figures in black around the well. As Gertrude approached them she gasped, "Please, Jar Quinan," then she fell and all was blackness.

III

Gertrude awoke, cold and stiff. Her eyes opened and she saw she was resting in bed, but it was a bed as hard and cold as the mountain rock. She looked up and saw a monk in black robes. He was tall, lean as a wolf and as hard. His bald, shaven head seemed to have been stretched to half again the normal length. His face seemed to be carved from flint; the dark brown eyes were strong and cold. "How are you?" he asked in English.

This was an old trick. Gertrude gave no sign that she understood, mumbling in Tibetan, "Please, Jar Quinan."

"I am Jar Quinan, chief abbot of this monastery," the other replied, "and you are a CIA agent. Your password is, 'Now is the time of the rising of the moon'; my reply, `The poppy does not grow on the roof of the world'. Now will you explain why the department sent me an agent who can't breathe the air instead of my back pay for the last five years?"

"I thought you were a sleeper, an agent paid to do nothing except await orders."

Jar Quinan snorted angrily. "I've been fighting the Chinese oppressors all my life. Five years ago the department put me on 'inactive status'. I kept on fighting, but they stopped paying me."

It was clear to Gertrude that winning the trust and cooperation of this man would be a problem. "Why do you fight?" she asked. Jar Quinan looked at her in amazement that anyone should ask such a question. "Please explain to me," Gertrude continued. "I'm from far away. I know what has happened, but I have no feel for your people. I don't know why you fight."

Jar Quinan was an angry man. As Gertrude expected, he welcomed this opportunity to explain his rage to an outsider. "Those foreign devils are destroying my nation and my people. The Dalai Lama forbade foreigners and their evil technology from entering Tibet, but the Chinese force the accursed new ways upon our people. They bring medicines to heal the sick, but it is contact with foreigners which brought the diseases in the first place. They disturb the spirits of the earth by building roads, that their tanks may freely range the countryside and crush the people. They open mines and build industry and thus poison the rivers and the land. Perhaps the worst is their program to reduce infant mortality. This is a fearfully cruel fraud, for the earth cannot yield enough food for all these extra mouths."

Gertrude was interested by this catalog of Chinese sins, since every sin was a virtuous act by Western standards, while the acts of oppression and murder which angered the West were ignored by Jar Quinan. The dilemma of saving babies was typical. Tibet was the only Asian nation which was not overpopulated and could feed her people well. Decreasing the infant mortality rate would destroy this balance. Gertrude was sure Jar Quinan spoke for his countrymen: they hated the Chinese not because they were cruel oppressors, but because with good intentions they were destroying an ancient culture that the Tibetans cherished.

"But don't you want progress?"

"That is the great mistake of the West. You spend your lives seeking material things because you fail to see that true progress is spiritual."

"But we have to worry about money, everything is so expensive."

"Nonsense, we are born without asking or plying and likewise we die. Thus the soul moves through wheels of existence, money a useless hindrance."

"Dying isn't free, not with modern funeral costs."

"Ah yes, I have read of this great folly. You spend your lives struggling to amass property, then much of the wealth is squandered on an elaborate funeral. You are not content to sleep on soft beds all your lives, you must have silk cushions in your coffins."

"What would you have us do?"

"Does not your religion, like ours, teach that the spirit is all, the body but clay?"

"Yes."

"Then why not practice Ja-Tor as we do?" When Gertrude looked blank, he explained. "Ja-Tor is the feeding of the birds. We put the body out for the vultures to eat."

For a moment Gertrude had a horrible vision: the cemetery beside the Long Island Expressway replaced by a park filled with hideous vultures. "I don't think that would work in America because of the climate. What about other spiritual values, such as justice? We have a fine court system."

"I have read of your courts. They are so busy hearing endless appeals that justice is denied by delay."

"Surely you would not deny the right to appeal?"

"No, but here in Tibet appeals are nearly always well founded, since anyone impeding justice with an ill-founded appeal receives double the original penalty."

Gertrude was well pleased with this conversation. Having gotten the abbot to denounce Western materialism, he probably wouldn't complain about his back pay in the near future. She continued the indirect flattery of letting Jar Quinan use her to prove his prejudices. Each time this bitter and embattled man proved the superiority of Tibetan culture, he became more friendly. Soon Gertrude decided to switch to direct flattery. "I'd like to know what you have been doing lately. Washington has no clear reports, but it's obvious you have done something very important."

Jar Quinan's hard face relaxed into a half smile. "I have to share the credit with Go Don Hoy. He's one of the Viet Cong retreads you CIA people sent up here to teach us guerrilla warfare. Six months ago we got a large shipment of American rifles." Gertrude showed no surprise at this last statement, but her mind raced. Three years ago, in line with State Department policy to improve relations with Red China, the CIA had stopped shipping American arms to Tibetan rebels. Since then the CIA had sent the rebels only Russian arms, pretending to be Russians when they did it. Apparently that was a game two could play. Jar Quinan continued, "Well, we had arms, but how could we strike a really effective blow against the Chinese? Finally we decided to use the trail to Ul Chalan."

"Wait a minute. How can there be a trail to Ul Chalan? I thought it had never been visited."

"No, on the southeast side there is a fine broad trail an army of tanks can climb. The way to Ul Chalan is easy and many have gone there."

"What did they find?"

"That would be hard to say since none of them returned. Of course, this was the basis of our plan. The chief of the large nomad tribe was mad with hate for the Chinese since they put his son to Ja-Tor alive. The chief, like many of my people, prefers the traditional weapons, but we persuaded him that we must fight fire with fire. His people made a false trail so it appeared they were camped on top of Ul Chalan, then the chief, Go Don, and I led the tribesmen in the ambush and massacre of three Chinese patrols. In each case we left a few survivors to report that we rode off toward Ul Chalan. The Chinese quickly gathered enough men to destroy a nomad tribe and attacked Ul Chalan. When those men didn't return, they sent another force twice as big, then another force twice as big again. Finally they sent a full division of tanks, but these men died on the slope as they approached Ul Chalan."

"After that," exclaimed Gertrude, "the Chinese fired a nuclear missile which was destroyed in midflight, then Chan Si Ree died of an apparent heart attack and China was plunged into confusion. Single-handed you have won a great victory."

"True, but Tibet is still under the Chinese thumb."

"Perhaps I can help. There is power at Ul Chalan, enough to free Tibet, if we can make a bargain with Sothatalos."

Jar Quinan frowned thoughtfully. "Of course, I thought of that. It's a desperate gamble, but what is my life against the saving of this nation? Perhaps I shall go. There appears to be a narrow trail on the southwest side. To my knowledge no one has tried that route, so it might work."

"I have satellite photos. Can you find this trail?"

Jar Quinan tried to conceal his awe at how well the eye in the sky could see. The trail was easily found both in the optical and radar photos. The Tibetan monk rapidly became enthusiastic for the expedition. "Tell me, these strange shapes within Ul Chalan, what could they be?" he asked.

"They must be shadows, since they show only in the optical, not the radar."

"But there's nothing to cast shadows. I think your radar is blind to whatever dwells in Ul Chalan."

Gertrude smiled. "These are mysteries we shall solve only by going to Ul Chalan."

The monk looked at Gertrude, his hard face softened slightly. "You're a very brave fool. Even if I were willing to take a woman on such a dangerous mission, you could not come. Your oxygen tanks are nearly empty. You have trouble breathing here at fourteen thousand feet. Ul Chalan is at twenty-four thousand feet and you would quickly die."

Gertrude started to argue but there was a disturbance outside and Jar Quinan rushed off, his robes flapping like the wings of a great black eagle. Gertrude swiftly hid the photos and resumed her pose as a sick old woman. This done, she had a moment's peace to think about her problems. She needed oxygen, transportation to the trail and help climbing it to Ul Chalan. The monk could help her climb but he could not supply oxygen, and the best transportation he could offer would be a mule. Gertrude did not fancy the prospect of a hundred-mile mule-back ride. But she was used to this kind of problem. The department always tried to make her carry a short ton of equipment and gadgets, but Gertrude was convinced it was safer to trust her wits and on rare occasions her old forty-five. To her surprise, Gertrude found she had a second set of problems, problems of ethics and conscience. She had spoken to Jar Quinan of freeing Tibet, but it was not present CIA policy to offend the Chinese. Worse, the department was sensitive to criticisms that it helped reactionaries and Jar Quinan was quite literally fighting to keep the Dark Ages. All this seemed to say that the monk should be used as a means to an end but not helped. Gertrude could not accept this. She liked Jar, he was brave, intelligent and seemed to Gertrude to possess a tragic nobility. There might be hell to pay for it, but she would keep faith with this man.

Jar burst back into the room. "We are betrayed. I didn't believe it possible, but the Chinese have an informer in the monastery."

An instant later a major of the Chinese People's Army strode into the room. He was accompanied by four soldiers with machine guns. The major was short, stocky, and appeared to have no neck. Rather, his round head seemed to be welded directly onto his squat powerful body. His face appeared to have been hammered in bronze by an unskilled craftsman.

Gertrude had no desire to be questioned by the Chinese and was doing her best imitation of pneumonia, coughing, sneezing and delirious mumbling. She could not produce a fever at will, but she could and did break into a cold sweat.

The major glanced at Gertrude and turned to Jar Quinan. "Now, Abbot, we shall have a reckoning. Who is this woman and what is she doing in your monastery?"

The monk bowed politely and replied, "Most worthy Major Tong, I am not sure but I think she is my wife."

"What! Explain yourself, dog. Monks have no wives."

"My order is of the Red Hats, not the Yellow Hats. Though few do marry, it is permitted. In my case when I was three, I and my five brothers were wed to a woman in order that an inheritance might not be divided. Only my elder three brothers actually lived with the woman, I and the other two went our own ways. Recently word came that the last of my elder brothers was dead, so I was not unduly surprised when this woman, who appears to be my wife, arrived at the monastery."

Gertrude had to admire Jar's technique. The lie was skillful. Since the major with his obvious contempt for Tibetan culture wished to remain ignorant of their peculiar ways, Jar's story fit the facts and took advantage of this weakness. Now, Gertrude decided, was the opportune moment. In the midst of her mumblings she said in a barely intelligible voice, "Sothatalos, Sothatalos."

The major leaped to Gertrude's bedside. "I was right," he shouted. "This woman is from Ul Chalan. I suspected something like this when I was informed that she came here from the north. There is nothing to the north except Ul Chalan."

Jar Quinan started to deny this, but Gertrude mumbled, "Magic bottle, escape, magic bottle." Her hand fumbled toward something hidden in the bedding.

Major Tong grabbed and pulled it forth. His eyes bugged when he saw the object, a U.S. Air Force oxygen cylinder. "I knew the Americans were behind this deviltry, and now I have proof. No doubt this 'wife' of yours went to Ul Chalan to rob the dead, was captured, and somehow escaped. She knows the secret of that dread place."

"Believe what you like," replied the monk. "The only certainty is that the woman is dying. If you wish to stay here and listen to her ravings, we shall make you comfortable."

The major glared at the monk. He wanted to angrily reject this offer but could think of no alternative. Gertrude moaned, "Trail, hidden trail southwest side of Ul Chalan, way through the burning grass." After this she mumbled the names of several Tibetan devils, then lay silent and apparently unconscious.

The major's wide face split from ear to ear with a grin of triumph. "This woman can guide me safely to Ul Chalan. Pick her up, we leave at once."

"Of course, this unworthy abbot is honored to accompany the estimable major wherever he wishes, but may I point out, if you wish to kill my wife there are more convenient ways than carrying her up a mountain. She is dying of pneumonia. Sacred herbs have greatly reduced her fever, but the demon which paralyzes her breathing will not yield to my exorcism. Thin air will certainly kill her."

The major disdained to reply, instead he took a walkie-talkie from one of his men and gave crisp orders. "This is Major Tong. Load all available oxygen cylinders into the ambulance and come to the monastery at once."

Gertrude lay in her bed, well satisfied with the way she had managed events. Now she would go to Ul Chalan riding in a comfortable ambulance instead of on a mule. Major Tong would supply the needed oxygen and his men would carry her up the trail. Gertrude thought it was generally better practice to accept favors from one's enemies rather than one's friends. The former, after all, are seldom in a position to ask the return of the favor.

IV

The trip to Ul Chalan started with a disaster. Major Tong had brought forty men with him to the monastery, while another ten arrived with the ambulance. Gertrude was resting in the ambulance, while Major Tong checked the oxygen cylinders and other equipment. There was a strange whistling sound from the sky and suddenly the guard in the ambulance door screamed and fell writhing beside Gertrude. An arrow projected from his back. Gertrude could not see what was happening outside the ambulance but she could hear. The sky was filled by a whistling chorus, all around the ambulance savage, snarling growls resounded. Men screamed in anguish and death and machine guns barked in their staccato voices. Gertrude lay motionless until the second guard left the ambulance. Only then did she risk looking out of the window.

The scene outside could have been an artist's vision of hell. The Chinese soldiers were being overwhelmed by furious canine monsters. Gertrude had heard of the Tibetan mastiff but she was astounded at the sight of the beasts, large as shetland ponies, tearing men to shreds with their huge jaws. Gertrude saw one man picked up and shaken by a mastiff, as a terrier shakes a rat. There was a crisp snap as the man's neck broke. In this close-quarter combat the soldiers could not use their machine guns effectively, still if one of them could stand in a good vantage point he could wreak havoc on the attacking dogs. Many tried to do this, but as soon as they exposed themselves, arrows whistled from the sky, turning them into pincushions. Gertrude seldom saw an archer; it appeared that much of the time they were firing blind, guided only by sound. The accuracy was disturbingly good, and a dog was never hit. In a flash of insight Gertrude realized that this was a coordinated attack: the dogs' barking guided the hidden archers, the whistling warned the dogs to avoid the arrows.

At her side Jar Quinan purred, "The chief still prefers the traditional weapons, especially dogs and whistling arrows. There are occasions when they can be effective."

The ambulance door crashed open and a soldier fell through. His throat was torn out and his heart was pierced by an arrow. The corpse was followed by a huge dog. The beast was jet black with bright brown patches above the eyes. The bright eyes looked around the ambulance with clear intelligence. It sniffed Jar and appeared to decide he was a friend. Gertrude wondered if her CIA disguise would fool the dog's nose. It did not. The dog bared its great fangs and lunged at Gertrude. The sheepskin robes interfered with her fast draw. The black monster slammed her down before her gun was half out. The powerful jaws shot at her throat, then the dog was slammed aside. Jar Quinan and the dog were a tangled struggling mass on the floor. Gertrude pulled free and leveled her gun. She could not find a clear shot, could not be sure what was black dog, what black-robed priest. Suddenly Jar's hands made a rapid complex motion, and the dog went limp. He pushed the corpse aside and rose, scratched and bruised but not seriously injured. He smiled at Gertrude and said, "The world has learned the Japanese jujitsu and the Korean karate but not the Tibetan art. Now it is best you get back to dying of pneumonia."

As Jar started to close the ambulance door, he was surprised to see two Chinese tanks approaching the battlefield. The tanks' cannons began lobbing shells into the archers' hiding places while their machine guns cut down men and dogs without discrimination.

Major Tong and four soldiers came running toward the ambulance. Two soldiers raced to the driver's section; Tong and the other two leaped into the back. The major had ordered all available oxygen cylinders and this included one large cylinder far too heavy to be useful to climbers. Tong grabbed the large cylinder, twisted the protective cap off so that the cylinder valve was exposed. With a surprising display of strength he whipped the cylinder above his head and threw it at the nearer tank. It flew through the air, struck the ground, and rolled bouncing toward the tank. Close to the tank the valve snapped off and the high-pressure gas jetted out. The cylinder spun about and slammed into the tank. For a moment it appeared Major Tong might as well have thrown a large rock. Tong's eyes were focused on the tank's left tread. Something there was smoking due to overheating. In a pure oxygen atmosphere the smoldering was transformed into incandescent fire which spread rapidly. There was a muffled roar as the engine exploded. The tank was wrapped in blinding white light as gasoline, grease, rubber and even the steel itself burst into furious combustion. The earth shook and the sky was shattered as the tank's shells exploded in a single thunderous blast.

While this happened, neither the ambulance driver nor the men in the other tank had been idle. The ambulance had shot forward and sped out of range of the tank's machine guns. Only a few bullets from the first burst passed through the ambulance body. The cannon was a different problem. Gertrude was thrown from her bed as the ambulance swerved sharply right. A second later a concussion struck the left side of the ambulance like a giant fist. The second shell was a clean miss and the third shell fell short. A moment later Major Tong signaled the driver to stop zigzagging since they were beyond the accurate range of the cannon. The tank gunner did not agree and fired several more shells, though none came close.

There followed a deadly version of the tortoise and hare race. The tank could move at its maximum speed over the roughest ground. The ambulance, though far swifter, was in continual danger of being disabled by breaking an axle or blowing a tire. Several times the tank driver gained ground by taking short cuts the ambulance dared not use. It never came within accurate cannon range, but it came close enough to rain shells in the ambulance's vicinity. The ambulance driver was prudent, never allowed this tactic to force him into blind flight. Each time he pulled slowly out of range, driving as fast as the terrain permitted.

Gertrude was strapped in bed, being thrown back and forth as the ambulance jolted madly on. She listened to the thunderstorm of cannon shells outside and reflected. She had arranged this ride to avoid the discomforts of a mule-back ride. The ambulance shook as a shell exploded a few yards to the right. Possibly, thought Gertrude, the mule would have been better.

Major Tong growled at Jar Quinan, "Revive your wife any way you can. I must have clear directions to the hidden trail to Ul Chalan or that tank will catch us." Gertrude had no idea where they were or where they were going. Therefore she gave directions largely by mumbling unintelligibly. Jar Quinan knelt beside her occasionally asking questions. After a little he rose and gave Major Tong the desired directions.

By the time they reached the trail, they had gained perhaps half an hour on the tank. Major Tong barked crisp orders, equipment was quickly assembled, and the expedition started up the trail. Major Tong and Jar Quinan took the lead while the four soldiers carried Gertrude in a stretcher. All wore oxygen masks. They were half a mile along the winding trail when they heard the familiar roar of the cannon. An instant later the ambulance erupted into flames and flying metal fragments.

Jar Quinan turned to Major Tong and, measuring his words carefully, asked, "May this unworthy one know the cause of these strange events?"

An angry snarl rose in Tong's throat, but fatigue and despair smothered it. "Why not? After Chan Si Ree died, some of our leaders accused other leaders of his murder and China was plunged into civil war."

"This is heavy news," replied the monk. "It means we of Tibet will be denied Chinese guidance."

"You need no longer lie," snarled the major. "I know you're a rebel. Now you have won."

The monk faced the major and spoke with clear disdain. "If you were worthy of your ancestors, you would know that victory can be as heavy a burden as defeat."

The major cursed, drew his pistol, and leveled it at Jar Quinan. The monk looked into the barrel of the gun with vast indifference. Had he shown the slightest fear, Tong would have slain him. As it was, the moment of tension passed. Tong swore under his breath and put the pistol away.

The monk walked up the trail in silence. His face grew darker. He would not speak when spoken to. This brooding silence continued until the climb was nearly complete. The trail widened into a broad, flat area. Ahead the mountain rose to form a high wall. The trail cut straight through this wall, so that they were approaching a natural gateway, the gateway to Ul Chalan. Natural? When Gertrude considered the matter, neither the trail nor gateway appeared to be accidents of nature. Rather they appeared to be artificial and very ancient.

Major Tong ordered the soldiers to put Gertrude down. He 'started to give Jar Quinan an order but the monk interrupted him. "Why should I take orders from a coward who deserts his own men under fire?" With this he slapped the major's face.

Tong's hands expressed his fury. Blow after blow struck the monk, but he made no effort to defend himself. When he fell senseless at Tong's feet, the major drew his pistol. It popped out of his hand when Gertrude tackled him. They fell in a tangle and came up facing each other. Tong's face showed brief surprise, then battle joy. His powerful hand flashed toward Gertrude in an expert karate chop. Gertrude evaded this while delivering a hard right cross to Tong's chin. This was followed by a groin kick and a fine rabbit punch.

As Tong dropped, Gertrude dropped with him, using his body as a shield while she drew her forty-five. A pistol is a poor match for four machine guns, but only one of the soldiers showed fight. Gertrude's first shot struck him in the shoulder. He staggered, dropped the gun and ran through the gateway into Ul Chalan. Climbing to Ul Chalan, whence none had returned, had strained the courage of the other three. When a dying woman was transformed into a fighting demon, they fled back down the trail.

Gertrude examined Jar Quinan. His hard body had absorbed the beating without serious injury. She slapped his face not too gently, and as he regained consciousness she said, "That was extremely foolish. You forced Major Tong to try to kill you. Why?"

"I always wanted to slap that pig's face," replied the monk. "With Tibet freed, my own life no longer seemed important."

"Again why?"

"I have violated the eightfold way with countless acts of violence. Even though I am a priest, when need arose I butchered animals for meat, even practiced the blacksmith's trade. These are the acts of the untouchables, whose children cannot even be priests. I fought fire with fire, a foreign army with foreign weapons and ways."

"But the victory was yours. This you achieved in a single stroke."

"Know you not the story of Moses, that he delivered his people but he himself could not enter the promised land. So it is with me. I am too tainted with foreign ways to live in the ancient land of my ancestors. But hold, why am I still alive?" The monk's eyes fell on Tong's unconscious form, then the soldier's blood and the machine gun he had dropped. "The place of women in Tibet is lowly, for they are weak. Major Tong is powerful. Did you, a frail woman, overcome this brute in hand-to-hand combat, then drive off four well-armed soldiers in a gun fight?"

"Yes, the major was a sucker for a right cross."

"That is another thing an orthodox Tibetan should not know."

Gertrude thought she now understood her comrade: he had a compulsive drive to achieve. Given a goal he worked tirelessly, doing miracles; but the goal achieved, self-doubts and self-recriminations assailed him and he fell apart.

Major Tong groaned and started to rise. Gertrude turned to face him. His eyes cleared and, seeing Gertrude, he started to charge. She leveled her forty-five and barked, "Stand still Tong, or I'll blow your brains out." Since the gun was aimed at Major Tong's lower abdomen, the threat was clearly insulting.

Tong stopped and laughed. "Truly in view of the way you two tricked me, that's where my brains are. Now shoot me and be done with it."

"Why did you come to Ul Chalan?"

"I knew the starting of civil war in China was connected with Ul Chalan. It was my forlorn hope to learn some secret here, something that would help bring the civil war to a compromise settlement."

"Jar, I think we should help Major Tong. After all, Tibet's independence is won, but it is not secured. If the Chinese civil war ends by the victory of either side, the victors will soon enslave Tibet again. If the war ends by compromise, Tibet's independence is assured, since neither side would agree to let the other rule her."

Jar frowned in thought. "Help a man who has been a hated enemy for years? Yet your words ring true; new circumstances demand new goals. So be it. Here, Tong, you are probably best trained to use this." Jar Quinan picked up the machine gun and tossed it to the major.

As the gun flew toward the outstretched hands of the Chinese, Gertrude had second thoughts. She had proposed this alliance to snap Jar out of his depression. He had grabbed it as a drowning man grabs a rope, but was the alliance a good idea?

Tong's fingers closed about the machine gun, his face split in a wide grin. "Now that you have wisely elected me to command this expedition, we shall go forward as true and loyal comrades."

Good idea or not it was done. Gertrude decided that, on balance, Tong would be an asset. Subtle treachery was not part of his character, and his arrogance could be managed. The real problem was courage; Tong possessed great physical courage, but the mystery they faced might be beyond the limits of his orthodox military mind.

The three adventurers turned toward the gateway to Ul Chalan.

V

They stepped through the gateway, armed and alert. They were prepared for danger, but not beauty. Tong gasped and pointed. Ahead of them lay a broad, flat plain and rising from that plain, perhaps ten miles distant, there was a gleaming city. The skyline they beheld was that of a fairyland city, a city which could not exist in the real world. The towers, spires and arches rose and flowered in cheerful indifference to the force of gravity. Gertrude was reminded of some of the mobiles she had seen at the Museum of Modern Art. Not that the buildings moved, but many stood on such slender supports that they seemed to float. To the right of the buildings stood a forest. A forest not of trees but of shining pillars of multicolored light. The pillars were all tall and slender, and wrought with complex spirals.

"Well," snarled Tong, "now we know two things about Sothatalos, or whoever lives at Ul Chalan."

"What?" asked Gertrude.

"They love beauty but are unfriendly to trespassers." The major's eyes passed quickly over Gertrude's face and unshapely body. "Certainly none of us will charm them with our good looks."

Gertrude had long ago resigned herself to the fact that no man would ever look on her with pleasure or desire. To her the major's reference to her ugliness was a simple statement of fact, not insulting and probably not intended to be insulting. However, Jar Quinan bristled at the remark. In an angry tone he said, "Perhaps they will be more discerning than you."

Gertrude drew out her binoculars and examined the city and the forest. There was no sign of life or motion. The binoculars told her that the pillars of the forest were made of crystal and that there was one pillar her unaided eye had missed because it was dull, not refracting light as did the others.

The terrain was such that, although they could see the spires in the distance, they could not see the ground ten yards ahead. When they advanced they got two unpleasant surprises. The first was that the ground ahead wasn't there; instead there was a deep chasm. Its sides were a smooth straight drop of nearly a hundred feet, and the chasm was slightly too wide to jump. The second surprise was the soldier Gertrude had wounded. The air above the chasm had an odd shimmer so that objects on the other side were blurred. Still, on the other side was what very much appeared to be the soldier, lying motionless on the ground.

"If a wounded man can jump it, so can we," roared the Chinese.

"No," replied Gertrude. "Since we cannot, neither did he." She sensed a mystery here and for want of a better experiment she decided to toss a rock across the chasm. She picked up a rock and got another unpleasant surprise: she could not let go of it. Her hand was frozen to the rock.

Major Tong laughed. "A rookie mistake. There you are, all snug in your sheepskin. There's no wind, so your body loses little heat and you feel comfortable. You forgot that it's cold here." The major spat. His spit cracked as it hit the ground, hard ice. "Very cold."

The monk glared at the major as he helped Gertrude warm the rock and free her hand. Gertrude was angry so she threw the rock, hard. Halfway across the chasm it slowed to a stop, then shot back, striking Major Tong in the stomach. Gertrude grinned at the slightly injured and very surprised major. "Sorry about that."

Gertrude kicked a small rock over the edge of the chasm. Instead of dropping straight to the bottom, it curved back and bounced several times against the vertical side before stopping halfway down. Jar screamed in horror as Gertrude stepped over the edge. She did not fall but cheerfully stood on the side and began to walk down the chasm wall. Jar followed her. As he stepped over the edge, the world seemed to shift. The vertical wall became a gentle slope, easy to climb down.

Gertrude cheerfully expected the opposite chasm wall would, when approached, also miraculously become a gentle slope. It did become a slope, but a steep one; worse, Gertrude found she was growing heavier. With each step her weight increased and her muscles were more strained to lift herself the next step. She was strong enough to climb bearing half again her weight, but it was disturbing. What could she expect next? The little she could remember of her college physics told her nothing except that all this was impossible.

By the time she approached the top of the chasm, she had formed a vague theory. She was very careful of her balance as she eased her body up out of the chasm. Then, standing erect, she jumped ten feet straight up and slowly floated down. She was right; gravity on this side was only a third of normal.

Major Tong shouted, "What is this?"

The major was puzzled to the point of angry frustration. Jar Quinan smiled at him. "Surely it is obvious. We saw before us a city whose buildings are too weak to bear their normal weight. Naturally the city is in an area where weight is less than normal."

"Then why the chasm? Why did that stone Gertrude threw come back?" demanded the major.

"Clearly an interface phenomenon," replied Gertrude. "This is a localized gravity warp, and the potential energy has to be adjusted to match Earth's gravity potential. That requires odd fields at the edges." Gertrude went on to spout quite a bit of scientific nonsense until the major smiled and said he understood it.

"Unfortunately, we have another mystery to solve." Jar Quinan pointed to what had appeared to be the wounded soldier. It was only his uniform and equipment. The clothes were all arranged inside each other as if a man were wearing them, but the body was gone.

"Why would whoever killed him arrange his clothes thus?" Tong swore under his breath as he examined the remains. "The body is gone, the belt, boot, laces, pack straps, and every other bit of leather are gone. Here is the bullet hole where you shot him, but nowhere in his clothes are there bloodstains." He opened the soldier's pack, lifted a can, and examined it carefully. "This can of meat shows no sign of tampering, but—" he pulled it open "—it's empty. Tell me, monk, have you an obvious explanation for this."

"Certainly, this poor man and all the animal matter he carried were eaten by a demon. I realize you Chinese don't believe in Tibetan demons, but it ate him anyway."

Tong's eyes flashed but he replied in a calm voice, "You may not be far from the truth. Before the dwellers in Ul Chalan and their powers we are but three ants. To us such powerful beings must be demons. If they notice us, it will be to step on us."

Jar opened the other supplies from the soldier's pack. "Let's eat. You'll feel better with a full stomach."

Tong sat down and snapped, "In all my years in the army, that's the first good idea to come from a chaplain."

Jar hit a chocolate bar with his pistol butt. It broke like plate glass. "Here, Gertrude, put small pieces into your mouth and let them melt."

When they finished the frigid meal, Jar announced, "As a native Tibetan I should have little trouble breathing at this altitude without this oxygen tank. For me oxygen is a luxury, but not for Gertrude. Since the supply is limited, I'm going to stop using it and I suggest, Major, that you use your oxygen tank sparingly." Suiting his actions to his words, he turned off the tank valve and removed the mask. He breathed the air of Ul Chalan and with a puzzled expression turned blue and keeled over. Gertrude caught him, reopened the valve and put the mask back on Jar's face. His breathing did not resume, and Gertrude gave mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. This was awkward with the oxygen masks, but in a moment Jar revived. As his eyes opened, Gertrude hastily removed her face from his.

"What happened to me?"

Tong laughed. "This mystery I can explain. Look." He struck a match. There was a tiny brief flash, but it refused to ignite. "The atmosphere here has no oxygen."

"In that case we had best do what we can rapidly, for we have only a few hours of breathing left. Major, if you will bring the soldier's oxygen tank." Gertrude rose and began to march to the city.

The plain through which they walked had appeared completely barren from a distance. The granite rock of the plateau was covered in places with drifts of yellow and red sand. In other places there were greenish brown discolorations on the naked rock. On closer examination the discolorations proved to be plants. At first glance Gertrude thought they were lichens such as grew in the Chang Tang, but there was no real resemblance. The plants, though ugly in overall shape, were beautiful in fine detail, lovely intricate lace work.

Tong touched the plant. "This thing is not frozen." His knife flashed, he cut one of the plant's stems, and got a drop of its sap on his finger.

"Wait!" said the monk. "Is it wise to taste this alien thing?"

"Bah, you Tibetans are afraid of everything foreign." Tong touched the sap to his tongue. "The plant's not frozen because its sap is good vodka." Tong tried to uproot the plant but could not. Its roots were not in cracks in the rock, they were sunk directly into the unbroken granite.

They hastened toward the city. Near the city the ground was very flat and three-foot cubes of rock were arranged in neat rows. The plants growing on the rock cubes were much larger and fatter than those they had seen before. Tong snarled, "This farm must yield enough vodka to keep an army drunk, but what do they eat?"

The attack came without warning. Before Gertrude could raise her forty-five, the thing was upon her. It was black, had a broad, thin, flat body like a vast opera cloak. Gertrude struggled furiously to level her gun, but could not, for the monster held her tightly in its tentacles. The thing's nightmare face bent slowly toward Gertrude's face, the three eyes glowing with an avid hunger.

Tong's machine gun barked in its staccato voice. The thing's body was torn full of holes but it did not appear significantly harmed. The monk drew his knife and grappled with the monster, its tentacles enwrapped him, but he managed to cut several tentacles including the one which held Gertrude's gun hand. She raised her hand toward the thing's head. It opened its loathsome mouth and swallowed Gertrude's hand, gun and all. Now, thought Gertrude, we'll see how this thing likes contact wounds. The forty-five in her hand bucked again and again. The demon's neck and the back of its head exploded. With a violent spasm it threw Jar and Gertrude from itself. The monster stood for a moment, sunlight streaming through numerous bullet holes in its body, its head was hanging by shreds of a neck and several of its tentacles were lying on the ground wiggling like headless snakes. The eyes blazed with hatred and it charged at the adventurers. Tong heaved up one of the stone cubes. Even in this low gravity it was a great weight and its inertia was not decreased. Nevertheless, Tong raised the block above his head and with all the power of his mighty body slammed the block down into the monster. Most of its body was crushed to a pulp. As they watched in horrified fascination, the monster began to wiggle, not out from under the block, but out through it. Although it had the power to penetrate solid matter, its wounds were mortal. It gave no death cry, no sound of any sort, but Gertrude felt a sudden wave of fear and anguish wash over her mind, then the monster was motionless and limp. It had died halfway in and halfway out of the granite block. Whatever power allowed the thing to penetrate the block did not end suddenly with its death. Instead the thing's body was slowly squeezed out and the block returned to its normal condition.

Tong's face showed fear, but because he would not admit being frightened to himself or others, he shouted in rage: "What was that cursed thing?"

Gertrude pointed to the sky. "The question is what are they?" Above them black shapes flashed across the sky. It appeared the demon's death had attracted others.

"As I said," replied the monk, "they are demons. I have seen them several times before."

"When, where?"

"When I fast in my visions. I must prepare for them." With that the monk sat down and spoke no more. His eyes were glazed and focused straight ahead at infinity.

The black forms overhead were flying much lower now. Tong emptied the machine gun at them with no effect. The cat and mouse game continued for a moment, then the black monsters dropped on the adventurers. Three grabbed Gertrude. She was wrapped helpless in their tentacles, jolted back and forth as the monsters fought among themselves for the right to eat her. Tong's bull strength allowed him to twist and turn in the monsters' grasp, tearing dreadful wounds in their bodies with his knife but never striking a vital spot.

Jar Quinan sat motionless while all this occurred, his eyes blank. The black demons crowded around him but did not touch him. Now his eyes focused and he rose. His mouth opened and he spoke in a dreadful language which human ears were never meant to hear. His voice was an echo of madness, to hear was to stand on the edge of insanity. Wave after wave of fear swept over Gertrude, a pounding storm of terror.

The next thing Gertrude realized she was lying on the ground, Jar bending solicitously over her. "Are you all right?" he queried, more than a little fear in his voice.

"Oh yes, but what happened? And where are those monsters?" "I told you, they were demons. I performed an exorcism and they departed."

Tong heard this and moaned, "Better you had let them eat me. As an enemy you were very dangerous, Jar Quinan, but as a friend you are a disaster."

"How so?"

"If we live I shall have to write a report, including such details as a member of my command accurately scouted the area by fasting till he had hunger visions, and that he saved us from mythological demons with his magic. In the Chinese People's Army such a report is good for a firing squad."

Jar smiled. "Worry about your report after we investigate yon city."

Tong's mood did not improve when they entered the city. They kept to cover, slipping into the city as inconspicuously as possible. The unspoken plan was to observe the city-dwellers before revealing themselves. They sneaked around the buildings, through narrow alleys and came to a broad street. They peered up and down the street, then Tong strode to the middle of the street and bellowed, "By Chairman Mao's glorious intestines, where is everybody?" His words echoed and vanished into the empty stillness of the city. He turned to his companions. "This makes no sense. Why should a brand-new city be deserted?"

"How do you know the city is not ancient?" asked the monk.

"Look at the buildings, shiny metal, no rust, corrosion or wear."

"In this atmosphere metal would stay bright for a million years. The only thing which would cause wear is windblown sand. Since the rocks on the plain show no weathering I think there is little or no wind in Ul Chalan."

"People are not all that's missing," said Gertrude. "Where are the utilities, electricity, water, sewage?"

"Doubtless buried," rumbled Tong.

"But some of these buildings are practically hanging in midair. How could they be serviced?"

"Hm-m-m, now that you mention the problem, these streets are wrong. They give the impression of being laid out merely for artistic spacing of the buildings. Anyone driving a wheeled vehicle would have an awkward time."

"Perhaps they always flew."

"But the layout is bad for that too."

"Comrades," interrupted Jar Quinan, "there is a more important omission. I see no doors by which we may enter the buildings."

They moved on, searching. No doors were found but Gertrude noticed a window twenty-some feet above their heads. Jar sprang into the air and caught an ornamental projection on the side. At his touch the window crumbled into tiny fragments. He swung into the building and re-emerged in a few moments. "I found nothing save dust. Can either of you tell me why the glass disintegrated?"

Gertrude thought a moment. "Unlike metal or stone, glass is not completely stable. It slowly crystalizes, loses its strength."

"But," objected Tong, "that would take ages."

They entered several other buildings and found them empty shells. The monk suddenly pointed to a decoration on one building. "I can read that."

"What! How?"

"There is a secret language, Ganor, known only to priests. Medical knowledge, especially the control of demons, is always written in Ganor. The inscriptions on these buildings are the most ancient form of Ganor."

"That means," commented Gertrude, "that through the centuries there has been some contact between the dwellers at Ul Chalan and the native Tibetans "

Jar took the lead, moving with clear purpose through the silent city. Tong had been completely calm facing tanks and savage dogs. Now his nerves were worn raw by a mystery he could not solve. At length Jar pointed to a window in a building. "This city follows a pattern. If I read it correctly, this is one of the few buildings which may contain something interesting. The rest contain only the dust of ages."

Tong needed a focal point for his anger. With a roar he charged forward, leaped to the window and smashed it with his massive fist. The window did not break, and Tong shook his hand, cursing profusely. The building was lavishly decorated and, grasping the decorations, he levered himself into a position that allowed him to kick the window with his full strength. Gertrude was frightened that when the glass broke, the major would be seriously cut, but the glass did not break. Instead, under Tong's pounding the frame slowly yielded. The three adventurers crawled through into the building.

The building was a great empty shell, but Jar pointed to one corner and raced toward it. In that corner they found a narrow hard cot, twelve feet long. On top of the cot lay a suit of clothes. The style of the clothing was neither Tibetan nor Chinese but was vaguely oriental. They would have fit a very slender man, ten feet tall. There were sandals at the end of the cot. Gertrude examined the clothes and found underclothing within. If the suit had a wearer, his right hand would have rested in a certain spot. Gertrude looked there and found a ring. The pattern of the ring was a thrice-coiled serpent swallowing its tail and the workmanship was exquisite.

Meanwhile Jar had been busy examining the two objects which stood beside the bed: what appeared to be a Buddhist prayer wheel and a book. His examination of the wheel was superficial but the book seemed to hypnotize him. With infinitely tender care he slowly opened the book and began reading. He whispered, "All the medicine I ever learned is a blurred copy of this wisdom." Then he was silent, completely spellbound by the book.

Tong's shouts at the reading priest drew no response. Turning to Gertrude, Tong asked in a dangerously calm tone, "Will you explain this to me?"

"Yes. What have you deduced?"

"Only that these are the remains of a tall man or manlike creature. Long ago it met the same fate as the wounded soldier."

"Not quite the same. This one came here knowing what would happen. He brought a book to read for a while. There is a window that he might see the sky. There are no doors in any of these buildings because none of those sealed in them would ever leave. This city is a cemetery."

"Then where are all the bodies?"

"The Tibetan burial custom is Ja-Tor, feeding the birds. I think these people followed a similar custom, using the demons that attacked us earlier."

"But who are these people?" There was a slight falter in Tong's angry voice.

"People whose normal home is very cold, very dry, has carbon dioxide in the atmosphere but no oxygen, and of course one-third Earth's gravity."

"You're saying this is a Martian Colony."

"Yes, this is the natural site for such a colony, the place on Earth most like Mars. It's as cold and dry, the air is not much thicker. I suspect there is a natural source for the carbon dioxide, so all they had to do was a little atmosphere management and supply the low gravity."

Tong was beginning to look pale. He sat down. "What an enormous madness. To travel millions of kilometers to die and be eaten by vermin. They even brought the vermin with them. Still, it's no more insane than my own fate."

"Tong, what ails you?"

The Chinese did not seem to hear. "I expected to die fighting the enemies of China, to be buried with honor. Instead I've poisoned myself and I shall be buried in an ancient Martian cemetery." The major collapsed onto the cot. His control of his facial muscles was rapidly fading. His arms and legs were twitching intensely.

"Tong, what poison?"

He spoke in a voice scarcely understandable. "That drop of sap the monk told me not to taste." He did not scream but his face was suddenly contorted in agony. "There's no point prolonging this, especially since I'm wasting oxygen you may need." Tong's shaking hand reached up to pull off his oxygen mask. Before he could do this, Gertrude's fist smashed into his chin. Gertrude thought Tong was such a strong brute, it would be awkward to handle him if it weren't for his glass chin. The unconscious major was quiet only briefly, then his frame was shaken by convulsions.

"Jar, wake up!" shouted Gertrude.

The monk snapped out of his reading daze. "Gertrude, this book—"

"Never mind the book. While you're studying medicine, Tong is dying. Can you help him?"

"I have no herbs which would help and the demons associated with poison are extremely difficult to exorcise. Still with what I just learned from this book, perhaps—" Jar began to chant. Gertrude could not identify the language he used but the sound was beautiful, peaceful, tender. Jar's voice seemed a musical instrument playing an odd but lovely version of a Brahms' lullaby.

Gertrude awoke on the floor, Jar Quinan bending anxiously over her. "Gertrude, are you all right? I'm afraid my spell put you to sleep."

"How's Tong?"

The monk gestured toward the cot. "He's resting comfortably, but we shall have to carry him out. Before we do that, we have enough time to visit one more place, if we hurry."

Jar led Gertrude out of the city toward the forest of light. It lay before them, a radiant glory. In the presence of such wonder, the eye is blind to the ordinary; that which fails to interest it, cannot be recognized, so Jar and Gertrude walked past the mottled brown object, paying it no heed. They stood before the pulsating colored fire of the pillars. Seen at close hand each of these blazing columns was a symphony of intricate changing patterns of light. Some were intense, vital, surging torrents, others calm, soothing, gentle flows. The forest was a land of enchantment, of music and magic and dreams incarnated in living crystal. As Gertrude watched she began to hear quiet soft voices, though not with her ears. If she listened longer, they would tell her secrets, the history, deeds, and triumphs of the great ones of the long dead past. If she walked into the forest, she would see visions, the glory that was, the faces of the mighty and noble. She would see the wealth, treasures, beauties of a civilization compared to which Earth's cities were mere anthills.

"Gertrude, please, we must leave." Jar's voice seemed to drift to her from far away.

"Why? We have time, lots of time."

"Perhaps we have a little time, but we have no strength. We must leave now before our wills fail completely."

It took a considerable effort of will but Gertrude turned away from the forest of light. They walked in silence back toward the city. Suddenly Gertrude shouted, "Jar, look! That building."

"Yes, it's odd, for it's not decorated or beautiful like the rest."

The building was a flattened sphere, about twenty-five feet high and forty feet wide. Its surface, in stark contrast to the other shining metal buildings, was dull, pitted and scarred in a peculiar pattern.

"That thing is covered with reentry burns," shouted Gertrude. "It's a flying saucer." She ran toward it and Jar Quinan ran after her.

"Gertrude, how can it be a vehicle without any discernible means of propulsion?"

Gertrude reached the building and replied, "It has to be something . . . look, it has a door."

"All right, let's see if anyone is home." With that the monk knocked on the door and called out a strange singsong phrase. The door slid silently back.

The voice from inside the ship was gentle, melodious but very weak. "Please come in, children."

Curiosity completely overpowered fear and Jar and Gertrude stepped inside. They walked down a short passageway and came to what was obviously a control room. There were several television screens displaying the view from all sides of the ship, an assortment of instruments and controls, about as many as on a good sportscar, and several contour chairs. A human being in one of those chairs would have fit like a four-year-old in a sports car bucket seat.

These details Gertrude noticed absently; her attention was focused on the being who sat in the control chair. The Martian, seen in the flesh, was nearly all feathers and bones. The tall angular figure might be described as a crossbreed between a Tibetan monk and a hoot owl, save for the eyes, blue, deep, filled with a sad Wisdom. Strange as the creature appeared to humans it possessed an innate dignity and nobility which commanded respect, even reverence.

Jar bowed before the Martian. "Ancient Sothatalos, these unworthy ones come before you seeking enlightenment. Is there aught we may do to serve you?"

The beautiful voice answered, "Yes, there is a great service you may render. One for which I have waited many times your lifetime. Having waited so long, I can wait a little longer while your companion asks the questions which are obviously consuming her."

"What is the forest of light?"

"A memorial to my dead race. Of all my people I am the last. Soon I shall die and the last pillar of the forest shall also flare with light."

"Why did you build it here instead of on Mars? In fact why build this place, a place like Mars, when you have Mars?"

"Ul Chalan is not as Mars is now, but as she was countless ages ago. Here there is no wind; now the Derrafa, the devil wind, scourges the surface of Mars. Nothing can stand before it. The change came slowly and inexorably and we saw we must adapt to it or die."

"What change, what causes these fearful winds?"

"Twice a year one of the polar caps, which are carbon dioxide, evaporates and the released gas condenses at the other pole. Your world has storms but there is no comparison between them and the power of the Derrafa. Imagine if you will a hundred-foot ocean tidal wave. Thus the Derrafa sweeps all Mars twice a year."

"Why didn't you adapt to the change, build your cities underground?"

"There were those who suggested such an ignoble course but after much debate we found enlightenment. The wheel turns and turns and is forever still. We saw that it was the fullness of time, time for a world to die and a world to be born, time for the race of Martians to end and for the race of men to begin."

Dawning understanding almost unnerved Gertrude. Her voice was unsteady as she asked, "Are you referring to reincarnation?"

"Yes, we came to Ul Chalan to die as Martians and to be reborn as men."

Jar broke his silence. "Reverend one, what is this service we may do?"

"Nine centuries ago I and my companion finished our work on the memorial. I sealed him in his tomb and said the prayer for the dead for him, but there was none to pray over me. Long I have waited for someone to come, like a child staying awake long past his bedtime."

"I am a priest and can easily do this."

"Thank you, my son." The body of Sothatalos slumped over and was clearly dead.

Gertrude stared in wonder and awe. "How—how will his soul return? As whose child will he be reborn?"

Jar Quinan replied, "I know not, probably the next child conceived in this vicinity."

VI

Karl Winder had read the first two-thirds of Gertrude's report on her trip to Ul Chalan, then angrily summoned her to his office. While he waited for her to come, he paced the floor. Right now heads were rolling and unless every member of his section was faultless, Karl, as the administrator responsible, might find his head rolling. He knew Gertrude was annoyed about that incident with the computer, but he was dumbfounded when she submitted as a report a completely absurd fantasy. She knew that unless she withdrew the report both their careers withdrew the careers would be ruined. Karl knew he would have to beg. Probably Gertrude would use her idiot smile on him. Then he'd have to beg just to get her to admit she recognized the problem.

Gertrude entered and her smile was large and Chore simpleminded than ever before "Hi, Karl. What's the problem?"

"Look, Gertrude, I realize you have a right to be angry. The department sent you off on a dangerous wild- goose chase, then the instrument boys solved the problem." Karl thought it might be good psychology to distract Gertrude's anger away computer incident.

"I'm not mad about anything, Karl. What did the instrument boys learn?"

"It was Kinan. You met him at the Chief's office, He got a NASA satellite to scan Ul Chalan with an IR spectroscope. It showed an extremely high concentration of carbon dioxide. Ul Chalan is a large bowl filled with CO₂. Such pockets of CO₂ occur when there are natural sources to release the gas and no wind to blow it away. Kinan then checked the satellite data on air circulation around Ul Chalan. It's an exceptionally stagnant region. We reconstruct the events as follows: Some Chinese thought they were chasing Tibetan rebels and blundered into Ul Chalan where they smothered. The Chinese assumed the men had met a superior rebel force and been wiped out. Naturally they counteracted with a larger force. They continued to escalate this war on inanimate nature until they finally sent in a full division of tanks. That many tanks put out a lot of carbon monoxide. The air in the trail to Ul Chalan is stagnant and there's not much of it. The Chinese were in the same position as an idiot who runs his car in a closed garage. Chan Si Ree ordered the nuclear missile fired at Ul Chalan in order to destroy the evidence of one of the greatest military blunders in history. His political enemies aborted the missile by sending it the autodestruct code. In view of his blunders they believed they had adequate ground for arranging his heart failure, but that started the Chinese civil war."

"Is there any hope of a negotiated settlement in that war?"

"Almost a certainty. Neither side really wants the war and we and the Russians are trying to mediate."

"Jar will be very happy to hear that. Now, Karl, what did you want?"

Warning bells began to go off in Karl's brain. "Gertrude, you didn't bring home that monk you mentioned in the report?"

"Yes, and I am having a lot of trouble getting him his back pay."

The warning bells were getting louder. "How did you get back so soon? You couldn't have used the escape route we planned."

"But that's in the last part of my report. We flew in the flying saucer."

The warning bells went silent as the danger took clear shape. Was there any remote possibility that Gertrude's report was true?

The door burst open and the Chief pushed Jar Quinan through.

"Just what is the idea of telling this Martian he could park his flying saucer in my parking space?"

Karl Winder could rise to an occasion. A lesser man, having never met Jar Quinan or told him anything, would have denied the accusation. Instead Karl said, "Sir, this man is not a Martian, but is one of my best agents. He and Gertrude captured that saucer at great peril to their lives. It can fly to the stars and will be of immense value to the national defense. May I remind you, sir, that they have plenty of parking spaces in Moscow and that this man has not been paid in the last five years. If you'll check the files you will find I have sent you numerous memos complaining about this unjust situation."

Karl thought the reference to the nonexistent memos in the files would help the Chief see the big picture and he was right. The old man mumbled, "Very good, carry on, keep me informed. I will see this man is paid," and walked off. Gertrude grinned at Karl. "That was wonderful the way you got Jar his pay. Now what's the problem, is there something wrong with my report?"

"Yes, it reads like a fantasy."

"But it's true."

"That's not the point. The report as it now stands will provoke angry disbelief. Many will be so angered that they will refuse to examine your evidence. I propose that we rewrite the report so that it will be both true and plausible."

Gertrude responded, "All right, what do you want to change?"

Karl was puzzled. If Gertrude wasn't trying to con him, why the idiot smile? Could she be on to something? "Well, ordinarily any report concerning ancient Martians would be difficult to make acceptable, but last week several key senators were briefed as to the existence of a long dead Martian civilization. You see NASA took some photos of one of the Martian moons which proved it to be an artificial satellite."

"But I thought it was the other way around," protested Gertrude, "that there was speculation that it might be a satellite but the Mars probe sent back photos showing a large chunk of rock."

"That's what the photos released to the public showed, but the photos which came back from Mars showed a very advanced satellite. So far the Russians appear to be unaware of the situation and we have a good chance of looting the satellite first."

"Then what's the problem?"

"To start with, you claim a flying saucer."

"But we have it to show people."

"Yes, but Senator Sloan just made a speech saying there were no such things as flying saucers. It would be much better politics if we call the thing an unusual heavier-than-air flying machine."

"Why surely, Karl, if you think that's best."

"The next problem is the flying machine's propulsion mechanism. You say you just pull a lever and it accelerates in any direction without an equal and opposite reaction. That's a direct violation of Newton's laws of motion."

"But that's what it does, handles like a dream, too."

"Gertrude, saying things like that will anger every scientist in the department and we need good relations with them. Instead, let's say that preliminary scientific analysis indicates that the flying machine uses a neutrino drive, that is, it acquires momentum in one direction by emitting neutrinos preferentially in the other direction."

"Your pardon, sir," interrupted Jar Quinan. "There are some things which a classical Tibetan education does not include. A neutrino?"

"It is an indetectable particle."

"If it is indetectable, how can anyone possibly know it exists?"

"Logical deduction. The first law of thermodynamics states that mass-energy can not be created or destroyed. Sometimes an apparent violation is observed, mass-energy vanishes without trace. The explanation is that the missing mass energy is in indetectable particles."

"This first law, is it an a priori truth?"

"No, it is empirical. We know it is true because we have never seen an exception to it."

"Ah, thank you. If I am to live in the West, I must learn your curious superstitions."

Karl ignored that and went on. "Gertrude you say those demons passed right through solid metal walls to reach the Martians in their tombs, but you never actually saw that happen."

"No, but we saw a demon move through a granite block and we found a can of meat a demon had eaten without opening the can."

"Yes, but since you didn't see it happen, the report should say that the Martians were sealed in their tombs and the mechanism of subsequent biodegradation of the bodies is not established."

When Gertrude agreed to this, Karl turned to what he thought would be the most difficult part of the report to make plausible. "As to reincarnation, that's a religious issue and no official report of this agency of the United States Government should take a position on any religious issue. Moreover, Sothatalos may have been an impressive individual, but there is no evidence he was authorized to speak for the entire Martian race."

"But he was the entire Martian race, the last."

"That's beside the point. The report should say that the Martians built Ul Chalan for complex religious reasons, now being investigated."

Jar shrugged. "As you wish. The real proof of what we say will come in nine months when a great man is born."

Karl permitted himself a half smile. "Do you expect him to be born in Tibet or China?"

Gertrude replied sharply, "He will be born in Bronx Community Hospital."

Karl started. "You mean—"

Jar Quinan smiled proudly. "Yes, Gertrude and I are married and she is pregnant. I realize you Westerners look only at the surface and would fail to see what a wonderful and beautiful woman Gertrude is. Your blindness is my good fortune."

Karl mumbled, "Congratulations," rather numbly. No doubt in the part of the report he had not read Gertrude claimed that she had gotten pregnant in the line of duty to procure for the United States the soul of an ancient Martian in order to assist the national defense. Making that plausible would be a very difficult rewrite job.

Gertrude interrupted his unhappy thoughts. "Can you take care of the report? Jar and I want to leave on our honeymoon."

Karl groaned but took the path of least resistance. "All right, when will you be back?"

"In a month, but I'll be taking leave of absence shortly thereafter."

"Why? You can still do desk work for some time."

"She's going to help me set up my clinic," explained the monk. "I find that here in this benighted country doctors know nothing of exorcising demons and as a result our people suffer all manner of diseases unknown in Tibet. I plan to open a clinic and heal all these people."

"After all," added Gertrude, "my mother always wanted me to marry a doctor."