bing his wrists and legs, saying nothing.

"What do you want?" Sherikov demanded. "Food? Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Medicine? Are you sick? Injured?"

"No."

Sherikov wrinkled his nose. "A bath wouldn't hurt you any. We'll
arrange that later." He lit a cigar, blowing a cloud of gray smoke
around him. At the door of the room two lab guards stood with guns
ready. No one else was in the room beside Sherikov and Cole.

Thomas Cole sat huddled in a heap on the floor, his head sunk down
against his chest. He did not stir. His bent body seemed more
elongated and stooped than ever, his hair tousled and unkempt, his
chin and jowls a rough stubbled gray. His clothes were dirty and torn
from crawling through the brush. His skin was cut and scratched; open
sores dotted his neck and cheeks and forehead. He said nothing. His
chest rose and fell. His faded blue eyes were almost closed. He looked
quite old, a withered, dried-up old man.

Sherikov waved one of the guards over. "Have a doctor brought up here.
I want this man checked over. He may need intravenous injections. He
may not have had anything to eat for awhile."

The guard departed.

"I don't want anything to happen to you," Sherikov said. "Before we go
on I'll have you checked over. And deloused at the same time."

Cole said nothing.

Sherikov laughed. "Buck up! You have no reason to feel bad." He leaned
toward Cole, jabbing an immense finger at him. "Another two hours and
you'd have been dead, out there in the mountains. You know that?"

Cole nodded.

"You don't believe me. Look." Sherikov leaned over and snapped on the
vidscreen mounted in the wall. "Watch, this. The operation should
still be going on."

The screen lit up. A scene gained form.

"This is a confidential Security channel. I had it tapped several
years ago--for my own protection. What we're seeing now is being piped
in to Eric Reinhart." Sherikov grinned. "Reinhart arranged what you're
seeing on the screen. Pay close attention. You were there, two hours
ago."

Cole turned toward the screen. At first he could not make out what was
happening. The screen showed a vast foaming cloud, a vortex of motion.
From the speaker came a low rumble, a deep-throated roar. After a time
the screen shifted, showing a slightly different view. Suddenly Cole
stiffened.

He was seeing the destruction of a whole mountain range.

The picture was coming from a ship, flying above what had once been
the Albertine Mo