sed. Everything is now in
ruins--if even ruins remain. See, it is not marked on the map. Not even
as ruins. But we have unusual race-memory. I can see the fabulous towers
and arsenals, the terraced gardens and the palaces--as if they still
stood today as they were in that vanished yesterday. And we have the
homing instinct. It was my people who gave it to the Venusians. The one
thing of value that still remains to them."

Newlin was still dubious. "Unless you're dreaming."

Her finger jabbed at the map. "We are here," she insisted. "And if you
care to search and dig, the city is probably still there, as it was a
million years ago."

"Would there be water in your ruined city?" Newlin asked.

"Who knows? The wells are probably all filled with sand now. Or gone
dry, or become contaminated. There is always much radioactivity near the
ruined cities. They were primary targets when the peoples of Venus
destroyed themselves. Even this desert is mute evidence of the
holocaust; if one needs evidence. My people fled before that madness,
because they anticipated it."

Newlin snorted. The pre-holocaust Venusians were purely legendary. No
written records could exist, amid such conditions as must have followed
the ancient wars. Science knew that at least half a million years had
passed since Venus was a fair green planet peopled with hearty,
beautiful, ease-loving races. Half a million years since the surface
people had even looked upon the sun.

"If you're right about where we are," Newlin growled, "I'm still
interested in that city. We can never make Sansurra with the water we
have. Ruined or not, there may be wells. Is there a chance?"

"Not a good one," Songeen replied. "But better than none."

"Whenever you're ready," Newlin said. "You lead."

Wearily, man and girl struck off across the seas of shifting sand. Great
dunes blocked their way. Some they circled, others must be climbed
laboriously.

* * * * *

From the top of a huge, wind-ribbed billow, Newlin stared at a pale
flickering in the dust ahead. In all other directions stretched endless
humps and hollows. But before him lay a great wind-scoured hollow of
bare rock. Beyond that, crowning a series of low hills, which must have
thrust above water line in this shallow part of the ancient, vanished
sea, were ruins.

Even as ruins, the city was spectacular. Massive columns had eroded
slowly into stone toothpicks. Walls crumbled into f