Color rippled across it
with every twist and turn he gave to the length--dark blue fading to
pale violet, accented with wavering streaks of vivid and startling
green.

Ross experimented with a row of small, brilliant-green studs which made
a transverse line from the right shoulder to the left hip, and they
came apart. As he climbed into the suit the stuff modeled to his body in
a tight but perfect fit. Across the shoulders were bands of green to
match the studs, and the stockinglike tights were soled with a thick
substance which formed a cushion for his feet.

He pressed the studs together, felt them lock, and then stood smoothing
that strange, beautiful fabric, unable to account for either it or his
surroundings. His head was clear; he could remember every detail of his
flight up to the time he had fallen through the wall. And he was certain
that he had passed through not only one, but two, of the Red time posts.
Could this be the third? If so, was he still a captive? Why would they
leave him to freeze in the open country one moment and then treat him
this way later?

He could not connect the ice-encased building from which the Reds had
taken him with this one. At the sound of another soft noise Ross glanced
over his shoulder just in time to see the cradle of jelly, from which he
had emerged, close in upon itself until its bulk was a third of its
former size. Compact as a box, it folded up against the wall.

Ross, his cushioned feet making no sound, advanced to the bucket-chairs.
But lowering his body into one of them for a better look at what vaguely
resembled the control of a helicopter--like the one in which he had
taken the first stage of his fantastic journey across space and time--he
did not find it comfortable. He realized that it had not been
constructed to accommodate a body shaped precisely like his own.

A body like his own.... That jelly bath or bed or whatever it was....
The clothing which adapted so skillfully to his measurements....

Ross leaned forward to study the devices on the control board,
confirming his suspicions. He had made the final jump of them all! He
was now in some building of that alien race upon whose existence
Millaird and Kelgarries had staked the entire project. This was the
source, or one of the sources, from which the Reds were getting the
knowledge which fitted no modern pattern.

A world encased in ice and a building with strange machinery. This
thing--a cylinder with a p