rippling serrulation of contours. Another hour and the spaceboat would rest motionless on the purple rock.

"Somehow it's frightening—" Gillian Murray shivered—"the idea that Nature can work back to front, reverse the aging process."

"It's not an idea," he said. "It's a fact."

"Yes, I know," she replied, "but it's still uncanny. I've so many doubts. I mean will I really look the same? And my mind? Oh, they've told me there's no change—but there must be!" She buried her head in her hands.

Delman looked at her with compassion. "You needn't worry," he said. "Nothing can go wrong. The memory remains unimpaired; it's only the ability to make use of it that suffers—the knowledge is at your disposal. You'll be just like other young people, heedless and disinclined to profit from experience. You see, the mind is like a machine; you press the right buttons and it draws the right conclusion. The buttons are the facts to be considered and their selection is a matter of judgment. When we're young, our judgment is often at fault. When we're very young, we can't reason at all. There's nothing to fear—only youthful exuberance."

Before she could answer, the loudspeaker buzzed twice. There was a moment of silence, broken by the voice of Captain Ross.

"Attention, please! Attention, please! Will all passengers kindly retire to their cabins. The forward jets will be fired in exactly five minutes. I repeat, will all passengers—"

It was cool on the veranda, though outside, an alien sun beat down on the smooth expanse of runway, a narrow platform, less than a mile in length—the only flat stretch of land on the planet. Along the far edge, mountains, bathed in sunlight, rose in barren splendor, their sharp peaks reaching for the sky, while, on each remaining side, the ground dropped sheer away, to reform itself in twisting valleys thousands of feet below.

The house, two stories of prefabricated metal, stood perched on one of the outer corners. Opposite, packed tightly against the rock face, the emergency hangar rose in a gentle curve—a sheen of aluminum in contrast with the purple background of rejuvenite. Between them, the launching ramp stretched lengthwise down the runway, inclining steeply for the first fifty feet, then leveling out so that the cruel blast of the takeoff would be dispersed harmlessly over the edge of the precipice.

A few small store sheds were the only other signs of habitation.

It was too hot to do anything constructive. They relaxed in their deck-chairs, grateful for the way in which the fans moved the monotonous heat into unexpected currents of warm air.

Walter Pellinger looked upward expectantly, a sudden movement that caused the little beads of perspiration on his head to run together and course down his neck in a steady stream. He ran a handkerchief around the inside of his collar. "What's the time?" he asked.

"Quarter past ten," said Tarsh.

"All right, Jason, you've had your fun. Now perhaps you'll consult the right dial. We'd all like to know."

"I can never get used to these five-hour days," said Gillian Murray. "It makes one feel so restless."

Curtis Delman frowned in mock reproof. The lawyer was in his prime, the natural strength of his features enhanced by the iron-gray hair and powerful physique.

"Really, Gillian," he said, "you ought to be thankful it's summer. At least, you've got three hours of daylight."

"Well, I can't understand it," said John Bridge. "We've been here sixty Earth days and the sun always sets at the same time."

"Nonsense," Delman replied. "It's been later each day. Though not much, I grant you. Remember, summer still has nine years to run."

"Will someone please tell me the time?" said Walter Pellinger.

Jason Tarsh regarded him with approval. "That's much better. It's two o'clock."

Of the five of them, John Bridge and Jason Tarsh were the least changed. True, that 'lucky fool,' as Walter Pellinger called Bridge, had lost a good deal of weight and his face was not quite so full as it had been, but it was the same John Bridge who had climbed on board at Jupiter. The change in Jason Tarsh was even less marked. Time had ironed out a few creases here and there, and his back was straighter. But, apart from that, he looked the same at fifty as he had at a hundred—gaunt, resilient and merciless.

"It's due anytime now," said Walter Pellinger, his eyes still fixed on the empty segment of horizon above the near end of the runway.

The others remained silent. The lawyer imagined that they were all thinking of the incoming spaceboat. The landing today was something like a dress-rehearsal for their own departure in thirty days. It broke the tedium of their existence and with it would come a change of staff, the unloading of supplies and the news from home. But when the next landing took place, they themselves would be waiting, young and eager, to go back and start life afresh.

Gillian Murray was looking toward the door behind them, her lovely profile turned in his direction. He followed the line of her gaze. There, in the hallway, stood the two house servants, man and wife. They had both arrived on the relief spaceboat a month ago, a comfortable, middle-aged couple. Now they were almost like children, leaping up and down with impatience, counting every second which brought Captain Ross nearer—young, graceful creatures, hand in hand, reunited in their youth.

Delman found himself smiling in sympathy. "Yes," he said, "those are the vital years."

"I was just thinking the same thing." She turned to him. There were tears of happiness in her eyes. At that moment, he caught a glimpse of her real beauty, something deeper than the merely physical—a purity of expression mirrored from within, clear and composed, like a reflection of the soul.

"There it is!" Walter Pellinger announced excitedly. He pointed.

Out in the distance, a small speck hurtled toward them. Soon it would streak low overhead, until a final burst from the jets brought it to a halt at the far end of the runway.

The two young servants could restrain themselves no longer. Oblivious to danger, they began to run down the side of the landing-strip, racing toward a spot parallel to where they knew the spaceboat would draw to a standstill.

It was John Bridge who noticed them. The others were all looking in the opposite direction. He leaped to his feet and dashed outside.

"Come back!" he yelled. "For God's sake, come back! You'll get caught by the blast!"

They were so intent that they paid no heed to him. He ran on after them, trying to make himself heard, forgetful of his own peril.

"Look!" The strong fingers of Jason Tarsh dug deep into the lawyer's arm. Delman turned instinctively. Nearly four hundred yards away, three figures stumbled back toward the house.

"It's too late," Delman said. "Get down, all of you! If Ross sees them, he may try to overshoot. If he's going too slowly, he'll have to use the rear jets and they might splash us. Get down!"

They flattened themselves out on the floor of the veranda.

Above them, the thin whine of the approaching craft switched into a deep roar, then cut out almost instantly.

Delman saw the flash of silver overhead as the spaceboat fought to recover altitude. One moment, it was climbing; the next, it veered sharply to the left and hit the cliff.

Sound and light combined, deafening and dazzling, as the force of the explosion thrust outward, tearing at the foundations of the house itself.

When the hail of falling rock had died away, they got up and looked around them. It was difficult to determine the extent of the damage, for dust swirled and eddied in all directions. Only gradually did the details emerge from the surrounding mist.