THE CATERPILLARS QUESTION

The heads were so flat above the eyes and so narrow from a side view that Jack deduced a similarity in this respect to the Gaol.

Like them, the Makers' brains were in their bodies.

The eyes, like the beardless faces, were human, but they had epicanthic folds which would have made their faces Chinese-like if the' lips had not been heavily evened like those of West Africaln blacks. Their noses were very large and hawk-beaked.

The eyes, ranging in- color from brown to blue, seemed to be magnets drawing eternity and infinity into them.

The Integrator brought eleven candles from his bag and placed them in their holders before the globes. After lighting them, he got down on his knees and began bowing and chanting while his right hand weaved unseen symbols in the air. The acrid stench from 'the candles made Jack and Tappy cough. They walked away to the nearest wall and studied some of the murals there. Most of those showed the Makers in their daily life-or so it seemed to Jack. The vegetation and some of the animals depicted were not those of Earth or of the honkers' planet.

He was just getting started on his study of the series when the Integrator suddenly quit chanting. He quickly put the candles out, placed them in his bag, and gestured that the humans should follow him.

THEY were in the cavern headquarters of the Integrator. Two hours ago, he had given Jack and Tappy glasses of a thick and dark purplish fluid to drink. It was a mixture of berry Julce and an amount, very small, of the venom of the fly called "quickdeath."

By increasing the quantity every day, they should be immune to the venom after twenty days. Meanwhile, they could expect to feel somewhat sick during this period.

"One bite will semiparalyze a person of our body mass," Tappy had told him. "Two bites in rapid succession will kill. The whole honker population has been immunized."

The drinkin skull of the shaman came from an upper-class ratcage who had died from the quickdeath's bites.

"The Gaol ruling class seldom leave their ships when they're on this world-in this area, anyway-unless they're wearing heavy nets. They send out their humans and lower-class warriors to do the work. The shaman says we were lucky we didn't get bitten while we were wandering around in the crater. , After swallowing the sweet but foul-smelling fluid, Jack and Tappy resumed their study of the crater-ring model. Jack picked up the page he had been writing on, but he put it down when a sharp pain struck his stomach. A few seconds later, he had a severe headache.

Tappy, who looked as sick as he felt, said, "It'll go away in an hour. But we shouldn't eat anything until suppertime."

Jack's vision blurred. Where there had been one piece of paper there were now two, one overlapping the other by a few inches.

Moreover, his hands and feet felt numb. Both abandoned the study to lie down in their cave bedroom. But, as the shaman had said, after sixty minutes, they had recovered enough to go back to the model and their notes.

So far, he and Tappy, aided by a honker who interpreted the notes written by generations of honkers, had plenty of clues, too many. But they had no idea what any of them meant. In that case, as Tappy remarked, how did they know the items were clues? Jack had replied that everything on the ring had to be significant. So far, though, he had found nothing meaningful in the images and symbols on the ring or in their locations on it or their relationships to each other.

Some of the images were of the Makers; some, of the ratcagebodied Gaol.

There were also representations of the pulsating in-and-out yessel in which he and Tappy had taken refuge. Red wavy-shafted arrows tipped by flames radiated from the ship.

"Maybe those indicate the magnetism which the shaman thought might've drawn you to the ship," Jack said. "Like you were a migratory bird following the Earth's lines of force."

He shook his head. "I just don't know. Our only explanations for all this stuff are just theories. Not even that. Just hypotheses."

"The crater's magnetism drew me through the boulder-gate," she said. "That means that it somehow, uh, leaked through the gate even though this planet must be many, many light-years from Earth."

"But you wouldn't have felt the attraction if you hadn't come near the boulder. That means-might mean, anyway-that your foster parents sent us there because they knew about the boulder."

"I suppose so," she said. "But if they knew about it, why didn't they take me there themselves?"

"They must've had a good reason."

"Why didn't they wait until I was mature enough for the Imago to develop fully?"

"Because," he said, "they knew the Gaol were getting close to finding out that you were on Earth. They had to get you away before the Gaol went any further in their investigation. They had to chance your finding your way to the boulder. Who knows what your foster parents did after I drove you away? Maybe they went through another gate to another world. I don't know."

He was wondering, though, if her foster parents had been agents of the persons who might be working to fulfill the prophecy.

"Those people could be organized as a cell system. Each cell knew very little about the others. The inferior agents worked in solitude and ignorance except when they received orders from a higher agent. On the other hand, the foster parents might be in the highest echelon.

A few seconds later, a tall rangy honker ran into the cave. He stopped before the Integrator. Though winded, he delivered a long series of honks. The shaman rose from the moss pile on which he had been sitting and began honking at Tappy. His eyes were wide, and he was gesticulating wildly. His excitement infected the beasts on him. The snake reared up and hissed. The dormouse growing from his navel yipped and squeaked and waved its paws.

The hairy thing on his genitals split bilaterally, closed, split, and closed. It quivered violently. The hip tentacles thrashed around.

Tappy became pale. Her voice unsteady, she said, "A Gaol ship has landed in the crater. It's either the one that captured us or one just like it."

"The best defense is offense."

That was a clichd. But, like most clichds, it was often valid.

Jack, Tappy, the Imaget, the Integrator, Candy, and sixty honkers were deep under the ground. The large chamber they occupied had been excavated by the Makers. One wall was composed of an immense piece of nickel-iron, a fragment of the meteorite which had formed the crater long ago. Many times during the thrde-day underground journey to this place, the group had encountered large relics of the fiery falling star. The Integrator said that the Gaol's orbital geosurvey ships must have detected these and the cavern complex centuries or more ago. If they had ever gone down into the subterranean system, it had been so long ago that the honkers had no record of it.

Now, however, they knew, or thought they knew, that the Imago and its host were somewhere in the crater. Instead of trying to keep one step ahead of the Gaol, Jack had decided to attack.

After a conference, the Integrator had agreed that that was the best policy.

The war party was now directly beneath the Gaol ship that had landed several days ago. Sixty feet of earth and meteorite fragments were between the vessel and the chamber housing the Latest and the others.

A report about the Gaol had just been brought by a spy who had climbed down a series of ladders glued to the inside of a ventilator pipe. Its entrance was inside a hollowed-out tree. According to the spy, the Gaol had set up a camp inside the circle formed by the landing-support system beneath the ship. It was composed, so far, of humans and cyborg Gaol. But the cyborgs had gone back into the ship for the night.