Mark Vanner lived to see the first fruits of Elling's work. He saw the first XAR rocket rise from the New Mexico desert and split apart at the seams thirty miles above the Gulf of Mexico. He saw the second and the third go the way of the first as the time of accounting grew closer. He had begged, and pleaded, and fought to stop them, but no one would listen to him . . .

Later, they listened. After the crash that he had foreseen, more horrible and crippling than any war, they had listened to Mark Vanner because they had to. He showed them the way out of the chaos of those days, and they left the ship standing in the desert, a plague spot.

But in the world that Vanner built, there were no spaceships.

The helicopter had landed on a sandy hillock near the ship, and they had been walking slowly through the wreckage for two hours ... a tall man with flowing white hair, and a smaller, younger man.

"All right," the white-haired man said at last, "y°^uwanted to see it. Now you see it."

The younger man nodded and brushed sandy hair back from his forehead. "This was the fifth XAR ship, am I right? I hadn't realized it was so nearly finished." He spoke sofdy, and only the slightest burr betrayed Iris Highland origin.

"Another month would have seen it aloft," the white-haired man said. "It was that close." He took a cigarette from a bright titanium case and stooped to light it against the wind. "Now, of course, it would take longer, but that doesn't matter. I'm going to raise this ship."

The sandy-haired man looked at him. "Do you realize what you're going to have to fight in order to do it?"

"I realize. It will take time. But I'll do it."

"It will take more than time," the Scotsman said slowly. "People hate this ship. They fear it. They hate it for what it did to them before, and for what it could do again. You won't be able to change that by yourself."

"There is a man who can do it," said the white-haired man. "His name is Julian Bahr."

"It will take more than just one man," the Scotsman said.

"You don't know this man. Hell do it. He doesn't know it yet, but he will."

"And when the time comes, will you be able to stop him?"

"I don't know," said the white-haired man. "That's the flaw, of course. I just don't know."

The Scotsman regarded his companion closely. "You know that we can't guarantee you any help at all," he said. "Officially, BRINT knows nothing of what you're planning to do."

"But you'll help, just the same. Just give me time. I'll need more of that than anything else."

"I know," said the Scotsman. "That's what we're afraid of. Because there isn't much time left, any more."

Later, the helicopter engines coughed, and the craft slid back into the air, hovered for a moment, and then headed East, leaving the dying ship in a swirl of dust.

The two men understood each other, at least up to a point. They both wanted the same thing, even though their reasons were a world apart. Consequently, they would help each other.

Only the Scotsman knew that it was the eleventh hour.

Part I PROJECT FRISCO