"The healing ray," his voice came back to me. "You do not have it ... my good friend.... But somewhere ... in the Future ... it will be rediscovered. Eyoaoc Eiioiei will take me ... on into the Future ... through the Ice Stone ... again and again if necessary ... until we find it—"
His voice ceased. For Eyoaoc Eiioiei had not paused, but had continued on straight into that frigid blast.
I caught a last vague glimpse of that nightmare shape disappearing into the Ice Stone.
There is but little more to tell. Those assassins from the Past were all dead, as I discovered when I left the cavern—Rog Tanlu's laboratory.
I buried what was left of little rawboned Doctor Champ in the sand at the foot of that cliff below the Ice Stone.
Then I headed back in the truck for Qum, the Holy City. Three days later the fuel ran out. I do not know what plans Doc had made for replenishing it, but whatever they were he hadn't put me wise. So I left the truck there at the edge of a mud-salt swamp and went on afoot.
Two weeks later, more dead than alive, I arrived at Qum and tried to give warning.
It may seem queer, but until that moment I had not worried over the chance of my word being doubted. Moreover, the one substantiating exhibit I had thought to bring along—that fawn-colored silk garment of Rog Tanlu's—I had been forced to abandon along with the truck.
I soon realized that if I persisted in trying to tell the truth, one of two things would happen: I would either be locked up as a nut, or, if I managed to convince certain Iranian officials, then the "Most Lofty of Living Men"—the Shah—might possibly send a few airplanes out there to bomb the Ice Stone "out of existence," as they lightly and humorously suggested.