Once shut behind him, he tried to trace a million half-finished thoughts as the lock chamber cycled up to pressure.
Who was in here? Scientists who had long since learned the secret of the Barrier? Hardly, or his warning would have gone unheeded save for a polite acknowledgement. Who then—another explorer as Fowler Griffin had been? Or someone else who had stumbled onto the presence of the X Ecliptic and the machine-planet?
Or some alien flightmaster of some foreign universe who was either exploring or lost, as he had been lost....
A blue light flashed the intergalactic symbol for PRESSURE and the inner lock slid back.
The small control room was illuminated only with the soft wash of light emanating from the compact but complete instrument panel—an instrument panel at once strikingly similar to that of his own ship. A figure turned to meet him—
There were 40 years etched into a countenance that should have borne barely the hint of nine. The sag of the narrow shoulders told of the soul-breaking exhaustion that reflected dully from the sunken eyes more eloquently than the straight, bloodless mouth could ever have told. The gray lips were almost motionless as they parted.
"Hello, Cragin," Lin Griffin said.
"Greetings. My name is Randolph Cragin, Stellar Patrol. Your cooperation is appreciated, and was requested inasmuch as it is my duty to—to...."
The light was so uncertain, yet—there was something about the face. The forehead—deep within the eyes—