From the roof a gray jewel dropped. The tower of fire paused in its rhythm—beat out strongly again. From it a crystal leaped. It hung motionless in the air, and Arnsen seized it with shaking fingers. He felt great, racking sobs shake him. His fingers caressed the jewel, pressed it to his lips.
"Circe!" he whispered, eyes blind with tears. "Circe—"
Epilogue
Arnsen had not spoken for a long time. Through the window I could see the Cairo stratoship being wheeled into place. Beyond, the lights of New York glowed yellow.
"And so you came back," I said.
He nodded. "And so I came back. I put on my space-suit and went back to the ship. The crystals didn't try to stop me. They seemed to be waiting. I don't know for what. I blasted off and headed Sunward. I knew enough to do that. After a while I began to send out S.O.S. signals, and a patrol boat picked me up. That was all."
"Doug—"
"Still there, I suppose. With all the others. Vail, why did I do it? Was I right?" He didn't wait for an answer, but cupped the little shagreen box in his hand. He didn't open it.
"No," he went on, "you can't answer me; nobody can. Circe took the soul out of my body, and I'm empty now. There's no peace for me on Earth, or in the space-ways. And out there, somewhere, on that asteroid, the crystals are waiting—waiting for Circe to come back—