The lovely wicked fire of the Sun-child faded suddenly.
"I am tired," it said. "I shall suckle the Sun, and rest."
It floated away. For all his agony, Falken felt the heart-stab of its sad, dim colors. It faded like a wisp of lonely smoke into the splintered light.
Presently there was a blinding flash and a sharp surge of air as a fissure was opened. Falken saw the creature, far away, pressed to the roof of the vault and pulsing as it drank the raw blaze of the Sun.
"Oh, God," whispered Falken. "Oh, God, what have I done?"
Falken laughed, one harsh wild cry. Then he stood quite still, his hands at his sides, his face a mask cut deep in dark stone.
"Eric," whispered Sheila. "Please. I can't be brave for you all the time."
He was ashamed of himself then. He shook the black despair away with cynical fatalism.
"All right, Sheila. We'll be heroes to the bitter end. You, Avery. Get your great brain working. How can we save our people, and, incidentally, our own skins?"
Avery flinched as though some swift fear had stabbed him. "Don't ask me, Falken. Don't!"