laid-out rows of sheds, beautiful lines of construction equipment and
everything in order, as it could never be in a real camp. As he began
walking with the girl toward a huge tent that should have belonged to a
circus, he could see other discrepancies. The tractors were designed for
work in mud flats and the haulers had the narrow wheels used on rocky
ground. Nothing seemed quite as it should be. He spotted a big generator
working busily--and then saw a gang of about fifty men, or mandrakes,
turning a big capstan that kept it going. Here and there were neat racks
of miscellaneous tools. Some were museum pieces. There was even a gandy
cart, though no rails for it to run on.

They were almost at the main tent when a crow flew down and yelled
something in Nema's ear. She scowled, and nodded. "I'm needed back," she
said. "Most of the men here--" She pointed to the gangs that moved about
busily doing nothing, all in costumes similar to his, except for the
boots and hat. "They're mandrakes, conjured into existence, but without
souls. The engineers we have are snatched from Duality just after dying
and revived here while their brains still retain their knowledge. They
have no true souls either, of course, but they don't know it. Ah. The
short man there--he's Garm. Sersa Garm, an apprentice to Ser Perth. He's
to be your foreman, and he's real."

She headed back to the outskirts, then turned to shout back. "Sather
Karf says you may have ten days to fix the sky," she called. Her hand
waved toward him in friendly good-bye. "Don't worry, Dave Hanson. I have
faith in you."

Then she was running toward her reluctant carpet.

Dave stared up at the mottled dome above him and at the dull