Burke threw himself flat in the dirt. It was wasted caution. He might as well not have been there. The alien ship went wide of him by miles. Another moment, and it was hovering over Knossos; leveling off till its base was parallel to the ground below. Slowly, slowly, then it descended, riding down on its fan-shaped shaft of light till it hung bare feet above the tops of the buildings. For an instant, Burke thought it must surely be going to land. But no. For suddenly, the light-shaft pulsed brighter by a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times. The ship spun in a low, flat circle that carried it over the entire area of the palace and surrounding grounds in seconds. Then the wailing sound went shrill again--so shrill Burke clapped his hands over his ears. The ship peeled away from the palace and lanced into the sky like an electron-streak. In a flash, it was gone--gone from Knossos, from Crete, from Earth itself ... a dim and distant pinpoint, sparkling as it faded away, incredibly fast, into the night. Numbly, Burke turned once more to the palace. So far as he could see from this vantage-point, no sign of life remained. It was as if a giant hammer had smashed down on it; reduced it to a heap of tumbled stone. Even the fires were dead. And Ariadne--? Burke couldn't let himself think about her. Better to marvel at the alien ship, with its pulsing power that shattered mountains and wiped out cities. Better to grope for some bitter tendril of satisfaction that at last he'd learned the truth about the palace's destruction. As if that would do him any good now. Because always, always, fight as he might against it, Ariadne was in his mind and heart alike. Yet perhaps she'd survived. After all, he'd not been able to find her in her quarters. And she'd promised to meet him--where was it?--on the headland to the left of the mouth of the River of Amnissus. At least, hunting for her would give him something to do; something to occupy his muscles and maybe, even, a small part of his brain. So, now, he rose; turned towards the sea. It was nearly dawn before he found his way to the headland. By then, the wind had died, and the sky in the east lay grey as the whispering, slate-colored waves. A spark of tension came to life within Burke. Suddenly eager, heedless of fatigue, he clawed his way to the headland's highest point and scanned the whole area. No sign of Ariadne. The spark flickered; died. Dully, Burke stared out across the shadowy sea. His life from now on would be like that: grey; all grey. It didn't even matter that now he could see the hidden pattern behind the rise of Bronze Age Crete. The alien ship's presence was, of course, the key.