"From what I gathered while I saw scanning the minds of those two who came out of the generator building with the Lord of the Flames (I should say the host of the Lord of the Flames), there's a tribe behind the barrier which resembles more or less what man might have been forty or fifty thousand years ago. Physically they're squat, thick-boned, and have the elements of a social system. Mentally they're pretty thick and squat too. The Lord of the Flames got into one of them just about when he was at age four. Then he gave the kid about sixty thousand years worth of technical information. So he began building all sorts of goodies, forcing his people to help him, using some equipment from a ruined city that dates from pre-Great Fire times behind the barrier. That's how the generators and the anti-aircraft guns got constructed." "Our war is still going on," Jon said. "Well, the Lord of the Flames is no longer with us," said Petra. "We've chased it to the other end of the universe. Now that we've removed what external reason there was for the war, we've got to think about the internal ones." "What are you going to do immediately about the kids?" Jon asked. "I think the best thing for them to do is to go off to my estate for a little while," Petra said. "It's on an island, isn't it?" Tel asked. "That's right," Petra said. "Gee, Alter. Now I can teach you how to fish, and we'll be right by the sea." "What about Uske?" Arkor asked. "You can either walk into his room and interrupt an obscene dream he's having, and present your case and be arrested for treason, or you can leave well enough alone at this point and wait till the opportunity comes to do something constructive." Suddenly Jon grinned. "Hey, you say he's asleep?" He turned and bounded for the door. "What are you going to do?" Petra called. Jon looked at Arkor. "Read my mind," he said. Then Arkor laughed. * * * * * In his bedroom, Uske rolled over through a silken rustle, opened one eye, and thought he heard a sound. "Hey, stupid," someone whispered. Uske reached out of bed and pressed the night light. A dim orange glow did not quite fill half the room. "Now don't get panicky," continued the voice. "You're dreaming." "Huh?" Uske leaned on one elbow, blinked, and scratched his head with his other hand. A shadow approached him, then stopped, naked, faceless, transparent, half in and half out of the light. "See," came the voice. "A figment of your imagination." "Oh, I remember you," Uske said. "Fine," said the shadow. "Do you know what I've been doing since the last time you saw me?" "I couldn't be less interested," Uske said, turning over and looking the other way. "I've been trying to stop the war. Do you believe me?" "Look, figment, it's three o'clock in the morning. I'll believe it, but what's it to you." "Just that I think I've succeeded." "I'll give you two minutes before I pinch myself and wake up." Uske turned back over.