"I've done the best I can. It's crude, but the batteries are strong. The helmets will pick up and amplify the energy-impulses of our brains. We'll broadcast a single negative impulse, opposed to every desire the Sun-thing has. "Stay close together, because if the wires are broken between the helmets we lose power, and it's going to take all the strength we have to beat that creature." Falken put on his helmet. Little copper discs, cut from the sheet in the repair kit and soldered to wires with Hilton's blaster, fitted to his temples. Through the vision ports he could see the web of wires that ran from the three helmets through a maze of spare grids and a condenser, and then into the slender shaft of a crude directional antenna. Hilton said, "Concentrate on the single negative, _No_." Falken looked at the lovely shimmering cloud, coming toward them. "It won't be easy," he said grimly, "to concentrate." Sheila's eyes were savage and feral, watching that foam of living flame. Hilton's face was hidden. He said, "Switch on your radios." Power hummed from the batteries. Falken felt a queer tingle in his brain. The Sun-child hovered over them. Its mind-voice was silent, and Falken knew that the electrical current in his helmet was blanking his own thoughts. They linked arms. Falken set his brain to beating out an impulse, like a radio signal, opposing the negative of his mind to the positive of the Sun-child's. * * * * * Falken stood with the others on spongy, yielding soil. Dim plant-shapes rose on all sides as far as he could see, forming an impenetrable tangle of queer geometric shapes that made him reel with a sense of spatial distortion. Overhead, in a sea-green sky, three tiny suns wheeled in mad orbits about a common center. There was a smell in the air, a rotting stench that was neither animal or vegetable. Falken stood still, pouring all his strength into that single mental command to stop. The tangled geometric trees wavered momentarily. Dizzily, through the wheeling triple suns, the Sun-child showed, stabbed through with puzzled, angry scarlet. The landscape steadied again. And the ground began to move. It crawled in small hungry wavelets about Falken's feet. The musky, rotten smell was heavy as oil. Sheila and Hilton seemed distant and unreal, their faces hidden in the helmets. Falken gripped them together and drove his brain to its task. He knew what this was. The reproduction of another world, remembered from the Sun-child's youth. If they could only stand still, and not think about it.... He felt the earth lurch upward, and guessed that the Sun-child had raised its creation off the floor of the cavern. The earth began to coil away from under his feet. * * * * * For a giddy instant Falken saw the true world far below, and the Sun-child floating in rainbow light.