For the fraction of a second, the blue man thought of calling out to her to draw the ray-gun she'd hidden in her garments, and blast the raiders with it. But the fascination that lay in the sleeping goddess pulled even stronger. He ran his tongue along dry lips. It could be as Sark had guessed--that this was a trap for the unwary; that the first time he touched the bubble would also be the last. Yet still he stepped onto the dais. Then, breathing deep, he wiped a window through the dust that shrouded the shining globe. Nothing happened. A mass of valves and tubes and coils of unfamiliar pattern were mounted high inside the bubble. To one side, a cord like a bell-pull hung nearly to the floor. But Haral gave the equipment scant heed. He had eyes only for the woman known as Xaymar. Her body gleamed smooth and sleek in this eerie light--voluptuous, lithe-limbed, perfect. Motionless, naked save for the short, jeweled veil that masked the top half of her face against a nimbus of jet-black hair, she lay like some lovely manikin, frozen in a sleep as deep as death itself. Yet, somehow, there was a warmth and texture to her skin that seemed to reach out even through the crystal; a melding of curves and hollows that cried out that once she, too, had been alive. _And might still live!_ The blue man sucked in air. Pivoting, he studied the panel set in the great globe's base. The switch was there, just as Kyla had described it. And the secret prayer, the call to waken--? Only the soul of dead Namboina could chant it now. Haral clutched the lever. Then, stiff with tension, he jammed it shut. Seconds crept by on leaden feet. He felt a lone drop of icy sweat slide down his spine. Then, inside the bubble, greenish mist began to rise. It filled the crystal casing. Eddying, swirling, it thickened till the woman's recumbent form grew dim and blurred. In the vibrant stillness, Haral could hear his own heart beat. Slowly, the mist within the great globe thinned again. A tube set high above the woman flashed on. Waves of pale violet light washed over her smooth, nude, perfect body. In spite of himself, Haral's tension soared. Now--abruptly, without warning--a wild, shrill, keening sound rose thinly. A new light blazed above the woman. Like lightning striking, a shining, silvery beam lanced down out of a queerly-shaped projector. * * * * * A sheet of crackling silver flame encased the woman. Her body went suddenly rigid. She jerked spasmodically, lifting half clear of her cot in a writhing, twisting arch. Then, sharply, light and sound cut off again. The woman fell back limply and lay still. It dawned on Haral that his nails were rasping against the crystal. Through an interminable moment, the woman within sagged inert as any corpse. Then, almost imperceptibly, her lips quivered. The bare breasts stirred as she drew a shallow, sobbing breath.