We emerged onto the deserted surface. We were micro-androids in space; dust-grain things matched against the universe, and the future of man. But we were part of both. In the shadow of the asteroid world's eclipse by Ganymede, there was still soft light from Jupiter. Now we joined ourselves like mountain climbers, with a thoughtfully provided floss cable. Then, with small bursts from our jet-tubes, we leapt. Soon we were falling toward Ganymede, accelerated by its attraction. It was a trip of many hours. Our jet rods checked our speed while we were still in space, and the satellite's atmosphere became a supporting cushion. We had an advantage over full-sized people--we could not fall to destruction. Instead we had to search for downdrafts to help force our descent with the rods. Completing our journey, however, was not especially difficult. In Ganymede's glowing crescent we located a foamy dot--the airdomes of Port Hoverton. From this reference point it was easy to determine where we had left the _Intruder_. We got down into a prevailing wind. Thereafter our progress was swift. After a few more hours, and some jockeying with our jet rods, we knew we were over the right place. We could speak audibly again, now. Doc's grin was a bit forced. "You can even see its circular imprint in the dust," he said. "But the _Intruder_ is gone." Jan pointed below. "There's a space tent, Charlie!" she exclaimed. "The little brown dot! See? And somebody's standing before it!" Swiftly we jetted down toward that bulging, inflated tent, fitted with its zippered airlock compartment. It stood alone in frigid desolation. "_S.S. Intruder_" was lettered on its side. We alighted on the plastic face window of the armored figure, and clung to scratches in the material. From this position we looked at the face of the man, huge, handsome to our former view, but made ugly by magnification. The skin-pores were craters. Individual scales of the epidermis, with the living cells beneath, were all visible, on forehead and nose, and around the colossal eyes, in which the separate flecks of pigmentation could be seen. It was an impressive, belittling vista. The colossal jaw worked slightly: the narrowed gaze looked grim. "It's Scharber!" Jan said. "He stayed here to keep watch, hoping for a sign from us, I'll bet! He knew part of what we were doing. But now he doesn't even notice us, any more than you notice motes on a windowpane. And how can we talk to him? He could never hear our voices directly. How can we get anything across?" The riddle faced us tautly, as if we were trapped forever in a lesser dimension, even beyond communication with our own kind. "The jet rods again!" Doc shouted. "He'll see the spark of blue fire!" * * * * *