bases in the rock, settling themselves in with cable roots
from which they could never be' torn. Others rose from
the surface of the cave, hovering back and forth like great
mindless insects, except that they trailed coils of communi-
cating wire from one based installation to the next.
Within a space of time which they had no reason to
measure the net was complete; they were ready to begin
the work for which they had been programmed. If this
world had not been receptive there would have been no
beacon. Therefore, in the memory banks of the largest of
the based machines lay information that a systematic sam-
pling would bring into use.
One of the hovering fliers swung to the entrance of the
cave, sped outside. There was no moon that night; clouds
hung heavy in the sky. The flying thing was not much
larger than an eagle, and its distort had gone into action
when it had emerged in the open. Now it began to scout
in ever-widening circles, the photoeye it carried sending a
stream of reports back to the cave.
There was a dusting of snow on the heights and the
winds were sharp and cold, though the flying thing noted
temperature only as another fact to be transmitted.
The fire in the center of the clan house was high. From
the balcony which circled the sleeping family rooms, Brig-
itta could look down at the men gathered below on bench-
es. The mingled smell of stable, cow byre, woodsmoke,
food and drink was as thick as the smoke. Yet there was a
solid, secure feeling when the clan house was closed at
night against the outer dark, when the hum of voices
flowed from chamber to chamber on the upper floor.
Brigitta shivered and drew her cloak closer about her
shoulders. This was Samain, the time between one year
and the next. Now the doors between this world and the
Dark could open, and demons could caper through or
crawl malevolently to attack man. There was safety here
by the cheer of fire, in the voices she could hear, the snort
of one of the horses stabled in the outermost circle of
stalls below. She picked up the tankard she had set on the
bench beside her and sipped at the barley ale it contained,
making a little face at its bitter taste but relishing the
warmth within her when she swallowed.
There were other women on the balcony benches, but
8 Andre Norton
