His head was clear; he could remember every detail of his
flight up to the time he had fallen through the wall. And he was certain
that he had passed through not only one, but two, of the Red time posts.
Could this be the third? If so, was he still a captive? Why would they
leave him to freeze in the open country one moment and then treat him
this way later?
He could not connect the ice-encased building from which the Reds had
taken him with this one. At the sound of another soft noise Ross glanced
over his shoulder just in time to see the cradle of jelly, from which he
had emerged, close in upon itself until its bulk was a third of its
former size. Compact as a box, it folded up against the wall.
Ross, his cushioned feet making no sound, advanced to the bucket-chairs.
But lowering his body into one of them for a better look at what vaguely
resembled the control of a helicopter--like the one in which he had
taken the first stage of his fantastic journey across space and time--he
did not find it comfortable.
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