Deep within the building which was Comain, in a windowless cell with a barred door and a single light, Curt Rosslyn sat and let his mind writhe like a thing alive within the confines of his skull. Of the passage of time he knew nothing. Of where he was and why he was here the same. Between his capture by the metaman and his awakening in this cell lay a blank period, a flame-shot time of dulled senses, of inner pain and a numb, half-aware realisation of peculiar changes and agonising rebirth.
Now he sat and struggled to bring order out of chaos.
It was his mind, he knew that, knew too that in some indefinable way the blasting radiations of outer space had changed him while he rested in frozen death within the confines of his wrecked ship. He had been half-aware of it before, his ability t
