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. "Maybe we can go back and
help them," she whispered. "I mean, when you've done
whatever it is you are supposed to do."
Ahead of her Chane squeezed his broad shoulders
through a narrow crevice and took another turn, paus-
ing only to make sure that she followed. He said nothing,
though she knew he ached for their friends just as she
did.
Another tight, jagged opening between tumbled slabs,
another turn, and Jilian heard Chane's breath catch in his
throat. He clawed and pulled through a crack, and when
he was beyond it he turned to give her his hand. Greenish
light flooded about him and lit up the cavern he had dis-
covered. Chane and Jilian looked around. The light they
saw was Pathfinder's glow, reflecting back from the
delved walls and ceiling of a wide, hewn space. A few
bits of rubble lay scattered among neat mounds of piled
stone. Nearby, an old cable-cart lay on its side.
"A transfer terminal," Chane said. He pointed to the
left. A clean, unshattered tunnel led away there, into
darkness. Pathfinder pulsed, and the narrow trail of
green light appeared again, on the dusty floor. It led
straight to a mound of crushed stone, up the side of it to
the top, and stopped at a little cone of green light, with a
red center.
Chane walked to the mound, head-high to him, and
stood a moment, listening to something that only he
could hear
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