The shuttle fell away from Winckelmann, dropping into a leisurely pursuit of the setting sun. The cloud cover was streaked with pink and purple; storms troubled a narrow belt just north of the equator. Hutch turned control over to Navigation, and tried keying into Kosmik communications. They were scrambled, another measure of the depth to which relations had deteriorated.

From the Temple site, she could pick up the common channel, listen to them calling one another, directing work, asking for assistance. Occasionally, they vented their frustration. / say we stay put and finish the job. A female voice. Hutch wondered whether remarks like that were being deliberately broadcast for the benefit of Truscott's people, who would also be listening in. No wonder the woman was getting nervous.

Atmosphere began to grab at the shuttle. Wisps of cloud streaked past. Navigation cut forward speed. She glided into twilight, passing high above blue mountains, descending into fading light. A wide river wandered into the gloom. The Oz moon, a witch's crescent, rode behind her.

She saw occasional reflections, water perhaps, or snow, sparkling in the starlight. Her scanners revealed an uneven sterile landscape, broken by occasional lakes and lava-beds.

A major ruin lay at Kabal, by a river junction. She went to manual, and took the shuttle to ground level. Her navigation lights flashed across half-buried stone walls. There was nothing else—no wharf, no boats lying inshore, no buildings. No hint of a track through the wilderness to mark the inhabitants' route to the next town. Kabal was celebrated because it was among the most recently abandoned of Quraquat cities.

They had been here when Columbus sailed, the remnants of a once-glittering, if loosely connected, global culture. She wondered what their last moments had been like, clinging to their town against the encroaching wilderness. Did they know they were on the edge of extinction?

She looked for a clear1 space, found it in the middle of the ruin, and landed. The treads pressed down on tall grass. She started the recycle process, intending to get out and look around. But something whipped through the stalks. It was out near the limit of her lights, and too quick to follow. She turned on the spots: nothing but tall dry grass gradually straightening.

Hell with that.

She aborted, and moments later was back in the air, heading southwest.

Snow fell on the plain. Woody plants began to appear. Their branches were thick and short, covered with green spines and long needles. The flat country gave way to a confusion of rolling hills, populated by grotesque growths connected by ropy, purple webs. The local variant of trees, she thought, until one of them moved.

Further south, she flew over thick-boiled gnarled hardwoods. They were enormous, bigger even than California's redwoods, and they stood well apart from each other.

The air temperature began to drop, and she cruised above a snowstorm. Mountains rose through the clouds, broad rocky summits wrapped in white. Hutch had known a few climbing enthusiasts. These would be an interesting challenge.

She went higher, across the top of the world, through yet another storm. There was open water beyond, a sea, dark and reflective, veiled in light mist, glass-smooth. The peaks curved along the coastline. She had arrived at the northern end of the Yakata. Where the gods play.

She opened a channel to the Temple. "This is Hutchins on Alpha. Anybody there?"

"Hello, Alpha." She recognized Allegri's voice. "Good to see you. You are sixty kilometers east of the Temple. Just follow the coast." Pause. "Switching to video." Hutch activated the screen, and looked at Allegri. It was hard not to be envious of those blue eyes and perfect features. But she appeared a little too socially oriented for this line of work.

This was not the sort of person who would stand up gladly to the rigors of modern archeology.

"You're about fifteen minutes out. You want me to bring you in?"

"Negative. Do you have a first name?"

"Janet."

"Glad to meet you, Janet. My friends call me 'Hutch. »

Allegri nodded. "Okay, Hutch."

"What's the drill? Do you use an on-shore hangar? What am I looking for?"

"We have a floatpier. Watch for three stone towers in the water, about a hundred meters offshore. The floatpier's just west of them. Our shuttle will be there. Put down beside it, and we'll do the rest. It's the middle of the night here. You want breakfast ready?"

"No, thanks."

"Suit yourself. See you when you get in." She reached up, above the screen, and the monitor blanked.

Hutch glided over snow-covered boulder-strewn beaches, over long uncurling breakers and rocky barrier islands. She flew past Mt. Tenebro, at whose base lay a six-thousand-year-old city, most of it now under the sand or in the sea. Its minarets and crystal towers and floating gardens had been recreated in a series of paintings by Vertilian, one of which now hung prominently in the main lobby at the Academy's Visitor Center. She trained the scopes on it, but could see nothing except lines of excavation ditches.

She promised herself that when time permitted, she'd come back for a closer look.

Minutes later, the three towers came into view. They were massive, not mere pillars (as she had expected), but black stone fortresses rising about twenty meters above the waves. The tide rolled over the remnants of a fourth. They were circular, somewhat tapered, wide enough that twenty people could have sat comfortably atop each. A stiff wind blew snow off their crests.

Hutch unmasked the external mikes, and listened to the rhythmic boom of the surf and the desolate moan of the wind off the sea. She eased close to one of the structures. Something screeched, leaped clear, and fluttered away. Lines of symbols and pictographs and geometric designs circled the towers. Most appeared to be abstractions, but she could see representations of birds and squidlike creatures and other beasts. In a niche just above the water, a pair of reptile legs were broken off at the knees. There must have been a shaft or stairway within. Her lights penetrated two embrasures and she caught a glimpse of stone walls. A Quraquat female with wings and a weapon, a sword probably, stood atop one crest. An arm was missing. The remaining hand shielded its eyes. She knew the Quraquat had not been winged creatures, smiled at the concept of a flying gator, and wondered whether all intelligences dreamt of angels.

At the water line, the towers were worn smooth by the sea. Wide wakes trailed toward shore, as if the hoary sentinels were on the move.

The floatpier lay a short distance beyond. It was U-shaped, and big enough to accommodate several vehicles. The Temple shuttle lay on the shoreward side. Alpha's lights skimmed across its blue-gold lines.

She drifted in, and slipped into the water. Moonlight fell on the coastal peaks. She opened a channel to the Temple. "I'm down," she said.

The shuttle rocked. "Welcome to the Temple of the Winds, Hutch. Frank's on his way."

The outside temperature was 30° below, Celsius. She activated her Flickinger field, opened up, climbed out. The floatpier rolled with the tide, but it had good footing. It was wide, maybe three meters, equipped with thermal lines to keep ice from forming. And it had a handrail. The sea was choppy, and spray flew, but the field kept her dry.

Alpha's lights cast a misty glow across the two shuttles and the pier. Beyond, the towers were murky shadows. Lines of waves broke against the shoreline.

"Look out you don't fall in." Carson's voice came out of her earphones. But she didn't see him.

"Where are you?"