"Look to your left."

Lights were rising out of the water. Carson sat inside a bubble housing. It surfaced near Alpha's prow, followed by a long gray hull. Steam drifted off the deck, and the sea washed over it. The submersible rolled, righted itself, and drew alongside the pier. The bubble opened. Carson paused, tuned his move, and strode onto the planks with a grace born of long experience. "Temple Limo Service," he said lightly. "Stops at 8000 B.C., Henry's Hotel, the Knothic Towers, the Yakatan Empire, and points south. What's your pleasure?" The engines gurgled, and the boat rocked.

"The hotel sounds good." The vessel was low in the water.

Its cargo hatch, located on the afterdeck, swung open. Barrel-shaped containers lined the interior. Carson removed one of the containers, lifting it with surprising ease, and muscled it onto the pier. "I've got six of these," he said. "Can we put them in Alpha! Thought I'd save a trip."

"Sure." She watched him go back for a second barrel. Each of the containers was almost as big as he was. "Don't break anything," she said. They were big and awkward, but light. She starting moving them off the dock and into the shuttle's storage bay.

"Most of it's foam," said Carson. "And artifacts."

She felt cozy and safe, wrapped in the warm, dry cocoon of the energy field. The wind sucked at her, and mournful cries floated over the water. "Chipwillows," said Carson. "Oversized, ungainly carrion-eaters. They raid the beach every morning."

"Birds?"

"Not exactly. More like bats. They like to sing."

"Sounds like something lost."

"They make the sound by rubbing their wings together."

She drank in the night. It was good, after all these weeks, to be out in the open.

"What's it been like, Frank? Closing down, I mean?"

He moved next to her and leaned on the handrail. "We do what we have to. It would have helped if we'd known six months ago we were going to get thrown out. We could have done things differently. But the word we kept getting was that the Academy was going to win. 'Don't worry, they said."

"It's a pity."

"Yeah. It is that." The pier rode over a wave. The comber broke, rolled toward the beach, and lost its energy against the outgoing tide. "I'm ready to go home. But not like this." He looked discouraged. "We've put a lot of work in here. A fair amount of it will go for nothing."

Something luminous swam past, approached the sub, and sank.

"What will you do next? Where will you go now?"

"They've offered me a division director's job at the Academy. In Personnel."

"Congratulations," she said softly.

He looked embarrassed. "Most of the people here are disappointed in me."

"Why?"

"They think it's a sell-out."

Hutch understood. Only the people who couldn't make it in the field, or who were less than serious professionals, went into administration. "How do you feel?"

"I think you should do what you want. I'd like regular hours for a change. A clean, air-conditioned office. A chance to meet new people. Maybe watch the Sentinels on Sunday." He laughed. "That shouldn't be asking too much. After all these years."

She wondered whether he had a family to go home to. "I wouldn't think so," she said.

The western sky was starless. The Void. She looked into it for a few moments.

He followed her gaze. "Spooky, isn't it?"

Yes. Somehow, it looked more arresting from a planetary surface than it did from space. She had noticed the same phenomenon from Nok and Pinnacle, which also floated on the edge of the galactic arm. She could just pick out the dim smear of light from stars on the other side. "According to the Quraquat," Carson said, "that's Kwonda, the home of the blessed, the haven for all who have fought the good fight. On nights when the wind is still, you can hear them singing. Kwonda, by the way, means 'Distant Laughter. »

The pier rose and dipped. "That was a big one," said Hutch. "How old is the Temple of the Winds?"

"The main temple, what we call the Upper Temple, was built somewhere around the thirteenth—" He stopped. "Difficult to translate time. Around 250 B.C., our calendar. Those" — he indicated the towers—"are not the Temple of the Winds. You know that, right?"

"No, I didn't."

"They're the Knothic Towers. Sacred ground, by the way. Built approximately 8000 B.C. They were used for worship, and were maintained as a historical site, one way and another, for seven thousand years."

"So where's the Temple of the Winds?"

He looked at the water. "Believe it or not," he said, "The Temple of the Winds is in the drink." He tied down the last of the containers. "And we should probably get moving. Where are your bags?"

"Only one." She got it out of the Alpha, and allowed him to take it.

"This area used to be a crossroad between empires," he said. "It must always have been of strategic importance. And we know settlements thrived here almost right up until the species died out. At the end," he continued, "the Quraquat had no idea why the Towers had been built, or what they'd meant."

"That's very sad," she said. "To lose your heritage."

"I would think so."

"Are we sure the Quraquat are really extinct?"

"Oh, yes. There was a long-running debate over that for several years. It seemed unlikely that we could have missed them by so short a time. Ergo, they had to be here somewhere. Watch your step." He planted a foot on the deck of the submarine as if that would steady it, and offered his arm. "There was always at least one team looking for survivors. We got so many false alarms it got to be a joke. Quraquat seen here, seen there. Seen everywhere. But never any living natives." He shrugged. "They're gone."

They lowered themselves into the cockpit and drew the bubble down. The interior lights dimmed. The sea rose around them. "The Towers are by no means the oldest structures here. This was a holy place long before they were built. There's a military chapel and outpost in the Lower Temple which predate them by millennia. We're excavating it now. In fact, the artifact that brought Richard Wald out here is from the Lower Temple. And there's a lot more that we haven't got close to yet. We know, for example, that there's an old electric power plant down there."

"You're kidding."

"That's what it looks like. It goes back somewhere in the range of nineteen thousand years. There's not much of it left, of course, and we don't get very good pictures. But I don't think there's any question."

The water was dark. The sub's navigation lamps punched into the general gloom. Lines of yellow light appeared. "They connect the Temple with Seapoint," Carson explained. "The base."

He turned toward the track, and within minutes, they had arrived over a complex of domes and spheres. They were brightly illuminated, but many of the windows were dark. Seapoint looked inactive.

Carson took them beneath a shell-shaped structure, and undersea doors opened. They ascended, and surfaced in a lighted bay.

Janet Allegri was waiting with fresh coffee. Hutch disembarked. Carson handed her overnight down and Hutch slung it over one shoulder. She noticed that the walls were lined with containers similar to the ones they'd unloaded. "Is this the cargo?" she asked.

"This is some of it," said Janet, passing them cups. "Now, if you like, I'll show you to your quarters."

"I'd appreciate that." Turning to Carson, she said, "Thanks for the ride, Frank."

Carson nodded. "Anytime." And, with a meaningful glance, he added, "You'll want to get a good night's sleep."

Janet and Hutch exited into a short passageway, mounted a flight of stairs, and emerged in a plant-filled chamber furnished with chairs and tables. The lights were dim. Two large windows looked out into the sea, and there was a glow in an artificial fireplace. A half-finished jigsaw puzzle occupied one of the tables. "The community room," Janet said. "If you come here in the morning, we'll introduce you around, and see that you get breakfast."