They shut down their jets and drifted toward the front entrance. "The architecture looks as if it was designed by committee," said Hutch. "The styles clash."

"It wasn't built in a single effort," he said. "The Temple was originally a single building. A chapel on a military installation." They hovered before the immense colonnade that guarded the front entrance. "They added to it over the years, tore things down, changed their minds. The result was a web of chambers and corridors and balconies and shafts surrounding the central nave. Most of it has collapsed, although the nave itself is still standing. God knows how. It's dangerous, by the way. Roof could come down any time. Carson tells me they were on the verge of calling off work and bringing in some engineers to shore the place up."

Hutch surveyed the rock walls doubtfully. "Maybe it's just as well we're being forced out. Before somebody gets killed."

Richard looked at her with mock dismay. "I know you've been around long enough not to say anything like that to these people."

"It's okay," she said. "I'll try not to upset anybody."

The top was off the colonnade, and sunlight filtered down among the pillars. They stopped to look at the carvings. They were hard to make out through caked silt and general disintegration, but she saw something that resembled a sunrise. And either a tentacled sea-beast or a tree. The Temple of the Winds was, if anything, solid. Massive. Built for the ages. Its saddle-shaped design, had the structure remained on dry land, would have provided an aerodynamic aspect. Hutch wondered whether that accounted for its designation.

"Who named it?" she asked. She understood that native place names got used when they were available (and pronounceable). When they weren't, imagination and a sense of humor were seldom lacking.

"Actually," said Richard, "it's had a lot of names over the centuries. Outlook. The Wayside. The Southern Shield, which derived from a constellation. And probably some we don't know. 'Temple of the Winds' was one of the more recent. Eloise Hapwell discovered it, and she eventually made the choice. It's intended to suggest, by the way, the transience of life. A flickering candle on a windblown night."

"I've heard that before somewhere."

"The image is common to terrestrial cultures. And to some on Nok. It's a universal symbol, Hutch. That's why churches and temples are traditionally built from rock, to establish a counterpoint. To imply that they, at least, are solid and permanent, or that the faith is."

"It's oppressive," she said. "They're all obsessed with death, aren't they?" Mortality motifs were prominent with every culture she knew about, terrestrial or otherwise.

"All of the important things," Richard said, "will turn out to be universally shared. It's why there will be no true aliens."

She was silent for a time. "This is, what, two thousand years old?" She meant the colonnade.

"Somewhere in that time frame."

"Why were there two temples?"

"How do you mean?"

"The Knothic Towers. That was a place of worship too, wasn't it? Were they all part of the same complex?"

"We don't think so, Hutch. But we don't really know very much yet." He pointed toward a shadowy entrance. "That way."

She followed him inside. Trail markers glowed in the murky water, red and green, amber and blue. They switched on their wrist-lamps. "Did the Temple and the Towers both represent the same religion?"

"Yes. In the sense that they both recognized a universal deity."

"No pantheons here."

"No. But keep in mind, we don't see these people at their beginnings. The cultures we can look at had already grasped the essential unity of nature. No board of gods can survive that knowledge."

"If I understood Frank, there's an ancient power plant here somewhere."

"Somewhere is the word. They don't really know quite where. Henry has found bits and pieces of generators and control panels and conductors throughout the area. You probably know there was an intersection of major roads here for several thousand years. One road came down from the interior, and connected with a coastal highway right about where we are now."

"Yes," she said. "I've seen it."

"Before it was a highway, it was a river. It would have been lower then than it is today. Anyway, the river emptied into the sea, and the power plant must have been built somewhere along its banks. But that's a long time ago. Twenty-five thousand years. Maybe more." His voice changed subtly. She knew how Richard's mind worked, knew he was feeling the presence of ghosts, looking back the way they'd come, seeing the ancient watercourse, imagining a seaside city illuminated by electric lights. They had paused by an alcove. "Here," he said, "look at this." He held his lamp against the wall.

A stone face peered at her. It was as tall, from crocodilian crown to the base of its jaws, as Hutch. It stared past her, over her shoulder, as if watching someone leave.

The eyes were set in deep sockets beneath a ridged brow. Snout and mouth were broad; the skull was flat, wide, smooth. Tufts of fur were erect across the jaws. The aspect of the thing suggested sorrow, contemplation, perhaps regret.

"It fits right in," she said. "It's depressing."

"Hutch, that's the response of a tourist."

"Who is it? Do we know?"

He nodded. "God."

"That's not the same as the one in the Lower Temple."

"No. This is a male version. But it comes a thousand years later."

"Universal deities—"

"What?"

"— never seem to smile. Not in any culture. What's the point of having omnipotence if you don't enjoy it?"

He squeezed her shoulder. "You do have your own way of looking at things."

They descended to ground level, picking up a track of green lights. "What happened to the industrialized society?" she asked. "The one with the power plant?"

"It ran out of gas. Literally. They exhausted their fossil fuels. And developed no replacements."

"No atom."

"No. They probably never tried. It might be that you only get a narrow window to do it: you can't run your motors anymore, and you need a major, concerted effort. Maybe you need a big war at exactly the right moment." He grew thoughtful. "They never managed it on Nok either."

They were still in the central nave. The roof blocked off the light, and it was dark in spite of the trail markers. Occasionally, sea creatures touched them. "It's a terrible thing," said Richard, "to lose all this."

They paused periodically before engravings. Whole walls were covered with lines of symbols. "We think they're stories," he said. "Anyhow, it's all been holographed. Eventually we'll figure it out. And here's what we've been looking for."

A shaft opened at their feet. The green lamps dived in, accompanied by a pair of quivering tubes, each about as wide as a good-sized human thigh. "Extracting sand," said Richard.

He stepped off the edge. His weights carried him down. Hutch waited a few moments, then followed. "We are now entering the Lower Temple," he told her. "Welcome to 9000 B.C."

The shaft was cut through gray rock. "Richard," she asked, "do you think there's really a chance to find a Rosetta stone in here anywhere? It seems like a long shot to me."

"Not really. Remember, this was a crossroad. It's not hard to believe they would have carved a prayer, or epigram, or inspirational story, on a wall, and done it in several languages. In fact, Henry's convinced they would have done it. The real questions are whether any of it has survived, and whether we'll have time to recover it if it did."

Hutch could not yet see bottom. "The stone wall behind you," Richard continued, "is part of the outer palisade. We're outside the military post." A tunnel opened off the shaft. The green lights and the tubes snaked into it. "This is just above ground level during the military era." He swam toward the passageway. "They're pumping sediment out now. It's a constant struggle. The place fills up as fast as they pump."