He drew back the yoke. The shuttle sailed through the clouds.

Below, the Knothic Towers were already lost in twilight.

LIBRARY ENTRY

When, in the spring of 2187, Alexander LaPlante completed the first phase of the excavation of Sodom, he concluded that the city had been burned, a fate not uncommon in Biblical times. But he offered two additional opinions which created a storm of controversy:

(1) that the site was far older than had been expected, dating to approximately 5000 B.C.; and

(2) that a computerized reconstruction of the damage suggested the city had been shattered by something akin to modem weapons.

LaPlante's grant was cut off in 2189. A second expedition, led by Oliver Castle and Arian Adjani, examined both propositions. They confirmed the earlier date, but found no compelling evidence to support what had by then become known as the bomb thesis.

LaPlante lost his tenure at the University of Pennsylvania in 2195, and is now teaching at Radison University in London.

— Marjorie Gold

Dead Sea Excavations

Commonwealth, New York, 2199

Both shuttles had unloaded their cargo on the Winckelmann, and were on their way back to the surface when the eleven-ton block of supercooled ice that was designated #171 in the Kosmik inventory crossed the equator into the southern hemisphere. With a whisper, it passed over moonlit tundra and pulpy forests, something not quite heard. Shining splinters fell away, and the arid landscape momentarily brightened.

Snow blew against Alpha's windscreen. Hutch (who had waited for Carson at Wink, and then followed him down) could see the sub and the Temple shuttle, haloed by their lights, docked at the floatpier. The shuttle's cargo door was open; Carson and Loughery were working to move a stack of containers off the pier into the spacecraft.

Janet Allegri blinked onto her overhead display. "Hello, Hutch," she said. Her hair was pressed down by an energy field. She was speaking from the sub. "We seem to have got a little behind with Plan A." They had intended to pile cases on the floatpier, and have two more complete shipments ready to go when the shuttles arrived. But not very much had made it topside.

"Weather been bad?"

"It's been wet. But the problem is people. Everybody's hunting artifacts."

Well to the south, lightning struck the ocean.

Hutch understood. Under extreme pressure, Henry was willing to risk the artifacts he already possessed—which were after all duly recorded on hologram—to increase his chances of finding what he was really looking for. "Coming down," she said.

She settled smoothly into the sea, and drifted into the magnetic couplers, which locked the shuttle against the pier. Carson was loading the last container, and his hold was still half-empty.

Loughery smiled shyly. He was loading a dolly into the sub. The snow slid down his energy envelope.

"How can I help?" she asked.

Janet came out of the sub. "Just in time," she said lightly. "We were running short of peasants."

The sea was calm, but the peaks along the shore, and the Towers, were lost in murk. Carson, who seemed to wear his feelings close to the surface, looked unhappy. "Good to see you," he said, cheering up. "Roll up your sleeves."

Moments later, they submerged and headed at high speed for Seapoint

If the skies had been clear, and if they'd been six minutes slower to leave, they would have seen a fireball glide si4ently out of the northeast. They would have seen it arc out to sea, and pass below the horizon. And anyone standing on the pier, even in the thick gloom, would have noticed a sudden brightening of the southern sky.

She had slept during most of the flight down from Wink, so she was ready to work. Since she was too small to be of much assistance lugging containers around, she asked Eddie whether there wasn't something she could do. He directed her to a storeroom where she found Tommy Loughery.

"Eddie asked me to get you started," he said. His black hair was in disarray, somewhat in the sloppy style common to graduate students in those times.

"Okay," she said. "What do I do?"

He pointed at a table loaded with artifacts. There were wedges, pieces of masonry, pottery. "Most of this just came down from Maggie's operation. They're all from the Lower Temple. And priceless. They get red-tagged. There'll be more later. All of this is high-priority, and should go up on the next shuttle. We need to pack it."

"Show me how," she said.

He produced a stock of plastic cloth and dragged over two of the barrel-shaped containers, which he loaded onto a motorized cart. He held an artifact up to the light, turned it so she could read the four digits on the red tag. "That's the catalog number," he said. "Record it on the packing list." Then he wrapped the artifact in plastic, taped it, and placed it in the container.

It was simple enough, and she proceeded to clear the table, while Tommy found other things to do. When she'd finished filling both containers, he returned.

"What next?"

"We seal them." He picked up a spray gun. It was fed by a short hose that connected to a pair of drums, labeled «A» and "B." He pulled the cart closer, and pointed the gun into one of the containers. "Stand back," he said. He pulled the trigger. A thick white stream slushed out and rolled over the packages.

"It's poly-6, a low volume, expanding rigid urethane," he explained. "Great packing material. It's biodegradable. And it sets quickly. As you can see." He snapped off the flow.

"You didn't put much in," said Hutch.

"Only needs about five percent of volume." He threw the gun aside, clamped the lid down and locked it.

"The merchandise is fragile. Won't it get crunched?"

"No. The poly-6 doesn't apply pressure. When it meets resistance, it stops." He handed her the gun. "Just leave the containers on the cart. When you're finished, call me and we'll take them over to the sub."

George Hackett removed the last of the petrified timbers, held his breath, and smiled with satisfaction when nothing happened. This was as deep as they'd penetrated into the Lower Temple. Beyond, a hole in the wall opened into a chamber that was three-quarters filled with silt. "We'll need to brace the roof, Tri," he said. "On both sides of the opening."

"Okay. Hang on. Braces coming."

While he waited, George thrust his lamp forward. This could be the inner sanctum of the military chapel, the chamber in which priests prepared to conduct services, where they perhaps stored their homilies and their sacred vessels.

"Can you see anything?" Tri called.

Yes. There was something, a piece of furniture probably, to his right, half-buried, just out of reach. It had been metal once. "Something," George said. "A washstand, maybe. Or a cabinet. Can't tell."

Tri moved forward with a pair of braces. "Let's get these up first," he said.

"Just a second." George inched into the space. He was acutely conscious of the weight of the Temple hanging over him. "I think it's a machine."

"In here? What kind of machine?"

"I don't know. But there is a housing. Wait." The hole was too narrow for him. He pulled back, scraped out silt and loose rock, and tried again.

"That's enough, George," said Tri. "Let's do it right."

He got his shoulders through the entrance, and pushed forward. "There's a metal framework here. With, uh—Hell, Tri, I don't know what to make of this." He carried a camera on his left forearm. "Maggie, are you there?" he asked through the commlink. "Can you see this?"

"Maggie's coming," said Andi, who was watch officer.

He struggled to get closer.

"What do you have, George?" It was Maggie. He knew she'd be straining to see the object on the big screen.