During the course of an hour, three sea waves struck the Temple site. The first carried away the rear wall of the Temple, blew off the roof, and destroyed the colonnade; the second, which was the largest of the three, demolished two of the Knothic Towers, and buried the Lower Temple; and the third ripped one of Seapoint's domes from its moorings and deposited it two kilometers inland. Several sets of living quarters and a holographic display center went with it. Perhaps worst of all (since the Temple and the Towers were down to their last few days anyhow), an avalanche of sand and loose rock blocked shafts and passageways throughout the excavation site. The military chapel disappeared in the debris.

But they hadn't lost anyone. There were contusions and bruises to go around, and more discouragement. But they were alive. And Karl Pickens summed up one point of view when he suggested they would do well to take the hint and abandon the operation.

Hutch, listening in the shuttle, agreed. She and Carson were coming in from another sweep of the area. They'd been all the way out to the impact site. The sea was covered with ice, but there were no more tsunamis coming. Carson sat wrapped in alternating moods of gloom and outrage. Henry sounded tired and washed out on the circuit, as if it didn't matter anymore.

The floatpier was gone, of course. And Priscilla Hutchins flew above the last of the Towers.

Melanie Truscott's message had been delivered.

Art Gibbs and George Hackett met them with the sub, and they spent the next hour transferring cargo. Without the pier, the task was considerably more difficult. Midway through the operation they dropped a case, and watched it sink slowly out of sight. It was, of course, not beyond recovery, but there was no time to go after it. All in all, it was an awkward, slow business.

George was surreptitiously watching Hutch, and she enjoyed his mild confusion when she talked to him. Amid the gloom generated by Henry's people, he alone managed to retain his good humor. "You do what you can do," he told her, "and forget the rest. No point getting ulcers over things you can't control."

But there were moments when he seemed distracted, and he eventually confessed that he would have liked to see things end under better circumstances. "We're always going to wonder what's down there," he said. "These people lived here for thousands of years. It's a pity to just bury them."

Hutch was silent.

"We'll protest," said Art. "And that's all. And that's the problem with this outfit. Nobody here has any guts."

"What would you suggest?" asked George.

Art stared back at the young giant. "I don't know," he said wistfully. "I don't know. But if I were Henry I'd find something."

"Don't get personally involved," said Carson. "It's a management problem."

"I think we should find a good lawyer and sue the bastards," Art continued. "They were negligent. At least. I don't know about anybody else, but I think I hurt my back." He grimaced in mock pain.

"It wouldn't do any good," Carson said. He and George were doing the bulk of the work. They'd tied the two vehicles together, but there was still a lot of bumping and rolling. George was in the sub, passing containers to Carson. It was a hit-and-miss proposition at best, and Hutch was surprised they lost only the one.

"Why not?" he asked. "It would show the world how Caseway and Truscott operate."

"Nothing would come of it," said Carson. "They'd just blame some pilot way down the chain of command, and throw him to the wolves. Nobody at the top would get hurt."

"But we've been mugged," said Hutch.

"That's true," said George, who was tying down a container. "And we know who did the mugging."

"There should be a way to get at them," said Art. He looked out of place in the role of avenger. He was tentative, self-effacing, cautious—completely unlike the energetic egos one usually found in these remote comers of known space. It was almost as if he'd got on a bus one day in downtown Chicago, and had ended at the Temple.

Hutch was thinking about the gang member Truscott had disarmed and killed in Newark. She wouldn't sit idly by and accept this kind of treatment.

Other than the missing dome, the complex had suffered no major damage. Hutch knew that some leaks had sprung, that one of the smaller modules, housing the compartments used by Andi and Linda, had burst and filled with water. And she could see a couple of people dredging near the sub bay.

She'd begun to wonder whether the drop had been a direct result of her conversation with Truscott. It was hard to draw any other conclusion.

Damn.

Henry's voice broke in on the common channel. "George? We need you at the site."

George acknowledged. "Guess you guys will have to finish without me."

Hutch felt a chill. "They aren't going to start mining again?"

"Probably."

"It's getting a little late," she said.

Art looked at his watch. "Forty-three hours, and change."

They reloaded the sub and returned to the surface. This time, they went a little farther from shore, seeking smoother water. Hutch recalled Alpha from its mountaintop, and guided it in alongside.

Watching Eddie pass cargo across to Art was a funny scene. Neither was strong or adept, and there was a lot of whooping and finger-pointing and suggestions on how the other could improve his performance. Hutch had installed a Teflon deckplate from Wink in the shuttle hold, to ease the operation. Just put the container down inside the hatch, and slide it wherever you want. It worked well, and she was delighted.

They finished up and were on their way back to Seapoint for more when Henry broke in again. "As you're aware," he said, "we've been cutting the evacuation pretty close. Good sense suggests we clear out now.

"But most of you know we've found an object in the Lower Temple that appears to be a rotary printing press. It uses movable metal type, and the typeface are in place. Maggie was able to identify several Casumel C characters before the wave hit. Unfortunately, it is still in the Lower Temple. It won't be easy to get back to it in the time we have. But, (/ we can recover it, we might have an entire page of C text. I need not tell you what that means.

"We are currently doing everything we can to reach the artifact. At the same time, I want to start moving people up."

"Just a moment, Henry." It was a woman's voice. And she sounded unhappy. Hutch looked questioningly at Art.

"Sandy Gonzalez," said Art. "She did most of the work for us on Oz."

"What is it, Sandy?" Henry asked.

"Mining under these conditions is too dangerous. Let's give it up and get out."

"You won't be involved in it, Sandy."

Wrong response, Hutch thought. Henry was supposed to be smart. Maybe he wasn't getting enough sleep. "I'm not just trying to save my own skin, Henry," Sandy snapped. "What I'm saying is, enough is enough. Call it off before somebody gets killed."

"Okay." Henry showed no emotion. "Anybody else want to say something?"

Another woman spoke up. The voice was familiar, but Hutch couldn't place it. "I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what the hell that city on the moon is about, and knowing I might have been close enough to find out, and didn't try."

"Linda Thomas," said Art. "She's very good. And very young. I wish I had her future."

One by one, the others spoke. Even, finally, Frank Carson, from the shuttle. Hutch was surprised to hear him vote to cut their losses and leave. But the team was hopelessly divided, with some individuals arguing both sides of the question. Karl Pickens wanted to stay because he refused to be forced off, run out of town, but thought the Temple had been too severely weakened to go back in. "/ wouldn't want to go down there. And I don't think we should allow anyone to. Even if anybody's crazy enough to volunteer."