So they'd braced everything they could, sucked out the loose sand, and cut through the stone. They got down to the side tunnel in good order, but it too had collapsed. Richard Wald, doing his tour as operations officer, was watching when he got a call from Janet on board Wink.

"I have something for Henry," she said.

"He's in the Temple. You want me to patch you through?"

"Please. You should listen in."

The mission director was a murky image wielding a particle beam projector. That was another aspect of this effort that scared the hell out of Richard: the experience level of the volunteer help. Sending Karl up to Wink with the first group had been a mistake. Karl, Richard had heard, was a master at tunneling.

Henry's homely features appeared. "What is it, Janet?"

"The Field Report is in. Have you by any chance seen it?"

"No. Truth is, I've been a little busy." He sounded annoyed.

"Okay. You're going to want to take a look at the extraplanetary survey from Nok. Section four delta."

The Field Report was issued monthly by the Academy. It was an update on current missions and future projects. Richard had found it and was bringing it up on his screen.

"Janet, please get to the point."

"They've discovered four rock cubes. In orbit."

Richard saw it. My God. "It's all connected," he blurted out. This was wonderful. Inakademeri—Nok—was itself a moon, circling the ringed gas giant Shola. The cubes were in the same orbital plain as Shola's rings and the rest of the bodies orbiting the central world. Early analysis suggests they once occupied equidistant positions. They are of identical dimensions, each roughly 2.147 kilometers on a side. And the Noks, like the Quraquat, had never been in space. What in hell was going on?

"What do you think, Richard?" Henry asked. The sound of his name startled him.

What did he think? Right angles again. That's what he thought.

Later, Maggie told him about the horgon. "Maybe," he said, "we can get by without reading the inscription."

"In what way?" Maggie was speaking from one of the terminals on Wink's bridge.

"AH those squares and rectangles. And two round towers."

"With slanted roofs."

"Yes. My point, exactly. Oz has to be a direction finder."

"We've thought of that too."

"How sure are you that horgon is actually in the inscription?"

"Reasonably sure, Richard. I wish I could give you more. But I just have no way to check it."

"The round towers are unique. Their roofs are not flat, like every other roof in Oz. They incline, directly away from the center of the city. They're aimed at the stars. What could their purpose be other than to serve as markers, to designate lines of sight? Draw a line across each of those rooftops, from the lowest point to the highest—which is to say, from the precise mathematical center of Oz—and extend them into space. At the angle of the roof's inclination."

"You're thinking that there might have been a star associated with the horgon—"

"Like the Dog Star."

"Yes. But if it's true, / don't know about it. And I don't know who would."

"Dave Emory might."

"Maybe." She still looked puzzled. "If it's that simple, why build all the rest of it? Why not just make the towers?"

"I suppose," said Richard, "you could argue they wanted to be sure the towers weren't overlooked."

"But you think there's more—"

"Oh, yes. There's more." No doubt about that. Unfortunately.

Thursday, June 10, 2202 Dear Dick,

.. The discovery of the cube moons has had an unsettling effect. Yesterday, we were of two minds about recovering George's printing press. Today, with the link between Quraqua and Nok established beyond doubt, everybody wants to take whatever risk is necessary to get the damned thing. That kind of unanimity makes me uneasy. Even though I agree.

The refusal of the bureaucrats at Kosmik to budge on the matter of time is nothing less than criminal. I've been in touch with the commissioner, but he tells me nothing can be done. He points out, quite rightly, that no one, including me, has been able to get Caseway to listen to reason.

History will damn us all….

Richard

— Richard Wald to his cousin Dick Received in Portland, Oregon June 30

Hutch took Andi, Tri, and Art and another load of artifacts to the ship; and Carson carried Linda Thomas and Tommy Loughery. It was Carson's last delivery. On his return to the Temple, Henry preempted him for the tunneling effort. Eddie dissolved in apoplexy, but nothing mattered anymore except the printing press.

There was now a lot of help on Wink. Hutch could unload quickly, but the time saved was negated when she had to replace a fused pumpboard. A good engineer might have handled the problem in twenty minutes, but for Hutch it was a struggle. In-transit maintenance and repair was a skill pilots seldom needed, and it had never been her strength.

She started back down in Alpha as soon as she finished. But she'd lost her window by then, and faced a long flight. By the time she glided in over the Temple site, the torpedo was homing in for the last stage of its run against Kosmik Station.

The difficulty and danger of loading without the floatpier had by now forced them to find a harbor. Eddie had located a rock shelf, sheltered from the tide, but at a considerable distance from Seapoint. The water was deep enough for the sub, and the currents were relatively tranquil.

Hutch was watching a telescopic view of the space station relayed from Wink, and she was monitoring their communications. Traffic patterns showed nothing unusual. No sudden bursts to the tugs, no change in routine, no upgraded precedence. They had not seen it.

Below, Eddie and the sub were waiting. Eddie had no help because everyone else was either on the tunnel operation or on Wink. Several dozen containers were stacked on the shelf, and Hutch suspected Eddie had done it all. She blinked her lights at him. Poor bastard. In the crunch, they had left him alone.

How could Truscott's people not yet have picked up the torpedo? Answer: they're not looking. She detected no short-range sensor activity. They were ignoring the regulations. Damn. If the thing came in unnoticed, the whole point would be lost.

Janet, speaking from Wink, asked if everything was okay.

"Yes. Descending on Eddie's harbor." They carefully avoided discussing, on an open circuit, what was really on their minds. They'd debated making up a code, but discarded the idea as too dangerous.

Their eyes met, and Janet's excitement threatened to bubble to the surface. "Everything quiet here," she said. Translation: she saw no activity either.

Three minutes later, Alpha set down precisely as Janet, on their agreed-upon schedule, opened a channel to the orbiter, and patched Hutch through.

Harvey Sill's beefy frown formed on the screen. "What is it, WinckelmannT'

"This is Hutchins. Sorry to bother you, but you might have a problem."

He angled his head so he could look at her through half-open lids. "What sort of problem?"

"Are you scanning short range?"

"Of course we are." He looked up, away from her. Did something to his console. Spoke to someone.

"One of your snowballs may have got loose. Check to the northeast, out at about twenty-five hundred kilometers."

"Hang on, Winckelmann." He sighed. There was a fair amount of pleasure in listening to his contempt change, through not so subtle variations, to concern, and then to dismay.

"I'm surprised you don't maintain a search," she said innocently. "It's a violation."

"Son of a bitch." His voice went up an octave. "Where the hell'd that come from?"

She shrugged. But he wasn't watching her any longer. He reached forward, past the screen. "Goddammit, Louise." He punched keys, and jabbed an index finger at someone. «There» he said. "Over there." He glanced at Hutch. "Thanks, lady—" The screen blanked.