"Negative, Hutch," Frank told her. "Nothing yet."

"Okay. What scares me is that I can see the top of the Temple."

"What? That's under five meters of water. At low tide."

"Yeah? Well, I'm looking at it." She switched channels. "Hey, guys, move it. We got another tidal wave coming."

"How close?" Henry's voice.

"Probably a couple of minutes."

Richard broke in: "We're coming as fast as we can." He sounded exasperated. And maybe resigned.

"Hutchins?" It was Truscott. "What's happening down there?"

"I'm a little busy right now." There was a visual signal, but she did not put it on the display.

"I've ordered two of our CATs to assist. But they're four hours away."

In a less stressful moment, Hutch would have recognized the concern in Truscott's voice. But not today. "That'll be a little late, thanks." She broke the link. Looked again through her scopes. Sea still calm.

"Hutch?" Carson again. "I see it."

Cold chill. "Where?"

"Twenty-five kilometers out. Coming at, uh, five fifty. You've got three minutes."

"You guys hear that?"

"Yes—" George's voice.

"Forget the chase. Get up here." She trained her scopes on the horizon. Still nothing. "Frank, how big is it? Can you tell?"

"Negative. Looks like the other one. Small. You wouldn't notice it if you weren't looking for it."

"Okay." She watched a stone wall break the surface. "Water's still going down."

George pulled in several meters of slack. The others held the chase while he secured it. Twice around. Loop crosswise. Reconnect with the cable. Don't lose it now. When he fin-

ished, Henry pointed toward the surface. "Let's go."

"You can take it aboard, Hutch." George let go the line and started up.

The currents dragged Richard along the sea bottom. Above, the shuttle hull was dark, and close, in sunlit water.

Henry was also drifting. "Heads up," he said. "The tide's a bitch." His voice was shrill.

"Hang on, Henry," said George. "I'll get you."

Hutch was frantic: "Let's go!"

Richard got a hand on the cable. He was still on the bottom, and his arms were weary.

"George," cried Hutch. "Come back. We'll get him with the shuttle. Richard, where are youT'

"With the chase."

"On the cable?"

"Yes."

"Okay. We're out of time. Hang onto the line. Got that? Don't let go, no matter what."

There was a loose end on one side of the artifact. He got it around his waist and knotted it. Then, wearily, he stopped struggling.

"There he is." Hutch's voice again. Richard wasn't sure who she meant. He thought, She's always been there when 1 need her. He felt strange. Disconnected.

"Relax, Henry," said George. "We've got you."

"Goddammit," Hutch said, "the son of a bitch is on top of us." Over the voices, he heard a murmur, like a wind stirring.

"You still there, Richard?"

"I'm still here."

"Can you secure yourself to the cable?"

"I already have."

"Okay. About thirty seconds and we're going for a ride."

"Don't lose the chase, Hutch," he said.

George: "Here, take him." They must be talking about Henry.

And Carson: "Get out of there, Hutch."

"Okay, I got him. Hang on, Richard—"

His line jerked and the sea brightened. He rose a meter, moved horizontally, and started to settle. There was a second tug, stronger this time.

The water rushed past him.

The wave was not like the others. This was a mountain of water, a liquid behemoth roaring toward her across the open sea, breathing, white-flecked, green, alive. It crested five kilometers out, and broke, and built again. And Hutch had waited until she could wait no longer. There would be no lone Tower standing after this one. George had finally got Henry on board. "Go," he told her, and Carson was frantic. Eleven hundred meters high. You're not going to get out, Hutch—

The last of the Knothic Towers awaited the onrush. The sea had withdrawn and its base was mired in muck. The angel-creature on its pinnacle knelt placidly.

The ruined Temple glittered in the sunlight. She saw no sign of the beach monkeys.

Henry's voice came out of the hold, demanding to know what was being done for Richard. Little late to think about that. Hutch was ten meters off the surface now, watching the line, watching for some indication he was still there.

The chase came out of the sea first. Richard dangled beneath it. Reassured, she began to climb. "This'll hurt," she warned him. And she poured the juice to the magnets. He cried out. But she could hear his breathing. The shuttle rose, fleeing inland, fleeing toward the defile, running before the wall of water. This was not a wave, in the sense that the earlier tsunami had been a wave. The entire ocean was rushing inshore, hurling itself forward, mounting the sky, blocking off the sun. Bright daylight turned wet and furious, and the thing kept growing. White water boiled at its crest.

Hurricane-force winds ripped at the spacecraft, hammered it, drove it back toward the surface.

Too slow. She was moving too deliberately, trying to protect Richard, but in the shadow of the monster her instincts took over: she cut in her jets, quarter speed, the most she dared. The shuttle leaped forward, climbed, and the ancient river valley opened to receive her. Spray coated her wings and hull. The roar filled her ears; George, trying to be stoic, bit down on a whimper.

The tail was thrown violently to one side, and she almost lost the controls. Alpha pitched and yawed; her stabilizers blew.

Then they broke out, wobbled, and looked down on the crest. Hutch, for the moment, ignored the half-dozen bleeps and flashing lights on her board. "Richard," she cried into the link, "you okay?"

No answer.

"Richard?"

She listened to his carrier wave.

DOWNLINK HOLO

"Hello, Richard. Greetings from Nok." David Emory squares his shoulders. He is an intense man, with intense eyes, and quick birdlike gestures. His skin is very dark; his hair at this period has just begun to gray. He wears an open-necked short-sleeved brown shirt with huge pockets and flaps, of the style made popular by the dashing simmy adventurer, Jack Hancock.

He is seated on a small boulder, overlooking a river valley. Behind him, white and red sails are visible on the river. Docks, a winding road, and a pair of ferry stations line the banks. The countryside is cut into agricultural squares. The setting is quite terrestrial. Save for the enormous ringed planet which hangs like a Chinese lantern in the sky, one might think he was in Wisconsin.

This is Inakademeri. Nok. The only known world, other than Earth, which is currently home to a living civilization.

The colors are slanted toward purple, a bright but nonetheless gloomy twilight.

He waits, allowing time for his correspondent to take in the view. Then: "I've heard about your problems on Quraqua and I can't say I'm surprised. Vision is in short supply. Here the natives are waging a global war, and we'll be lucky if we don't all get blown up. Bombs falling day and night. World War I without gasoline.

"To answer your question: we do have what you describe as a discontinuity. Around AD. 400. Religious background, sinful world, vengeful deity. Sodom and Gomorrah on a global scale. According to the sacred texts, it happened in a single night. We don't take that too seriously, but we cannot account for the general destruction. Bill Reed thinks some sort of virus might have got loose and done the damage. The truth is probably more mundane: major wars, combined with plague and famine.

"You asked about the age of civilization here. Common wisdom puts it at six thousand years, roughly the same as ours. Also like us, they have an Atlantis legend, a place called Orikon. Except that this one really existed, Richard. Don't know how old it is, but it would go back a long way."