Shira grinned. "The thought does have an appeal."

"Yeah." Berg walked toward the center of the circle, stepping over crumbled fragments of rock. She turned slowly around, surveying the truncated landscape, trying to see this place through the eyes of the people who built it four thousand years earlier. How would this place have looked at the solstice, standing on the bare back of Salisbury Plain, with no sign of civilization anywhere in the universe save a few scattered fires on the plain, soon dying in the dawn light?

…But now her horizon was hemmed in by the anonymous gray shoulders of the Friends’ construction-material huts; and she knew that even if she had the power to blow those huts away she would reveal only a few hundred yards of scratched turf, a ragged edge dangling over immensities. And when she tilted her head back she could see the arc of Jupiter’s limb, hanging like an immense wall across the universe.

The old stones were dwarfed by such grandeur. They seemed pathetic.

Absurdly she felt a lump rising to her throat. "Damn it," she said gruffly.

Shira stepped closer and laid her hand on Berg’s arm. "What is it, my friend?"

"You had no right to do it."

"What?"

"To hijack these stones! This isn’t their place; this isn’t where they are meant to be. How could you murder all that history? Even the Qax never touched the stones; you said so yourself."

"The Qax are an occupying power," Shira murmured. "If they thought it in their interest, they would grind these stones into dust."

"But they did not," Berg said, her jaw tight. "And one day, with or without you, the Qax will be gone. And the stones would still stand — but for you."

Shira turned her face up to Jupiter, her bare skull limned in salmon-pink light. "Believe me, we — the Friends — are not without conscience when it comes to such matters. But in the end, the decision was right." She turned to Berg, and Berg was aware of a disturbingly religious, almost irrational aspect to the girl’s pale, empty blue eyes.

"How do you know?" Berg asked heavily.

"Because," Shira said slowly, as if speaking to a child, "in the end, no harm will have come to the stones."

Berg stared at her, wondering whether to laugh. "Are you crazy? Shira — you’ve burrowed under the stones, wrapped a hyperdrive field around them, ripped them off the planet, run them through the gauntlet of the Qax fleet, and thrown them fifteen hundred years back in time! What more can you do to them?"

Shira smiled, concern returning to her face. "You know I will not reveal our intentions to you. I can’t. But I can see you are concerned, and I want you to believe this, with all your heart. When our Project has succeeded, Stonehenge will not have been harmed."

Berg pulled her arm away from the girl’s hand, suddenly afraid. "How is that possible? My God, Shira, what are you people intending to do?"

But the Friend of Wigner would not reply.

The flitter nestled against the Spline’s stomach lining; small, clawlike clamps extended from the flitters lower hull and embedded themselves in hardened flesh.

Jasoft Parz, watching the anchoring maneuver from within the flitter, felt his own stomach turn in sympathy.

He ran rapid tests of the integrity of his environment suit — green-glowing digits scrolled briefly across his wide faceplate — and then, with a nod of his head, caused the flitter’s port to sigh open. There was a hiss of equalizing pressure, a breeze that for a few moments shouldered into the cabin, pushing weakly at Parz’s chest. Then Parz, with a sigh, unbuckled his restraints and clambered easily out of his chair. Since the last time he’d visited the Governor inside his Spline flagship, back in Earth orbit a full year ago, the AS treatments had done wonders for some of his more obvious ailments, and it was a blessed relief to climb out of a chair without the accompaniment of stabbing agonies in his back.

Antibody drones had fixed a small, flat platform over the Spline’s stomach lining close to the lip of the flitter’s port; a compact translator box was fixed to it. Briskly Parz pulled himself out of the flitter and activated electromagnets in the soles of his boots to pin his feet to the platform. Soon he was done, and was able to stand in a reasonably dignified fashion.

He looked around. The hull of the flitter, resting beside him, was like some undigested morsel in the gut of the Spline. He turned his face up to the ball of boiling fluid suspended above him; alongside it, shimmering in the murky gloom of the Spline gut, was a Virtual of the scene outside — the icosahedral wormhole portal, a sliver of Jupiter itself. "Governor," he said, "it’s been a long time."

The Governor’s voice sounded from the translator box, slightly muffled in Parz’s ears by the thick air. "Indeed. A full year since the abscondment of those damned Friends of Wigner. A wasted year, as we’ve struggled to put right the situation. And now we reach the climax, here in the shadow of Jupiter, eh, Parz."

"I wouldn’t say wasted," Parz said smoothly. "The building and launch of the new Interface portals was a great success; I was astonished what rapid progress was made."

"Thank you for the part you played in that enterprise, Jasoft Parz."

"My actions weren’t for your benefit, in particular."

"Perhaps not," said the Qax. "But what does your motive avail me, if the result is as I required? I understand that your motive was your personal reward, the AntiSenescence treatment which—"

"Not just that," Parz said coldly. "I happened to think that the revival of the old exotic-matter industries was a good thing for humans." It had not been without cost, of course. With the single-mindedness available only in a command society, most of the human worlds — Earth, Mars, Luna, Titan — had been transformed into little more than exotic-matter factories, all their resources dedicated to the single goal. But the completion of such a massive project based on purely human technology — even a project instigated by the Qax — had done a great deal for the self-esteem of the race. "After all the damned thing was built and launched within six months, Governor."

"I understand your pride," the Governor said in its smoothly neutral feminine voice. "And I’m glad to see that time has not withered your outspoken tongue, Ambassador."

Parz said sourly, "What is it you understand? Governor, you’ve underestimated us before, remember. The escape of the Friends—"

"Must I assuage your pride, Jasoft?" the Governor cut in. "I have invited you here to witness the triumph of our work together."

And indeed, Parz conceded, the Qax had summoned him here to Jovian space as soon as the first premonitory showers of high-energy particles had begun to erupt from the mouth of the waiting portal… the first portents of an arrival from the future.

"After all," the Qax went on, "if it were not for the granting of AS treatment to you and a handful of your colleagues — treatment you were not reluctant to accept — you would not be standing here now lecturing me about the awesome potency of the human race. Would you? For you were close to the termination of the usual human life span, were you not?"

The relaxed contempt brought the blood to Parz’s cheeks. "Governor—"

But the Qax went on impatiently, "Let us abandon this, Ambassador; on this day of days, let us dwell on our achievements together and not our differences."

Parz took a deep breath of cool, blue human air. "All right, Governor."

"Your heart must have surged with pride when the new Interface was completed."

Indeed it had, Parz remembered. At last the mouths of the Solar System’s second spacetime wormhole had been threaded with icosahedra of blue-glowing exotic matter. For a few brief, magnificent weeks, the twin portals had sailed together around Jupiter’s gravity well, the milky sheets of broken space stretched across the exotic matter frames and glimmering like the facets of mysterious jewels.