“Your call, Jon,” Matt said. “We can manage okay. You do whatever you want.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

So okay, Jon could think of a better way to spend his time, and as long as they didn’t need him on the ground, he’d stay put.

They’d use the McAdams lander. It was a bit larger, and somewhat more comfortable than the Preston vehicle. So they all got in, checked their gear, listened to Hutch tell them to be careful, and launched.

MATT WAS BEGINNING to feel like a veteran. There’d been a star pilot hero on kids’ programming when he was growing up, Captain Rigel, and he imagined himself now in that role as they came in over the plains, the mountains looming ahead. A herd of tusked animals were ambling slowly south. They stayed close together except for a few outriders on the front and flanks. A military formation.

“Looks peaceful enough,” said Antonio. “Are we getting a visual record of all this?”

“Yes, we’re getting everything.”

“Good.” Matt could sense Dr. Science mentally rubbing his hands. “Good.”

“Your viewers are going to take the same ride?”

“You bet, Matt. You know, this would be a more interesting run if we, say, flew through a storm. Could we manage that?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Just kidding.”

The land began to rise. Snow appeared. Jim pointed out the target mountain. Fifteen klicks, dead ahead.

He slowed down to survey the area. It was free of forest, so they had good visibility. As did Hutch overhead. Except at the moment she was below the horizon and wouldn’t be back for an hour or so.

“Over there,” said Rudy.

The tower stuck out of the snow. It was probably iron, or steel, constructed of crossbeams. The sort of structure that, back home, might have supported a water tank.

“Jim,” he said, “how far down does the base reach?”

“About twelve meters.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go see what we’ve got.” He came down vertically, cautiously, about fifty paces from the tower. He kept the vehicle level, riding the spike, turning so the hatch, which was on his right, opened downhill. The port tread touched the surface, and a sudden gust rocked them and almost turned them over.

He held them momentarily where they were, until the wind settled, then he lowered them into the snow and shut down the spike by increments. The port side touched solid ground, and the lander began to tilt. Finally, it stopped, and he shut the power off. The slope was steep here, and the snow on the uphill side rose past the viewports. “This is the kind of place where I used to go skiing,” said Rudy.

Antonio held out his hands, pretending to wield ski poles. “You’re a skier?”

“When I was a bit younger.”

They pulled on oxygen tanks and goggles and activated their suits and lightbenders. The lightbenders might, or might not, render them invisible to predators. The goggles allowed them to see each other. Matt opened the hatch. The wind blew flakes inside.

He had a good view downslope. The animals they’d seen earlier were gone. In all that vast expanse of prairie, nothing moved. “Okay, gentlemen,” Matt said, “let’s find out what we have.”

He signaled Antonio, who opened the storage compartment and removed two collapsible spades and some cable. Rudy and Antonio each got a spade; Matt took the cable. Then he picked a Meg-6, a rhino gun, out of the weapons locker. It was a projectile-firing weapon, with sufficient power to knock over virtually any kind of predator. He didn’t trust either of the others with one, but gave each of them a laser. “Be careful with them,” he said. Once they got into the building and started stumbling around in the dark, he suspected they’d become more dangerous than any local life form.

He climbed out into the snow and sank to his knees. “Okay, guys,” he said.

Rudy came next. He grunted and made some comments about how long it had been since he’d seen real winter weather.

Antonio waited until the director was safely down, then he followed.

Seen through the goggles, Rudy and Antonio were ghostly images.

THE SLOPE ON which they stood was relatively gentle, rising gradually for miles before it soared suddenly upward. In the opposite direction, it rolled out onto the plain, where the snow gave way to rock and brown soil.

Antonio closed the hatch.

“If anything unexpected happens,” Matt said, “and you need to get out of here, just tell Jim to open up. He’ll take directions from you.”

“You don’t expect a problem, do you?” asked Rudy.

“No. But I could fall into a hole or something. I just want you to know you don’t need me to get home.”

It was cold. Forty-five below, Fahrenheit. The wind sucked at them, tried to blow them off the mountain.

“Brisk,” said Antonio.

Matt looked eastward across the broad plain. It looked cold. “The suit’ll keep you warm,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

They might have been three guys dressed for a spring concert, all casual, all in short-sleeve shirts, with dark lenses and hats to keep the sun out of their eyes. Matt wore a baseball cap; Rudy looked like a golfer; Antonio had a safari hat, and he was also decked out in khaki shorts. Matt had that figured out. It clashed a bit with the snow, but it would look great on the newscasts.

Without instruments they would never have known there was a building buried here. They trudged first to the tower. It was black metal, nothing fancy, a collection of struts and beams, some crosspieces, a stairway, and a platform near the top.

“What do you think?” asked Antonio.

Rudy struggled up to it through snow that seemed to be getting deeper. He touched it. Looked up at it. Looked downslope. “Could be anything,” he said. “Maybe they used to fly a flag up here.”

“Or worship it.” Antonio took more pictures. He got shots of Rudy standing near the base. Pictures of Matt gazing at the sky, looking like Captain Rigel. And of himself, with a foot on the stairway, testing it.

Matt opened a channel to the Preston. “Hutch, we’re at the site.”

“Very good, Matt. See anything we missed?”

“Negative.” Rudy was pulling on one of the crosspieces. Apparently to find out whether he could break it loose. “It was probably just a ski lift.”

Skiers. Matt looked downslope again. It made sense.

“You don’t see anything else anywhere in the neighborhood?”

He stared around him. Unbroken snow all the way up to the peak. More snow downslope for another few miles. The plain. A few scattered patches of trees. “Not a thing.”

“What next?” asked Antonio.

Rudy suggested they get a sample of the metal. “We can use it to date the thing when we get back.” Matt selected a likely spot and used the laser to collect a small piece. When it had cooled, he placed it in a utility bag.

Rudy was staring downhill.

“What?” asked Antonio.

“I thought I saw something.”

Matt stood for several moments, watching. Nothing down there but snow.

HUTCH DIRECTED THEM to a spot that, she said, was right above the building. “How deep?” asked Matt.

Rudy was still looking around, keeping an eye on the mountain.

“I’d say about three feet.”

Rudy, wasting no time, got his spade out, struggled to get it locked in place. Antonio showed him how to turn it on, did the same with the second spade, and everybody stepped back as they began digging.

The snow was dry and granular, and the work went quickly. Within minutes, the shovels reached the roof and shut off. Matt climbed down into the hole, cleared off the last of the snow, exposing the roof, and used the laser to cut through. Then he dropped to his knees and aimed a lamp inside.

“What’s there?” asked Rudy.

The floor was about thirteen feet down. “Looks like storage,” he said. Lots of shelves and boxes. Remnants of what had probably been bedding. And, in the middle of the room, an iron contraption that had to be a stove.