The whole thing was obscenely complicated. I suspected the wedding ritual was designed to

make absolutely sure you really wanted to get married. God knew that if you were on the fence

about it, the organizing would put you over the edge into permanent bachelorette-hood.

I was settled in an uncomfortable hard plastic seat in the baggage claim area, watching the

arriving passengers. I had a sign propped next to me with the stylized sun symbol of the Wardens

on it in gold and glitter-unmistakable, to anyone who knew what it meant, although I'd put

SILVERTON below it in block letters, just in case.

I spotted a likely candidate-a tall African American man with erect military bearing who

snagged an olive-drab duffel bag from the baggage belt. Sure enough, as his eyes scanned the

waiting crowd, he fixed right on me and headed in my direction.

I stood up, claimed the sign, and waited for him to stride over. He got taller and taller the closer

he came, very imposing. His handshake was firm and businesslike, and I realized he was older

than I'd thought– probably in his early fifties, with a light dusting of gray in his close-cropped

black hair, lines around his eyes. ''Mr. Silverton,'' I said. ''Joanne Baldwin.''

''Heard of you, ma'am,'' he said. No hint of whether the advance notice had been good or bad.

''Call me Jerome, please. No point in formality if we're going to be working together.''

''Right. Jerome, my car's outside. How was your flight?''

''Food-free,'' he said. ''Could I impose on you to discuss this assignment over dinner?''

''Sure,'' I said. ''Anything in particular?''

''Fish,'' he said. ''Hate to miss the fish when I come to the coast.''

He liked my car. In fact, Jerome liked my car more than most people, walking all the way around

it, asking questions about the engine, the performance, the mileage. I was betting that he'd ask to

drive it, but he didn't; he stowed his gear in the trunk and took the passenger side. I made sure to

drive extra fast, just to give him a demonstration, which he seemed to appreciate.

''So,'' I said, as we whipped down North Ocean Boulevard, enjoying the sea breeze and late

afternoon sun, ''I noticed you were NFA in the system. Travel a lot?''

''Prefer it that way,'' he said. ''Not really interested in being tied down.''

''And that sound you hear is the hearts of women breaking from coast to coast.''

I got a low chuckle out of him. ''Not likely, ma'am.''

''Joanne.''

''Joanne.'' He flashed me a million-dollar smile. ''Pretty women make me nervous.''

I doubted that. ''No Mrs. Silverton, then?''

The smile disappeared. ''No. There was, but she's gone now.'' The way he said it didn't invite

mining that particular subject. ''Tell me about the earthquake. ''

I did, sparing no details; no telling what was relevant. When I got to a description of the black

glass thorn stuck into the aetheric, he frowned and turned toward me, intense and focused.

''That's why you called me,'' he said. ''Because of the radiation problem.''

''That's one reason, but you're supposed to be a very good Earth Warden as well. One of the

most sensitive to things not being right before things go to hell. That might really be an asset

around here right now.''

I took a right turn into the parking lot of a seafood restaurant I particularly liked, parked, and

turned off the engine. Silverton made no move to get out, so neither did I.

''I'm going to need some things,'' he said. ''A handheld GPS device. A Geiger counter. Couple

of other things.''

''Anything you need, I'll get,'' I said. ''Make me a list.''

He was still studying me, in a way that made me feel like I should have something more to say. I

followed a burst of inspiration and asked, ''Have you seen something like this before?''

With that, Silverton opened his door and put one long leg outside. Before he levered himself up,

he met my eyes and said, ''I sure as hell hope not.''

It took the rest of the day to get Silverton's shopping list together, which included a detailed map

and geological survey of the area, and a whole bunch of equipment whose names and purposes I

didn't even recognize. ''What are you expecting to find, Jimmy Hoffa?'' I muttered, loading the

last of it into the backseat of the Mustang. I didn't like using the car as a packhorse. It was a

thoroughbred. Besides, I didn't want dings in the upholstery.

Silverton didn't answer me. It was getting dark, and I'd proposed waiting until the next morning,

but Silverton seemed anxious to get started, so we started driving, cruising slowly-just two

people in a fast car, slumming it on a leisurely sightseeing trip.

Silverton kept his eyes glued alternately on the Geiger counter and the maps, and I could tell that

he was also maintaining part of his awareness, searching the aetheric. It took a lot of control to

do that. He steered me with terse commands to go right or left-once, he had me back up and

turn around. I heard the Geiger counter begin to click, and Silverton nodded once.

The sun was going down in the west, layers of stacked colors trailing behind like vast silk

scarves. A few cirrus clouds skidded toward the horizon, but it was a calm sea with fair winds.

And inside the car, the Geiger counter stopped clicking and started chattering. I instinctively

slowed down. ''Here?''

''Not yet. Keep going.''

Not good. The clicking was already frantic. What did that mean for all those people driving by?

Were they sick? Dying?

''Pull in up ahead,'' Silverton said, and pointed off to the right. I bumped up a ramp into a

deserted parking area-some kind of office building, marked as condemned. I barely paid

attention. My gaze was fixed on Silverton as he compared maps, looked at the GPS, and used

colored pens to mark our position. He shut off the Geiger counter, which was a storm of

constant, nervous clicking, and got out of the car. I unbuckled my safety belt and hurried after

him, grabbing the heavy duffel bag from the back. He paced the parking lot, prowling like a cat,

and finally headed off across the asphalt toward the building.

It didn't look like much: three stories, mostly built of concrete slabs, with a few cheerless

windows. The style looked vaguely 1970s, one of those designs of the future that had never

really caught on. I'd always wondered why, in the future, people never seemed to appreciate

things like plants, carpet, and comfortably padded furniture. I just knew that the offices inside

this building would have hard plastic chairs and concrete floors and earth-toned macrame wall

hangings.

Well, it would have, except that this building was long abandoned. Some of the higher windows

were broken out; the lower ones were boarded up with warping plywood. A sign on the door

announced NO TRESPASSING, in uneven Day-Glo letters.

Silverton, however, wasn't about to be warned off. He walked up to the double glass doors and,

without hesitation, yanked. Nothing happened. They were locked.

I cleared my throat. ''Maybe we should-''

Apparently, the end of that sentence was break in, because Silverton exerted a pulse of Earth

power, and the lock made a little metallic snapping sound, and the glass doors shivered and

sagged open. He shot me a look. ''You were saying?''

''Just wondering if we ought to alert the bail bonds-man now, or wait until they let us have our

one phone call,'' I said. ''Don't mind me. I'm fine.'' Well, I wasn't, really. ''Are we

radioactive?''

Silverton raised his eyebrows. ''Well, yes. Did the clicking not tip you off?'' He didn't wait for