Hutch took pictures, and then tried turning to a new page. But the book was like a piece of rock. “They’re frozen together,” she said.

Tor reached for a volume on one of the shelves. It wouldn’t come. Wouldn’t move.

There were candles in candlestick holders. Nick found a panel on one of the side tables and opened it. It only came partway, but beneath it were a set of punch buttons, a press pad, and a gauge. He looked at Alyx and shrugged. Sound system? Climate control? Window opener?

She found herself looking up the stairway Tor had used. Another descended to a lower level.

Everything was eerily familiar. It could almost have been her uncle’s den in Wichita Falls, except that the room and the furniture were too big. And, of course, that it was frozen solid. She pushed on the seat of one of the armchairs. It seemed secure enough, and she was tempted to climb up on it, try it out, but it was too dusty. When they did the show, she decided, they’d have to eliminate the dust.

The carpet had lost whatever color and texture it might once have had. It was hard now, frozen, whiskery. Pieces of it broke underfoot.

Cushions and pads were scattered about the furniture, and a quilt was thrown casually over one of the chairs. But they were all like rocks.

The front wall, in better times, would have presented a magnificent view. The door itself, on the left side of the wall, was transparent. It had flanking windows. A large oculus dominated the center of the wall, and still another long window was at the far end on the right. The room had clearly been designed to take advantage of the sky show. Alyx looked again at the image in the portrait and wondered whether, despite its terrifying appearance, she would not have found some areas of common ground with the subject. Then she remembered the angels.

The chairs were angled toward each other, and, as one would have expected, pointed out so that their occupants could take advantage of the view. The fabric was hard, frozen, decorated with a rising (or setting) sun.

They found more electronic controls concealed in other tabletops and in cabinets. But there was no easy way to determine their purpose.

Alyx wondered whether there might be computer records somewhere, a diary perhaps, or a journal. When she suggested the possibility to Nick he shook his head. “If the occupants kept any kind of log or record, we’ll have to hope they did it with pen and ink.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Lasts longer.”

THE ROOM LACKED only a fireplace.

They spread out, everyone speaking quietly, whispering, as if they were in a sacred site. Alyx wandered through several rooms and found two more books that had been left open. “It must have been nice here,” she told Hutch. “When the systems were working.”

Hutch nodded. “We go looking for aliens, but it seems to be our own face looking back at us.”

George was ecstatic. “We didn’t get here in time to talk to them,” he said, “but we’ve done the next best thing.” He reached up carefully and touched a thick discolored volume that had fallen over. He tried to lift it but it wouldn’t come free, so he settled for pressing his index finger against the spine, and drawing it down the length of the cover. “What an ideal Christmas present for us.”

Nick nodded. “Once we figure how to thaw them out. You think we can do that without damaging them, George?” That was directed at least partly at Hutch, who was standing off to one side.

“I’m pretty sure they can do it,” said Hutch. “Though I’ve never seen a case like this before.”

“You don’t think we could try it, do you? Maybe just take a few back to the Memphis and leave them at room temperature for a while?”

“It’s not a good idea, Nick.”

“Why not?”

“Because the people who come after us are going to want to know who the occupants were, how long they were here, where they came from. They’ll need all the evidence they can scrape together. Think of this place as a murder scene. Right now, we’re mucking up the footprints.”

“But it’s really hard to see what harm we can do.”

“Nick,” said George, “let it go.”

“Do things the right way now,” said Hutch, “and we’ll preserve whatever can be preserved.” She gazed around at the lines of books. “Eventually this will get rescued. And maybe translated and put into some kind of context. You’ll have as much access to it as you could want. On the other hand…”

“Okay,” he said. “But I hate to wait years to find out what this is about. And that’s what it’ll take, you know.”

“So what do we do with the books?” asked Tor.

“Leave them as they are. For whoever comes after us.”

THE SITE SEEMED safe enough, so neither Hutch nor George raised an objection when they wandered off to more distant parts of the building. Just be careful. Don’t break anything. The place projected a warmth against the vast desolation outside. To Alyx, it felt like home, like a chapel, like the warm kind of refuge one only knows in childhood. It might be that the larger gauge, the big sofas and tables, the shelves filled with books, were summoning memories long forgotten. She felt like a little girl again.

It was a good spot to spend Christmas Eve.

A PASSAGEWAY INTO the back of the house opened into a dining area. Table and chairs were of the same scale as the rest of the furnishings. The table was carved. Leaves and vegetation and fruit decorated the side panels.

Tor had opened a cabinet that was stacked with plates the size of serving dishes. And a fork you could have used to bring down a steer. There were cups and bowls and knives. “Everything cleaned and put away,” he said.

Alyx looked around the big pantry. “As if they knew they weren’t coming back.”

“Or they were serious about being neat.”

There was another stairway in back, descending. Tor threw his light down it. “Food came from here.”

“Is there some still there?” she asked.

“Packed away. But it looks a trifle dry.”

“I guess it would.”

Sleeping quarters were on the second level. Alyx and Hutch went upstairs, circled the landing, and entered a room on the eastern side. She caught her breath. A big bed stood in the center of the chamber. A big bed. Large enough for eight people. It had been made, pillows plumped up, a blanket drawn carefully over the linen. But it was stiff and pale with age. The bed looked, not exactly collapsed, but folded in on itself. There were shelves at its head, on either side. Each shelf had a lamp. There were also a couple of books, a notebook, and a writing instrument. A pen.

Around the perimeter of the room, she saw cabinets, a desk, a couple of side tables. A door opened off to a washroom. And she found the biggest walk-in closet she’d ever seen. But only a few rags remained hanging.

Hutch looked, but did not touch. Alyx could make out a robe and a pair of leggings. Two different sizes, she thought.

“The correct number of limbs,” said Hutch.

There was one more bedroom, and another closet with fragments of apparel.

“I think we’ve settled one issue,” she told Hutch.

“What’s that?”

“There were two of them here.”

One large, one small. One male, one female. Alyx had a good imagination, and she could visualize the garments in better times, red and gold robes, say, and leggings that were summer green.

They also found several pairs of shoes. More like moccasins, actually. Size thirties, she thought. And a couple of hats. Not in very good condition, of course, but recognizable for what they were. One looked like a cap that Robin Hood might have worn. It even had a place to put a feather.

Alyx had half expected to find remains on the upper level. She kept wondering about the lander waiting outside for someone who never showed up. “I think they’re here somewhere, Hutch,” she said. Maybe up in the cupola. But even when they climbed a spiral staircase up to that highest point in the house, it was only another room, a kind of den, windows on all sides, chairs that looked lush but were rock hard, a display screen, and more books.