“No,” said Harman. “I’ve worn one before.”

“So have I,” said Hannah.

Daeman unfurled the thermskin. It was like holding smoke. “This won’t fit on over my clothes.”

“It’s not supposed to,” said Harman. “It has to go next to the skin. There’s a hood on it as well, but you’ll be able to see and hear through it.”

“Can we wear our regular clothes over it?” asked Ada. There was a hint of concern in her voice. After her useless exhibitionism the night before, she was not feeling very adventurous. At least not when it came to nudity.

The first servitor answered. “Except for footwear, it is not advisable to wear other layers, Ada Uhr. For the thermskin to be effective, it must be fully osmotic. Other clothes reduce its efficiency.”

“You have to be kidding,” said Daeman.

“We could always fax back home and get our coldest weather clothing,” said Harman. “Although I’m not sure that it would be up to the conditions outside here.” He glanced at the shimmering forcefield wall. The howling wind was still quite audible and frightening beyond it.

“No,” said the second servitor, “standard jackets and coats and capes would not be adequate here in the Dry Valley. We can facture more modest extreme-weather clothing and return with it within the next thirty minutes if you prefer.”

“Hell with it,” said Ada. “I want to see what’s out there.” She walked to the center of the pavilion, behind the faxportal itself, and began disrobing in plain view. Hannah took five steps and joined her, peeling off her tunic and silken balloon trousers.

Daeman goggled a moment. Harman walked over to the younger man, touched his arm, and led him to the far side of the circle, where he began undressing as well. Yet even as he disrobed, Daeman glanced over his shoulder several times at the women—Ada’s skin glowing rich and full in the light from the overhead halogens; Hannah lean and strong and brown. Hannah glanced up from tugging the thermskin up her legs and scowled at Daeman. He looked away quickly.

When the four stood in the center of the pavilion again, wearing only their shoes or boots over the thermskins, Ada laughed. “These things are more revealing than if we were naked,” she said.

Daeman shuffled with embarrassment at the truth of the statement, but Harman smiled through his mask. The thermskin was more paint than clothing.

“Why are we different colors?” asked Daeman. Ada was bright yellow, Hannah orange, Harman a brilliant blue, Daeman green.

“To identify each other easily,” answered the servitor as if the question had been directed to it.

Ada laughed again—that free, easy, unselfconscious laugh that made both of the men glance at her. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that . . . it’s pretty obvious, even from a distance, which of us is which.”

Harman walked to the forcefield and set his blue hand against it. “Can we pass now?” he asked the servitors.

The machines did not answer, but the force shield wavered slightly, Harman’s hand passed through it, and then his blue body appeared to be moving through a silver waterfall as he stepped through.

The servitors followed the four into the windy darkness.

“We don’t need your escort,” Harman said to the machines. Daeman noticed that the other man’s voice was lost in the wind, but he could hear clearly through the thermskin cowl. There was some sort of transmission device and earphones in the molecular suit.

“I apologize, Harman Uhr,” said the first servitor, “but you do. For the light. “ Both servitors were illuminating the rough ground with multiple flashlight beams from their shells.

Harman shook his head. “I’ve used these thermskins before, in the high mountains and far north. They have light-enhancement devices in the cowl lenses.” He touched his temple, feeling around for a second. “There. I can see perfectly well now. The stars are brilliant.”

“Oh, my,” said Ada as her night vision switched on. Rather than the small circles of light afforded by the servitors’ flashbeams, the entire Dry Valley was now visible, each rock and boulder glowing brightly. When she looked up, the blazing stars took her breath away. When she turned her head, the lighted faxnode pavilion was a glowing, roaring furnace of light. Their thermskins glowed in color.

“This is so . . . wonderful,” said Hannah. She walked twenty paces away from the group, jumping from rock to rock. They were at the bottom of a wide, rocky valley, with gradual cliffs on either side. Above them, snowfields glowed bright blue-white in the starlight, but the valley itself was all but free from snow. Clouds moved in front of the stars like phosphorescent sheep. The wind howled around them, buffeting them even when they stood still.

“I’m cold,” said Daeman. The pudgy young man was shifting from foot to foot. He had worn only walking slippers.

“You may return to the pavilion and leave us,” Harman said to the servitors.

“With all due respect, Harman Uhr, our person-protection programming does not allow us to leave you here alone to run the risk of injury or getting lost in the Dry Valley,” said one of the servitors. “But we shall retreat a hundred yards, if that is your preference.”

“That’s our preference,” said Harman. “And turn off those damned lights. They’re too bright in our night-vision lenses.”

Both servitors complied, floating back toward the faxnode pavilion. Hannah led them across the valley. There were no trees, no grass, no signs of life whatsoever, outside of the four human beings glowing in bright color.

“What are we hunting for?” asked Hannah, stepping over what might have been a small stream in summer—if, indeed, summer ever came to this place.

“Is this the site of the Burning Man?” asked Harman.

Daeman and Hannah both looked around. Finally Daeman spoke. “It could be. But there were—you know—tents and pavilions and rest rooms and flowdomes and the forcefield over the valley and big heaters and the Burning Man and daylight and . . . it was different then. Not so cold .” He hopped gingerly from foot to foot.

“Hannah?” said Daeman.

“I’m not sure. That place was also rocky and desolate, but . . . Daeman’s right, it looked different with the thousands of people and sunlight. I don’t know.”

Ada took the lead. “Let’s fan out and hunt for some sign that the Burning Man was held here . . . campfires, rock cairns . . . something. Although I don’t think we’ll find your Wandering Jew person here tonight, Harman.”

“Shhh,” said Harman, glancing over his blue shoulder at the distant servitors, then realizing that they were broadcasting their conversation anyway. “All right,” he said with a sigh, “let’s spread out, say a couple of hundred feet apart, and look for anything that . . .”

He stopped as a large, only vaguely humanoid shape appeared from a side canyon. The creature picked its way across the rocks with a familiar awkward grace. When it got within thirty feet, Harman said, “Go back. We don’t need a voynix here.”

One of the servitors answered, its voice in their ears even though the sphere itself floated far behind them. “We must insist, my gentlemen and ladies. This is the most remote and hostile of all known faxnodes. We cannot risk the small chance that something here could harm you.”

“Are there dinosaurs?” asked Daeman, his voice on edge.

Ada laughed again and opened her arms and hands to the dark and howling cold. “I doubt it, Daeman. They’d have to be some tough recombinant winter breed I’ve never heard of.”

“Anything’s possible,” Hannah said, pointing to a large rock near the entrance to another side canyon about fifty yards to their right. “That could be an allosaurus right there, just waiting for us.”

Daeman took a step back and almost tripped over a rock.

“There aren’t any dinosaurs here,” said Harman. “I don’t think there’s any living thing here. It’s too damned cold. If you doubt me, lift your cowls for a second.”