Oldfield whistled to himself as he stepped outside the booth and looked down the length of the bridge. Deserted. "Fine day, Private," he said briskly, saluting ceremoniously. "Yes, sir. Fine day, sir. Always a fine day."

He wondered if technically speaking it had been the very same day since he had arrived. One long-drawn-out day, no intervening night. The weather changed now and then—rain, sometimes mist from the river. Did that serve to divide the time?

He inspected his Apple and tested it behind the booth on a cement block lined with foil ration packages. Each invisible tooth of light blew a foil package off the block. When he was relieved, he would line up the pierced foil packages for the next watch to test their weapons. It had become a ritual.

He walked around the booth to the door, stopped and turned.

He couldn't begin to describe what he saw.

He didn't even think about the Apple. He thought about reports and making a fool of himself.

It stood about seven feet high, skinny, narrow head like a sidewise board with two jutting and unblinking eyes regarding him calmly. Its two long arms emerged from the torso well below where the shoulders should have been and were covered with something similar to the foil ration packets. The legs were short and powerful looking. Its skin was smooth and reflective—not shiny or slimy, but polished like old wood.

It acknowledged his presence with a polite nod.

He nodded back, and then, under the pressure of all his past training, raised the Apple and said, "Identify yourself."

But by that time it was gone.

Oldfield had the impression it had entered the tunnel, but he couldn't be sure.

His face reddened with anger and frustration. He had had his chance. He had seen a boojum and he hadn't buzzed it down so others could see it. He had followed the pattern of everyone who had ever claimed—officially or unofficially—to have seen one.

Oldfield had always thought he was made of sterner stuff. He pounded his fist against the booth and punched the emergency button on the com.

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Lanier met Takahashi in a conference cubicle at the end of the second floor hall. Carrolson had joined Takahashi and the escort, unaware of Lanier's purpose. That wouldn't cause any problem, Lanier decided; best to keep up an atmosphere of normality. He asked for lunch to be brought to his office and they ate quietly before he outlined his new orders. When he was finished, Carrolson shook her head and sighed.

"Vasquez wants to mount another expedition, this time to the second circuit," she said. "I'm sure she won't like being barred from the libraries."

"Nobody goes into the libraries," Lanier said. "They're strictly off limits. And no second expedition. We freeze all activity on the Stone. I want the archaeologists back at the compounds, and the bore-hole studies shut down, too."