The compound itself, one of two in the first chamber, resembled an old Roman encampment, with an earthworks rampart and a shallow, dry moat surrounding the buildings. The rampart was topped with electronic sensors mounted on stakes every five meters. All these precautions dated back to the days when it was reasonable to suspect there might still be Stoners in the chambers and that they might present some danger. Out of force of habit—and because the possibility had never been completely ruled out—the precautions were maintained.

Lanier crossed the sturdy wooden bridge spanning the moat and climbed a set of steps on the rampart, waving his card at a reader mounted on one of the stakes.

He passed the men's and women's barracks and entered the administration bungalow, tapping his finger on Ann Blakely's desk and waving as he walked past. Ann had served him as secretary and general assistant for over a year. She swiveled on her chair and reached for the memo slate.

"Garry—"

He shook his head without looking at her and continued on up the stairs. "Five more minutes," he said.

On the second floor, he slipped his card into the verification lock on his office door, pressed his thumbs onto the small plate and entered. The door swung shut automatically behind him. He removed his sweatpants and shirt, substituting the blue science team jumpsuit.

The office was neatly organized but still looked cluttered. A small desk manufactured from OTV tank baffles was flanked by chromium bins filled with rolls of paper. A narrow shelf of real books hung next to racks of memory blocks sealed behind tough, alarm-equipped plastic panels. Maps and diagrams were taped to the walls.

A broad window looked out over the compound buildings. North across the valley's barren floor of dirt, sand and scrub loomed the massive gray presence of the far chamber cap.

He sat on a lightweight director's chair and propped his feet on the window frame. His dark eyes, underscored by fatigue lines, focused on a distant point at one o'clock high where the plasma tube butted up against the cap. Through the tube's diffuse glow, it was difficult to make out the hundred-meter-wide bore hole that pushed through the cap into the second chamber. The bore hole opened five kilometers above the atmosphere in the chamber.

In two minutes, his private time would be over. He organized his slates and processors, looking over the day's schedule, preparing himself mentally to be a mover-and-shaker.

There was dirt beneath one fingernail. He removed it with another fingernail.

If he could only explain the simple things—the figurine, the barbed wire used to string up the fence, the crate wood used to make the bridge over the moat—it would all fall into place.

The Stone would explain itself.

The only explanations he had now were much too incredible to be sane.

His comline hummed.

"Yes, Ann."

"Are you on duty now, Garry?"

"That I am."

"Transmission down the hole. OTV approach."