"It still looks like an asteroid," Lanier said, his voice lacking conviction.

"Indeed," Hoffman said. "We know the type. A very large mesosiderite. We know the composition. But it's missing about forty percent of its mass. DST confirmed that this morning. That chunk's profile through the center resembles a geode. Geodes don't occur in space, Garry. The President has already accepted my recommendation that we organize an investigation. That was before the elections, but I think we can push it with the new administration—cracker-barrel mentality or not. Just as a precaution, we're scheduling six orbital transfer vehicle flights before the end of February. And I'm laying my bets down early. I think we're going to need a science team, and I'd like you to coordinate for me. I'm sure we can arrange something with Orbicom."

"But why the secrecy?"

"Why, Garry, I'm surprised." She smiled warmly at him. "When the aliens arrive, the government always goes in for secrecy."

Two - August, 2001

Podlipki Airfield, near Moscow

"Major Mirsky, you are not concentrating on your task."

"My suit is leaking, Colonel Mayakovsky."

"That is irrelevant. You can stay in the tank for another fifteen or twenty minutes."

"Yes, Colonel."

"Now pay attention. You must complete this maneuver."

Mirsky blinked sweat from his eyes and strained to see the American-style docking hatch clearly. The water was already up to his knees in the pressure suit; he could feel the stream entering through the seam at his hip. There was no way of telling how copious the flow was; he hoped Mayakovsky knew.

He had been instructed to wedge the bent metal bar into the two sensor ports. To get the necessary traction to jam it home, he hooked his ankle and right wrist to the circular lip of the hatch, using the L-shaped attachments on his boots and glove. Then with his left hand

—(how they had tried to discourage him in school in Kiev, now gone, all of his teachers and their nineteenth-century ideas; how they had tried to get him to use his right hand exclusively, until finally, in his late teens, an edict had come down officially pardoning gauche children)—

Mirsky slammed the bar. He unhooked his wrist and ankles and pushed back.

The water was up to his waist.

"Colonel—"

"The hatch will pause before opening. Three minutes."

Mirsky bit his lip. He twisted his neck around within the helmet to see how his teammates were doing. The five lined-up hatches were manned—two men and Yefremova. Where was Orlov?

There—pushing his helmet back, Mirsky saw Orlov being hauled to the surface of the tank, three wet-suited, scuba-equipped divers assisting him to shadowy obscurity. The surface, the lovely surface, sweet air and no water streaming in. He couldn't feel it now. The level was above his hip.

The hatch began to move. He could hear the mechanism whining. Then it stopped, only one-third open.

"It's stuck," he said, stunned. He was reasonably sure the exercise was supposed to be over as soon as he could enter the hatch, and the hatch was supposed to be foolproof, it was supposed to open when properly jimmied—American word, American technology, reliable, no?