"Wisely," Carrolson said.

Lake, still sitting, said laconically, "My men are ready to go as far as you'd like, any time you like."

"We appreciate that, Lieutenant," Carrolson said. "But we have good reasons for taking these things slowly."

"Give me an all-environment suit and a weapon, a couple of backups. . .” He grinned.

"You'd really go down?" Patricia asked, turning to the officer with an incredulous expression.

Lake grimaced. "If we were reasonably sure about the general category of things to see and experience, I'd go. We'd all go." The marines nodded in unison. "Duty here hasn't been all that exciting. Outside of the obvious scenic values."

"We dug all around the dimple," Takahashi said, edging up the slope and pointing with extended arms to indicate placement of the holes. He picked up a handful of dirt and let it sift between his fingers. "The dirt in all the wells is dry. No microorganisms, no large life forms, no plants."

"No living things. . . except us," Farley said.

"And no radiation," Takahashi continued. "No traces of unusual chemistry. So maybe these closed wells are just survey markers."

"Benchmarks of the gods," Carrolson intoned.

"Each well is alike?" Patricia asked.

"As far as we know," Takahashi said. "We've only examined two circuits."

Reynolds stood and brushed sand from his overalls. "Hey, Lieutenant. Maybe this is where boojums come from."

Lake rolled his eyes.

"Have you ever seen a boojum?" Patricia asked, looking intently at the marine.

"I don't think anyone has," Carrolson said.

"Mr. Reynolds?"

Reynolds glanced between Lake and Patricia. "Am I really being asked?"

"Yes," Patricia said. "I'm asking." She tapped her badge, uncertain whether that carried any weight with the marines.

"I've never seen one," Reynolds admitted. "But others have, others that I trust."

"We've all heard about 'em," another marine named Huckle said. "Some guys are full of stories."

"Still," Lake said, "these men aren't prone to seeing things that aren't there. The reports are few, but interesting."

Patricia nodded. "Are there any plans to descend into a well?"

"Not so far," Takahashi said. "We have other problems to face."

She looked down at the plug, rubbing her boot across the surface. "I'd like to see the complete expedition report when we get back," she said.

For the first time, a solution had presented itself—even as they talked—that had survived the first level of criticism. She looked up at the inverted dish, at the minutely active colors.

"Shall we return, then?" Takahashi asked.

"I think so," Patricia said.

The Frant used an adapted pictor to project the objects and landscapes around them and camouflage their activity in and about the tent. The two guards, dressed in black, might hear Olmy if he was especially noisy, but they wouldn't see him. He walked within a few dozen centimeters of one guard on his way to the box that served Patricia Luisa Vasquez as a desk.

He was particularly interested in the young woman; from what he had heard, she was becoming central to the group's endeavors. And if she was the same woman he had heard the Engineer speak of. . .