"I don't think it's warmer because of . . . the end," Edward said. He had never felt his mind racing so rapidly over so many subjects. He wanted to see what was happening in the valley.

"Shall we?" he asked, pointing to the terraces and the still-intact rim.

"What else did we come here for?" Minelli asked, laughing and shaking his head like a wet dog. Sweat flew from his hair. He whooped again and took Inez's plump hand, dragging her across the gravel to the terraces.

"Minelliiii," she protested, looking back at them for help. Edward glanced at Betsy, and she nodded once, face flushed.

"I am so terrified," she whispered. "It's like being high." They walked together toward the edge. "I pity all those folks who stayed home. I really do."

The two couples stood alone on the terrace, looking down into the valley. Not much had changed; there was no visible damage, not at first glance, anyway. Then Minelli pointed to a thick column of smoke. "Look."

The Ahwanee was on fire. Nearly the entire hotel was ablaze.

"I love that old place," Betsy said. Inez moaned and wrung her hands.

"How much longer, do you think?" Inez asked, her expression that of someone about to sneeze, or shriek. She did neither.

"It seems real close," he said. Betsy raised her arms with a moan and he hugged her tightly, almost squeezing the breath out of her.

"Hold me, dammit," Inez demanded. Minelli blinked at her, then followed Edward's example.

Ten minutes after the meeting, Arthur and Clara had assigned the members of their group to the new quarters along the curved hallway. Two of the younger children were crying inconsolably and all were emotionally exhausted; Arthur stood in the confines of the cabin he and Francine and Marty would share, pondering the common sanitation facilities accessible through the first doorway on the right of the sealed hatch where they had met with the robot. A few had already used the lavatory; some had gone in there to be sick. Clara was one of the latter. She came to the Gordons' cabin and leaned against the edge of the hatch, rubbing her eyes with one hand. "All settled, I think," she said. "What's next?"

Francine had said little for the entire time they had been aboard. She sat on the bed, clutching her box of disks and papers with one hand. Marty held her other hand firmly. She stared at Clara with a vacancy that worried Arthur.

Choose four witnesses. The restatement of the command in their minds was polite but unequivocal. It is the Law.

Clara jerked and stood upright. "You heard that?" she asked.

He nodded. Francine turned to look at Arthur. "They want us to choose four witnesses," he told her.

"Witnesses to what?" Her voice was small, distant.

"The end," he said.

"Not the children," Francine said firmly. Arthur briefly conferred with the voice. Two must be younger, to pass on the memories.