The Rock, still unnamed, stretched for half a mile across the horizon in the early morning light, gloriously colored from the bottom up in layers of purple and red and orange. The sky overhead was a trembling dusty blue-gray, hinting at the heat to come. It was spring here, but there had been little rain. There was hardly a breath of wind. Arthur jumped down from the bulky, big-tired gray Royal Australian Army staff vehicle into red dust and stared across the golden plain at the Rock. The science advisor, David Rotterjack, stepped down behind him. Less than a dozen meters away, the first circle of razor-wire-topped hurricane fence began, curving in broad scallops through silver-gray mulga scrub and spiky spinifex.

Quentin Bent walked with a short-legged, almost eager waddle along the red dirt path to the edge of the road. Bent was in his mid-forties, heavy and florid-faced, with a forward-swept bush of gray hair, an easy smile, and sharp, pessimistic blue eyes. He extended his hand to Rotterjack first. In another Army vehicle, Bent's assistants, Forbes and French, accompanied Charles Warren, the geologist from Kent State.

"Mr. Arthur Gordon," Bent said, shaking Arthur's hand. "I've just finished reading the draft American task force report. Your work, and Dr. Feinman's, largely, am I correct?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "I hope it was clear."

"All too clear," Bent said, lifting his chin as if smelling the air, but keeping his eyes on Arthur. "Very disturbing. Gentlemen, I've received a message from our Shmoos— we all call them that now, they can't really be offended, can they?—and we're scheduled to have a meeting with them at noon today in trailer three." Almost breathlessly, he said, "Each day . . . they travel from the Rock to our conference trailer. They never leave the vicinity of the Rock. Before then, we will have breakfast in the mess trailer, and then a tour of the site, if you're up to it. Did you get enough sleep, Dr. Gordon, Mr. Rotterjack, Dr. Warren?"

"Sufficient," Rotterjack said, his eyes dark.

Bent flashed a smile and waddled into place ahead of them. "Follow me," he said.

Arthur fell in step beside Warren, a man of middle height and build with wispy, thinning brown hair brushed across a bald spot and large eyes above a long nose. "What does it look like?" he asked.

"A lot like Ayers Rock, only smaller," Warren answered, shaking his head. "It's less convincing than the cinder cone in Death Valley. Frankly, I wouldn't have been surprised to find it at Disney World."

The breakfast went smoothly. They were introduced to several of the scientists measuring and analyzing the Rock, including the head of the materials team, Dr. Christine Carmichael. She explained that the minerals making up the Rock were all clearly earthbound—none of the surrounding "camouflage" material had arrived from space. Arthur tried to visualize the construction of the Rock, away from all human witnesses; he could not.