They found at each level a charred niche that must have been a fireplace. In addition, at the bottom of the structure, a door opened out to the north. Into the interior of the city. It was closed, warped, and it wouldn't budge. They decided to finish examining the building before taking it down.

The rooms were empty, save for a chair arm that one would have described as a child's furnishing, a flat piece of wood that might once have been a tabletop, a few rags, a shoe, and some other debris so far corrupted that it was impossible to know what it might once have been.

The shoe was quite small, designed for the foot of an elf. But the tabletop became a discovery. "It's engraved," said Chiang.

The engravings were worn, so much so that little could be made out. Hutch couldn't even be sure whether the symbols were intended to be representative of actual objects, whether they were geometrical figures, pictographs, or letters.

The tripod had also been carved. Decorated. But these, too, had faded beyond any hope of recovery. They were examining it when Marcel's voice broke into her thoughts. "We just got a report back from the Academy. I thought you'd be interested in knowing they've named your city."

"Really? What?"

"Burbage Point."

"They named it for Burbage?" He was the senator who was eternally holding up the Academy as an example of mismanaged funds.

"I guess."

"My God. Maybe they're trying to send him a message."

"Not that bunch. They think they're ingratiating themselves."

"Anything else, Marcel?"

"Yes. The analysts have been looking at the scans for the cities. We've located nine now, most under heavy ice, all under something. And they all have defensive ramparts, by the way. Walls."

"That locks it."

"Yep. Primitive civilization. There is one exception, one without a palisade, but that's on an island. Incidentally, they're naming all these places for people they think can give them money, or get money for them. We now have Blitzberg, Korman City, Campbellville…"

"You're not serious."

He laughed. "You ever know me to kid around?"

Nightingale's eyes caught hers, and she knew exactly what he was thinking: And these nitwits have us down here risking our necks.

"Marcel," she said, "any more information about Burbage Point?"

"A little. It looks as if there were some wars. Somebody took the city at one point and pulled the walls down. Apparently left only the tower standing."

"What's our position vis-a-vis the city? We've got a door at the bottom of the building, leading out toward the north. Any idea what we'll see when we go through it?"

"Probably just ice."

"Okay. We'll let you know how it turns out."

"I'm listening to every word, Hutch. We've redirected a couple of the satellites, so we won't lose you when we're over the horizon."

"All right." Not that it would do the landing party any good if it got into serious trouble.

They'd brought the pieces of chain and the ax sharpener down to the lower levels to bag and tag. Kellie was writing the description of where the pieces had been found and was about to seal the wrapper on the tripod when Chiang asked to see it.

He studied it for a moment, held the bottom of the one complete leg against the floor, looked up the staircase to the top of the tower. "You know," he said, "we might be in an observatory."

"How do you mean?" asked Toni.

"I'd bet my foot the roof used to open."

Kellie looked from the tripod to Chiang, puzzled. "You mean you think this thing supported a telescope?"

"It's possible," he said.

Toni grinned at Kellie. "And you said it was an axe sharpener."

Kellie laughed and her eyes sparkled. "I could still be right. They might have opened the roof to man the battlements."

Hutch looked at it. "It seems too small," she said. "The eyepiece would be down at your hips."

Chiang aimed a thumb at the ceiling'. "Don't forget who lived here."

They trooped back up to the top level. There was a break down the middle of the ceiling. A separation. They dug around in the dirt and vegetable debris that covered the floor and found a small metal plate and an object that might have been a sidebar.

"You might be right," said Hutch, trying to imagine a tiny astronomer with a tiny telescope peering through an open roof. "It would mean," she said, "they had some knowledge of optics."

VI

Show me a man of unflinching rectitude and I'll show you a man who hasn't been offered his price. And it's a good thing for the progress of the species. Throughout our long and sorry history it has been men who supposed themselves to be exemplars of integrity who have done all the damage. Every crusade, whether for decent literary standards or to cover women's bodies or to free the holy land, has been launched, endorsed, and enthusiastically perpetrated by men of character.

— Gregory MacAllister, "Advice for Politicians," Down from the Mountain

"Mr. MacAllister." Captain Nicholson rested his elbows on the arras of his chair and pressed his fingertips together. "I'd like very much to oblige you. You know that"

"Of course, Captain."

"But I simply cannot do it. There are safety considerations. And in any case it would be a violation of company policy.". He showed MacAllister his palms, signifying his helplessness in the matter.

"I understand," said MacAllister. "But it is a pity. After all, how often does an event like this occur?"

The captain's gold-flecked brown eyes reflected a degree of uncertainty. He obviously did not want to offend the influential editor. But if MacAllister pressed his request, Nicholson would be pushed into a no-win situation.

MacAllister didn't Want that.

They were in the captain's reception room, sipping Bordeaux munching finger sandwiches. A private brunch. The bulkheads were appointed with brass and leather, a few leather-bound books occupied shelves on either side of the room, and electric candles supplemented a pair of lamps. A schematic of the Evening Star occupied an entire bulkhead, and the Starswirl logo of TransGalactic Lines looked down from above a virtual fireplace.

They sat in padded chairs, angled toward each other. "I completely understand your reluctance," MacAllister said in a matter-of-fact I'd-feel-exactly-the-same-way manner. "And I can see you're not one to be easily intimidated."

Nicholson modestly signaled his agreement with the proposition. There was much about the captain that was cautious. Conservative. MacAllister guessed that he had a reliable exec and a good AI tucked away somewhere to take over and run things in the event a non-routine decision had to be made. It seemed likely that Nicholson had gained his position by influence, had possibly married into it, or was the son of someone important.

"No," the captain said, "it's quite so, Mr. MacAllister. We do have an obligation to abide by the rules. I know you of all people would understand that."

MacAllister kept a straight face. Me of all people? "Of course, Captain. I couldn't agree with you more." He used a tone designed to ease the sudden tension. "It is unfortunate, though, to let an opportunity of this nature slide."

"What opportunity is that?" asked Nicholson.

"Well…" He shook his head, sipped his wine, and waved the subject off. "It's of no consequence. Although my guess is that it would be quite a coup."

" What would be quite a coup, Mr. MqcAllister?"

"Deepsix is about to pass into legend, Erik. May I call you Erik?" MacAllister's tone warmed.

"Yes. Of course." Nicholson softened, pleased to go on first name terms with his celebrated guest. "Of course, Gregory."

"After next week, Maleiva HI will be gone forever. People will be talking about this cruise, and wondering about that world's ruins, for decades, and possibly centuries, to come. And"-he looked wistfully at a spot over Nicholson's left shoulder-"pieces of those ruins are.lying around down on the ground, waiting to be picked up." He drained the glass and set it on a side table. "A few of those pieces, on display here on the Star, would be an invaluable asset."