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only the weak and insubstantial crust of the Sling. Below that was nothing but brackish water, a couple of kilometers deep. The buildings hugged the ground for a good reason. If they were too tall and heavy, they would break through it.
    An irrelevant thought came to her: she could not even swim.
    The crew of the ship that had brought her were still involved with the final stages of landing procedure. She began to walk toward the nearest building. Two men were finally emerging from it to greet her.
    It was not a promising introduction to Opal. Both men were short and thin—Darya Lang was ten centimeters taller than either of them. They were dressed in identical dingy uniforms, with clothes that shared a patched and well-worn look, and from a distance the two might have been taken for brothers, one ten years or so older than the other. Only as she came closer were their differences revealed.
    The older man had a friendly, matter-of-fact air to him and a self-confident walk. The faded captain's insignia on his shoulder indicated that he was the senior of the two in rank as well as age. "Darya Lang?" he said as soon as they were within easy speaking distance. He smiled and held out his hand, but not to shake hers. "I'll take your entry forms. I'm Captain Rebka."
    Add "brusque" to the list of words describing the inhabitants of the Phemus Circle, she thought. And add "unkempt" and "battered" to Rebka's physical description. The man's face had a dozen scars on it, the most noticeable running in a double line from his left temple to the point of his jaw. And yet the overall effect was not unpleasant—rather the opposite. To her surprise, Darya sensed the indefinable tingle of mutual attraction.
    She handed over her papers and made internal excuses for the scars and the grimy uniform. Dirt was only superficial, and maybe Rebka had been through some exceptional misfortune.
    Except that the younger man looked just as dirty, and he had his own scars. At some time his neck and one side of his face had been badly burned, with a bungled attempt at reconstructive surgery that would never have been accepted back on Sentinel Gate.
    Maybe the burn scars had also left the skin of his face lacking in flexibility. Certainly he had a very different expression from Rebka. Where the captain was breezy in manner and likeable despite his grubbiness and lack of finesse, the other man seemed withdrawn and distant. His face was stiff and expressionless, and he hardly seemed aware of Darya, although she was standing less than two meters from him. And whereas Rebka was clearly in top physical shape, the other had a run-down and unhealthy look, the air of a man who did not eat regular meals or care at all about his own health.
    His eyes were at variance with his young face. Dead and disinterested, they were the pale orbs of a man who had withdrawn from the whole universe. He was unlikely to cause Darya any trouble.
    Just as she reached that comforting conclusion the face before came alive and the man snapped out, "My name is Perry. Commander Maxwell Perry. Why do you want to visit Quake?"
    The question destroyed her composure completely. Coming without the preliminary and traditional courtesies of Alliance introductions, it convinced Darya Lang that these people knew —knew about the anomaly, knew about her role in discovering it, and knew what she was there to seek. She felt her face turning red.
    "The—the Umbilical." She had to struggle to find words. "I—I have made a special study of Builder artifacts; it has been my life's work." She paused and cleared her throat. "I have read all that I could find about the Umbilical. But I want to see it for myself and learn how the tethers work on Opal and Quake. And discover how Midway Station controls the Umbilical for the move to space at Summertide." She ran out of breath.
    Perry remained expressionless, but Captain Rebka had a little smile on his face. She was sure that he saw right through her every