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d； or whether we should close down the operation and go home。〃
McFarlane took a deep breath。 He understood what Glinn was asking。 But he also knew； quite clearly； what Glinn had left unsaid。 As a scientist； and as a human being 。。。 Glinn was asking him to look at the question objectively … not as the man who betrayed his friend over this precise thing five years before。 Several pictures flashed through his mind： Lloyd； pacing before his pyramid； the glittering black eyes of the destroyer andante； the broken； weathered bones of his dead partner。
McFarlane began slowly。 〃It's been lying here for thirty…two million years without apparent problems。 But the truth is； we don't know。 All I can say is； this is a scientific discovery of the highest importance。 Are the risks worth it？ Nothing truly great is ever acplished without risk。〃
Glinn's eyes seemed to go very far away。 His expression was as unreadable as always； but McFarlane sensed he had articulated the man's own thoughts。
Glinn pulled out his pocket watch； opening it with a smart snap of his wrist。 He had made a decision。 〃We'll lift the rock in thirty minutes。 Rachel； if you and Gene will test the servo connections； we'll be ready。〃
McFarlane felt a sudden flood of emotion … excitement or anticipation； he couldn't be precisely sure。
〃We have to be topside for those tests；〃 Garza said； glancing at his watch。 〃Nobody is allowed down here。〃
The feeling ebbed quickly。 〃I thought you said it was pletely safe；〃 McFarlane said。
〃Double overage；〃 Glinn murmured。 Then； leading the way； he walked out of the storage vault and led the way down the narrow tunnel。
Rolvaag；
9：30 A。M。
DR。 PATRICK Brambell lay snug in his bunk； reading Spenser's The Faerie Queen。 The tanker rode peacefully in the sound； and the mattress was delightfully soft。 The temperature in the medical suite had been cranked up to eighty…six degrees： exactly the way he liked it。 Everyone but a skeleton crew was ashore； preparing to lift the meteorite； and the ship was quiet。 He was aware of no disfort； no annoyance in the world … save perhaps that his arm； which had been propping up the book in front of his nose for the last half hour； had begun to fall asleep。 And that was a problem easily remedied。 With a sigh of contentment； he transferred the book to his other hand； turned the page； and immersed himself again in Spenser's elegant verse。
Then he stopped。 There was； in fact； one other annoyance。 His glance fell reluctantly through the open doorway； past the hall and into the medical laboratory beyond。 On a gleaming metal gurney sat the blue evidence locker； clasps loosened but lid unopened。 There was something forlorn； almost reproachful； about it。 Glinn wanted the examination by the end of the day。
Brambell stared at it for a moment。 Then he laid the book aside； rose regretfully from his bunk； and straightened his surgical smock。 Though he rarely practiced medicine； and even more rarely performed surgery； he delighted in wearing a surgical smock and never took one off while awake。 As a uniform； he found it vastly more intimidating than a policeman's and only a little less so than the grim reaper's。 Surgical smocks； especially when flecked with blood； tended to hurry office visits along and speed unnecessary conversations。
He stepped out of his cabin and paused in the long hallway of the medical suite； surveying the parallel lines of open doorways。 Nobody in the waiting room。 Ten beds； all empty。 It was most satisfactory。
Entering the medical laboratory； he washed his hands in the oversized sink； then flicked the water from his fingers while turning in a small circle； in an irreverent imitation of a priest。 Nudging the hot…air dryer with his elbow； he rubbed his knobbed old hands before the gush of air。 As he did so； he gazed around at the neat rows of well…worn books： overflow from his cabin。 Above them he had hung two pictures： a depiction of Jesus Christ； with the fire and thorns of the sacred heart； and a small； faded photograph of two identical babies in sailor suits。 The picture of Christ reminded him of many things； some self…contradictory but always interesting。 The picture of himself and his twin brother； Simon； who had been murdered by a mugger in New York City； reminded him of why he had never married or had children。
He pulled on a pair of latex gloves； snapped on the ring light； and swiveled the magnifying glass into place over the gurney。 Then he opened the evidence locker and stared disapprovingly at the jumble of bones。 He could see right away that several were missing； and the rest had been tossed in higgledy…piggledy； with no regard for anatomy。 He shook his wizened head at the general inpetence of the world。
He began removing the bones； identifying them； and arranging them in their proper places on the gurney。 Not much sign of animal damage； beyond the nibblings of rodents。 Then his brow furrowed。 The number of perimortem breaks was unusual； even remarkable。 He paused； a nugget of bone suspended halfway between locker and gurney。 Then； more slowly； he placed it on the metal surface。 There was a stillness in the medical suite as Brambell stepped back； folded his green…suited arms； and stared at the remains。
Ever since his Dublin childhood； his mother had entertained dreams of her twin lads growing up to be doctors。 Ma Brambell had been an irresistible natural force； and so； like his brother Simon； Patrick had gone to medical school。 While Simon had relished the job and gone on to great acclaim as a medical examiner in New York； Patrick found himself resenting the time away from literature。 Over the years； he had gravitated to ships； most recently to large tankers； where the crews were small and the acmodations fortable。 And so far； the Rolvaag had lived up to his expectations。 No parade of broken bones； raging fevers； or dripping cases of clap。 Aside from a few bouts of seasickness； a sinus infection； and of course Glinn's preoccupation with the meteorite hunter； he had been left to read his books。 Until now。
But as he stared at the collection of broken bones； Brambell felt an uncharacteristic curiosity stirring within him。 The silence of the medical lab was broken by the whistled strains of 〃The Sprig of Shillelagh。〃
More quickly now； Brambell； whistling merrily； finished laying out the skeleton。 He examined the effects： buttons； bits of clothing； an old boot。 Of course there was only one boot； the daft beggars had missed the other。 Along with the right clavicle； a piece of the ilium； the left radius； carpals and intercarpals。。。 He made a mental list of the missing bones。 At least the skull was there； if in several pieces。
He bent closer。 It； too； was webbed with perimortem fractures。 The rim of the orbit was heavy； the mandible robust； definitely a male。 From the state of the sutural closing he would be about thirty…five； maybe forty。 A small man； no more than five foot seven； but powerfully built； with well…developed muscle attachments。 Years of fieldwork； no doubt。 This fit the profile of the planetary geologist Nestor Masangkay that Glinn had given him。
Many of the teeth were snapped off at the root。 It looked like the poor man