Soon afterward the work began. The jungle echoed with the loud whup-whupping of helicopters hovering low over the treetops, maneuvering ropes and cables, strange devices to the dark villagers. Some children screamed in fright, their mothers comforting them, telling them stories of the great scorpion-fliers and the coming of the Eternal One.

By day Simms worked with his people, calculating weights, planning moves, making certain that the "Great Law" was not violated. But in the evenings he would sit alone by the pool, watching his own reflection twist, ripple, change. Many nights he went to the temple library to stand helpless among the ancient scrolls, afraid to touch, wishing he could read the glittering gold runes. Sung-Hoi was busy, always moving, always talking in that strange magical language that lulled Simms into a dreamlike daze. Every once in a while, Simms caught the priest staring at him with an unreadable expression on his dark face. Then he would be gone, away to finish some mysterious high-priestly task.