The night was wet with a steamy jungle heat, and the moisture beaded Simms's pale skin, running down his forehead, into his eyes. Finally he got up, put on a shirt which stuck to his back like glue, and left his little hut.

The towers, the towers, they arched above him in half-remembered dreams, haunting his every sleeping and waking hour, beckoning. He lugged slowly through the forest, working by feel and memory more than sight. He reached the clearing where that silver tower stood, taller now than when he had first seen it, glowing in the moonlight. He craned his neck, squinted upward, saw pinpoints of light in the small patch of sky. Stars, he thought. I do miss the stars. And he began to climb.

When he reached the top he was startled to find the priest sitting quietly, the silver light playing on his pronounced features. Suddenly Simms realized, seeing him there, face upturned, how young he was. He's younger than I am! he thought. No more than twenty years old. He wondered why he'd never noticed.

Sung-Hoi did not even look over at him. "I heard you coming," he said. "I heard you coming before you got to the clearing. Elephants make less noise than you do, Frank Simms."

Simms chuckled and sat next to him, dangling his legs off the edge of the disc. Soft breezes moved across the treetops, making those waves roll, tumble. If he closed his eyes he almost thought he was standing by an ocean, way away on another continent, by another ocean. He told Sung-Hoi this.

"You are far from home," said the priest simply.

Simms nodded. "I've been far from home for years. Ever since me and Hastings started this crazy business of ours. But maybe now, after we finish this, I can..." He trailed off, realizing what he was saying. He changed the subject quickly.

"How is it you know our language?"

Sung-Hoi shrugged slightly. "For the last few generations, it has become necessary for us to have contact with the Outside. Certain of our people are sent out into the world, to learn the languages of men and to gather information. And to acquire help, when necessary.

"Like now," said Simms.

"Yes. Like now."

Simms leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the night sky.

"I've never seen so many stars," he said.

Unfamiliar constellations wheeled overhead in extraordinary brightness. So clean, he thought. So far - far enough that we can't touch them, throw them down, snuff them out if we like. We can only look.

Sung-Hoi spoke in that strange tongue, those sounds that stirred something deep in Simms, long-forgotten. He spoke for a while, eyes closed, quietly.

"What does that mean?" asked Simms.

"The stars. In the time of the Eternal One, the stars will be thrown down, the moon will drop from the sky. The world will fold up and expire, like the closing of a book."

"What will happen then?"

"Then?" said Sung-Hoi. "No man knows. Perhaps the Eternal One will sleep and not wake again. Perhaps he will begin creation anew. Who can say?"

Simms thought about this.

"What do you think?"

Sung-Hoi smiled one of his rare smiles. "What does the High-Priest of the Temple of the Eternal One think?" He shook his head and chuckled softly. "I do know know. But I think a new book will be opened, one even more marvelous and strange than this one."

The wind rustled in the trees.

"Will it happen all at once?"

"Yes. The scriptures say it will happen quickly, like lightning. There will be no pain, no fear, no sorrow. It will simply end."

Simms frowned. "So what happens to you and your people?"

The priest paused. "It is believed," he said slowly, "that the Eternal One will set apart those few who took part in the great task, and that he will take them out beyond the great expanse, to be with him forever."

Simms smiled slightly. "Even us?" he asked.

Sung-Hoi looked at him with surprise, studied him carefully. "Perhaps," he said after a time, "only your heart knows."

They were quiet for a long time. Simms finally spoke.

"It will be finished tomorrow."

"Yes."

He shuffled a little, looking at his hands.

"Sung-Hoi?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever been outside?"

"No. It is the place of the High Priest to remain with his people. I have read many books, seen pictures. But I have not been Outside."

"Are you sorry?"

Sung-Hoi stared hard at the moon. He did not move his eyes.

"Men have filled the earth. They trod on her and shape her and mold her. They show no respect to her, yet she allows them to stay. These things are Outside. No, I am not sorry."

Simms waited. Finally, the priest spoke again.

"What is it like," he asked, "to see the ocean?"