The tour guide gaped at his friend. “That’s insane. If somebody smuggled a starbomb into Tartesh, he’d put it by the Hereditary Tyrant’s palace, not here. What does he want, to blow up the last big herd of humpless camels in the world?”

“He has more in mind than that,” Liem answered. “You see, the bomb is underground, on one of the fault lines nearest the Barrier Mountains.” The militiaman’s head swiveled to look west toward the sawbacked young mountain range…

… the mountain range that held back the Western Ocean. The night was warm and dry, but cold sweat prickled on Radnal’s back and under his arms. “They want to try to knock the mountains down. I’m no geologist — can they?”

“The gods may know,” Liem answered. “I’m no geologist either, so I don’t. This I’ll tell you: the Morgaffos seem to think it would work.”

Peggol vez Menk cleared his throat. “The Hereditary Tyrant discourages research in this area, lest any positive answers fall into the wrong hands. Thus our studies have been limited. I gather, however, that such a result might be obtained.”

“The freeman’s colleagues radiophoned a geologist known to be reliable,” Liem amplified. “They put to him some of what was on the microprint reader, as a theoretical exercise. When they were through, he sounded ready to wet his robes.”

“I don’t blame him.” Radnal looked toward the Barrier Mountains, too. What had Moblay said? A wave as high as the Lion God’s mane. If the mountains fell at once, the wave might reach Krepalga before it halted. The deaths, the devastation, would be incalculable. His voice shook as he asked, “What do we do about it?”

“Good question,” Peggol said, astringent as usual. “We don’t know whether it’s really there, who planted it if it is, where it is, or if it’s ready. Other than that, we’re fine.”