At the end of the tunnel was a metal cylinder. It was twisted and pitted, the plating marred by carbon and corrosion. Fox placed his hand on a jagged edge, and whistled.

"What is it?" Flowers asked.

No one answered, but I felt that I knew, it was right at the tip of my tongue. The object was a foot smaller than the diameter of the tunnel. I looked at the edges, glowing in the flickering amber light that grew brighter every second.

Rossi ran his hands over the surface. His ...