ou said a man doesn't pull the pin on a grenade unless he's ready to
toss it. Ko must be the boss."

Sing examined a richly embroidered robe. "My guess is that Ko hired a
few Tibetan bandits. They wouldn't worry about him or his belongings
after being met by heavy resistance. And his bearers would be afraid to
stay and face him. Or maybe they thought he was killed while attacking
us. There was a lot of noise, and it was dark."

Rick thought Sing was probably right. He walked over to a pile of furs.
"What are these?" he asked. "Ko must have been a fur trader."

Sing looked up. "Water bags. Goatskin. Very common in China." He dropped
the robe and came to look, his face wrinkling into a frown. "But usually
a man doesn't carry so many. Very funny."

Rick and Scotty examined one with interest. It was a whole skin, except
for head and feet. Even the tail was still attached. The ends of the
legs had been sewed up, but the neck was left open. Attached to the neck
opening was a rawhide thong that could be used to bind the opening tight
when the skin was filled with water.

"These are good bags," Sing said. "Better than most."

"Perhaps he planned to sell them," Rick suggested.

"Don't think so." The Chinese guide shook his head. "People here make
their own. Every time they kill a goat for meat, that's a new goatskin.
The Buddhist Tibetans, who don't kill anything, even flies, use pottery
jugs."

Scotty had started counting the bags. He paused at the ninth and held it
up. "This one is split open. Looks like the seam gave way. There's a
sort of funny lining."

Rick took the skin and turned it inside out. It was smooth and glassy on
the inside, and the substance was completely transparent because he
could see the skin underneath.

Sing felt of it. "Never saw anything like that before."

Rick held it to his nose and sniffed. It was odorless. He took his
pocketknife and scraped at it while the others watched. A tiny flake
shaved off. He tested it between his fingers, and it was flexible as
rubber. An idea was growing in his head.

"It's crazy," he said. "But you know what I think this is? I think it's
plastic!"

"The professor can tell us," Scotty suggested. "Come on. Let's take it
to him."

They ran back up the trail, Rick leading with the skin. If the stuff
were plastic, it could mean only one thing. He lengthened his stride.

Zircon looked up from his notebook as they topped the hill and ran
toward him. He dropp