“Someone is moving the ships, but that doesn’t prove you are right. Maybe the Builders are just making sure that anyone who wants off can get off. Maybe he is right, and we are heading for the future — along with anyone else who stays in Labyrinth.”
Rebka was pointing to the tall figure of Quintus Bloom, floating at the center of a knot of people and aliens. The two Tenthredans had disappeared, but most of the others from the Misanthrope were circling around Bloom as though bound to him by some odd form of gravity. Darya looked for Louis Nenda, and at first could not locate him. Then she saw a dark-suited figure floating toward them from the Gravitas, which had begun its drift toward Labyrinth’s outer wall. A Cecropian was at Nenda’s side. They were towing behind them, trussed tightly in a clumsy, improvised suit, a gigantic tentacled creature. A Zardalu! Nenda and Atvar H’sial had risked the trip back into the other ship, while all of Labyrinth disintegrated around them, to rescue a Zardalu? Darya couldn’t believe it, but there was no time to stay and ponder.
She left Rebka to himself and pushed her way through to the center of the cluster. “We have to get out of here fast, on one of those.” She waved at the jumble of ships. Already some of the new arrivals were heading for them, with the urging of the mini-Phages. The steady, booming, bell-like tone filled the whole of Labyrinth. It came from the region of the ships, drawing attention to them. “Look at that vortex. We don’t have more than another ten minutes.”
“Great!” Bloom laughed like a lunatic, audible even without his suit’s transmitter. There was still plenty of air in Labyrinth. “Ten minutes more, and we will enjoy the experience of a lifetime. We will advance to the far future, and meet our own descendants. Who would want to miss that?”
“The Builders don’t come from the future. Those are the Builders, or the servants of the Builders.” Darya pointed to the mini-Phages. “That vortex won’t take you to the future. It will kill you! Look at the way everything is being steered away from it and toward the ships.”
“Steering is for sheep and cattle. The future doesn’t want followers — it wants leaders.” Bloom scanned the group around them. “I’m staying on Labyrinth. Who’s with me? Don’t bother to say anything, Professor Lang. I know your answer.”
“You’re insane! The Builders live on some other plane of existence, a place where humans probably can’t survive for a second.” Darya gestured to the junkyard of ships. Some of them were already edging away from the outer wall of Labyrinth, their hulls and locks swarming with the diminutive figures of humans and aliens. “We have to go and grab a ship for ourselves, while we have time.”
If we have time. She could see the looming vortex on the other side, a swirling mouth holding the whole artifact within its jaws.
No one moved. Darya was in agony. What was wrong with them? Was it the force of Bloom’s personality — fascination at the idea of traveling to the future — simple reluctance to be thought afraid?
As though reading her mind, Hans Rebka moved to Darya’s side. “Sorry, Bloom. I don’t know if you’re right, or if Darya is right. And I don’t really care. I’ve seen hard times, but I like life well enough to want to go on with it. I vote for the ships. I’ll save my trip to the future for another day.”
He moved away from the center of the group and began to study the ships more closely. They were all different, and it wouldn’t do to select one that he did not know how to fly.
“Don’t try to justify cowardice,” Bloom called after him. “It never works.” He turned his back deliberately on Rebka. “Miss Omar? I know that you at least are not afraid. Will you come with me?”
Glenna hesitated. “I’d like to come. If it would please you… Only…” She turned to where Nenda was fighting to control his trussed Zardalu. Despite his previous assurances of its change in attitude, it was far from docile. He had just punched it between its glaring eyes, and it was struggling to free a tentacle big enough to squash him to bloody mush. “Louis, will you be going?”
“Goin’ where? Into that thing?” Nenda jerked his head toward the hovering vortex. “You outa your tiny mind? The one we come through to get here squeezed me flatter than a Sproatley smart oyster. That one’s a thousand times the size. If I never go near one of them again in my life, it’ll be too soon.”
“That settles it, then. I’m not going, either.” Glenna turned to Bloom. “Quintus, I’m not going.”
“I heard you the first time. I am not deaf. Since when does the advice of a barbarian space anthropoid dictate your actions?” Bloom glared right through Glenna, as though she had ceased to exist. “What about the rest of you? Tally? Here surely is a challenge worthy of an embodied computer’s powers. Atvar H’sial — Kallik — J’merlia? Do you not wish your own species to be represented in the future? Which of you is ready to embark with me on the greatest adventure in history?”
But Glenna’s decision had somehow turned the whole group. They had been clustered around Bloom as their center of gravity. Now, without a word, they began to drift toward Hans Rebka. He pointed to one of the ships, twice the size of any of the others.
“That’s my choice. I think I’ve even seen pictures of it before. That’s the Salvation, the ship Chinadoll Pas-farda used to roll over the darkside edge of the Coal Sack. People have wondered where she and her ship went for two centuries. Now we have to make it earn its name. But we’ll have to be quick.”
The vortex beside Labyrinth was beginning its work. The artifact was rotating faster as Rebka led his odd convoy toward the chosen ship. Behind him were Louis Nenda and Atvar H’sial, carefully towing the captive Zardalu. Kallik, J’merlia, and Glenna Omar followed them, as close as the wriggling Zardalu permitted. Darya brought up the rear with E.C. Tally. She found herself threading her way through a menagerie of creatures and objects, flotsam and jetsam delivered to Labyrinth from a thousand other artifacts. A group of a dozen Ditrons, abandoned by their owners, hooted like foghorns and giggled as Darya passed by. The high-domed skulls suggested plenty of intelligence, but that was an illusion. The Ditron’s head was a resonance cavity, designed to produce as much sound as possible in mating calls. The brain itself was a mere couple of hundred grams tucked away at the back.
Darya kept well clear of them. She skirted a huge creature like a spiral galaxy in miniature, thorny swirls of body with one enormous pale-blue eye the size of a child’s paddling pool set at its center. The eye tracked her as she passed by. The urge to stop and examine that alien was almost overwhelming, until she saw out of the tail of her own eye a nine-foot squirming streak of green. It was a Chism Polypheme, hurtling its corkscrew body toward one of the ships.
Dulcimer? Could that really be Dulcimer, the leering Polypheme pilot who had first taken them into the Torvil Anfract? Well, if so he would have to look after himself. He should be able to do it — anyone who was fifteen thousand years old had to be a survivor.
But what was Dulcimer doing here? Did it mean that every other artifact had already vanished from the spiral arm, its contents transferred to Labyrinth? The thought left her numb. She had devoted her whole career to the study of the Builders and their creations. If they vanished and left no evidence that the artifacts had ever existed, what would she do with the rest of her life? Future generations would probably not even believe that the Builders had existed. They would become part of the myths and legends of the spiral arm, no more accepted than fairies and trolls and the Tristan free-space Manticore, no more real than the lost worlds of Shamble, Midas, Grisel, Merryman’s Woe, and Rainbow Reef. The images that she was carrying of the Labyrinth polyglyphs would be regarded as no more than clever fakes, produced by eccentrics as hoaxes to fool gullible people.