“Him. At this stage of the life cycle a Tenthredan is male. I am doing my best, but we are communicating with great difficulty because of my inadequate language skills.”

Kallik did not seem to be aware of the irony in her apologetic comment. Darya did. When she and Kallik first met, the Hymenopt had spoken no word of any human tongue. Now, less than one year later, Kallik was completely fluent in several human languages — and Darya neither understood nor could utter a single syllable of Hymenopt.

“He agrees that the ship will not pass through the tunnel easily,” Kallik went on. “However, he remains reluctant to employ extreme force.”

“Tell him we don’t care anymore how much he damages Labyrinth. We do whatever we have to, to get out.”

Darya marveled at her own response — no one back on Sentinel Gate would ever believe that it came from the mouth of the compiler of the Lang Universal Artifact Catalog. She had always argued, vociferously, for the preservation of every element of every artifact. Even Kallik was shaking her head.

“Don’t you see, Kallik? We must damage Labyrinth if we want to escape.”

“Indeed, yes. But with respect, Professor Lang, that is not the point at issue. The pilot is reluctant to use weapons at this stage because of what his sensors suggest is in the next chamber.”

Darya peered at the black void of the tunnel as it showed on the screen. “He can’t possibly see anything.”

“Not with visible signals. He is receiving a return sonic profile, indicating that the chamber beyond holds a ship. He argues, with reason, that no weapon should be used until more information is available. Suppose that in the chamber beyond lies the Tenthredan sister ship, transported like them, but to a slightly different location?”

Something — at last! — to do, more meaningful than attempts to become an instant speaker and understander of Tenthredic howls and screams. Darya was on her way to the hatch almost before Kallik had finished speaking.

“Tell him I’ll have a message back to you in just a few minutes. And would you also tell him that I’d feel a lot more relaxed if he’d point those weapons in a different direction while I’m out in front of the ship? I get the feeling this whole group is a bit trigger-happy.”

“That may unfortunately be true, Professor Lang.” Kallik called after her when Darya was already in the lock. “With respect, I suggest that you proceed with extreme caution. The Tenthredan reputation is not for steady nerves. It is undesirable to excite them.”

Just what Darya needed to hear. She went into the tunnel, very aware of the array of vaporizing weapons pointing at her back. Midway along the narrow corridor she paused. Suppose that what she found in the chamber ahead was dangerous, so much an immediate threat to Kallik and the Tenthredans that it had to be destroyed at once? What would she do? She was no cool hero like Hans Rebka, willing to direct fire onto his own position if it was required to save a larger group.

But she could not remain in the middle of the tunnel forever. Even if she did nothing, the nervous Tenthredans might decide it was time to shoot. Darya sighed, and started forward.

Whatever was in the chamber beyond, it was unlikely to be another ship — unless it was her ship. Quintus Bloom had discovered Labyrinth and talked of it on Sentinel Gate, but so far as Darya knew the artifact was otherwise unknown except on the backwater planet of Jerome’s World. No one there had shown interest in exploring it — or anything else, for that matter. Darya’s expedition to Labyrinth was presumably the second visit in its whole history. So if there was a ship in the next chamber…

She came to the entrance and halted again. When a person was so consistently wrong, it was time to give up having opinions.

The elongated bubble of the vault ahead contained no sign of the hail of orange particles that had threatened them on entry. What it held instead was a single humpbacked object at its far end. Small, and of an unfamiliar design, but certainly a ship.

“Kallik, can you hear me?”

“Certainly.”

“Then tell your buddy that he was quite right. There is a ship through here.” Darya hesitated. This one carried no sign of weapons. Nothing moved on its surface. Was it possible that she was facing a dead vessel, a derelict that had floated in Labyrinth for eons?

“Kallik, you can tell the Tenthredans that this is not their sister ship. It’s much smaller, and a completely different design. I’m going to take a closer look. If there is anyone inside I will try to make contact with them.”

There. That was one way to force yourself to take a dangerous action. Announce an intention, and then be too embarrassed to admit that you were afraid to go through with it. Darya wondered how a professional would approach a situation like this. There seemed to be few options. The ship itself did nothing to suggest any interest in her presence.

She examined the hull in front of her, then headed for the single lock. It was a standard design, used everywhere from the inner worlds of the Fourth Alliance to the farthest reaches of the Zardalu Communion. She knew just how it worked. No excuse for backing off and returning to the unpleasant company of the Tenthredans.

Darya reached for the manual control on the outside of the lock. It turned easily in her grip. She rotated the control all the way and swung the airtight hatch inward on its beveled hinge.

As she entered the airlock she swore a silent oath: If she emerged from this alive, she would never again poke fun at Professor Merada and his quiet, cloistered life on Sentinel Gate.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Hans Rebka stood in front of the Treel sisters, sharply aware of their glowering disbelief. He couldn’t blame them. The old term for the problem was “credibility gap.”

Maddy, Lissie, and Katerina had been stranded in the interior of Paradox. They were facing eventual starvation, but that was a form of death they understood.

Along came E.C. Tally: a human male, a man, which counted as a major strike against him, but at least a man who might offer possible salvation. Then Tally had explained that he had not come to save them. He was trapped himself, and he knew of no way out; and anyway he was not a man. After a lot of explanation, they were beginning to believe him.

Enter Hans Rebka. Definitely a man, and a friend of E.C. Tally, who brought with him the bad news that the prison of Paradox was no longer as safe as it seemed. He had led them out of their chamber — but not to safety. No. He had taken them and the Misanthrope into a diabolical ink-swirl that he called a vortex, and it had wrung them out like wet dishcloths until they had wanted to die.

They had survived. And were they safe when they finally emerged? That was a matter of opinion. Certainly they were no longer anywhere within Paradox, or any other place that Rebka or Tally had ever been or heard of. They had arrived inside some strange new prison. Rebka had made it clear that so far as he knew the vortex had flung them into unknown territory. He could tell them nothing about the place. It might be no more than a different choice of tomb.

Enter J’merlia. An alien who had certainly not been with Rebka and Tally on Paradox, a life-form very far from human, but a life-form known to Hans Rebka and E.C. Tally. And vice versa. When J’merlia had entered the Misanthrope he had greeted the others joyfully, as long-absent friends.

Was Hans expected to explain all this to the Treel sisters?

He couldn’t explain any of it, even to himself. Instead, he was asking his own questions.

“Let’s get this straight.” He had persuaded J’merlia to shed his suit, then closed the hatch on the Misanthrope and locked it. “You say that you and Kallik and Darya went to Sentinel? Why there?”