It made a fine exit line. Darya gave Hans Rebka one last cold look, that said, I won’t deal with you now, you worm, but just you wait; then she left.

She did not like what she found beyond the airlock. She was in the same chamber, but there had been major changes. The space had somehow increased in size. Its walls had become translucent, and she could see the faint outline of other rooms beyond. Worse than that, the way back, which had been open and easy, was blocked. At the entrance to the tunnel stood the familiar but unwelcome sight of another transportation vortex.

It was still swelling and building. Darya waited. This time she knew what to expect. The pattern was developing in the same way as before: darkness, growing on itself and with a center of swirling, absolute black. Then a ghost image, flickering for the briefest moment across the dark bloated heart.

It took longer this time, because the final size of the vortex was so big that it filled almost the whole expanded chamber. Darya retreated to the illusory shelter of the Misanthrope at the far end. She noted that in spite of Lissie’s ultimatum the ship had not changed its position. She thought she could see it shaking a little. The fighting among the sisters inside was something better imagined than experienced.

The spectral image became stronger, flashing twice into near-visibility. It was a ship, and a big one, with a slightly peculiar profile. She saw why when it finally popped into full existence and she could examine it for more than a split-second at a time. The new vessel had begun life as a sleek ship with an advanced Fourth Alliance design, but somehow a large part of the aft section had been sheared away. Before she could evaluate the extent of that damage, a hatch on the side was swinging inward. Three human figures jetted out, followed a few moments later by a gigantic fourth shape.

A familiar gigantic shape. A Cecropian. Darya’s eyes were ready to pop out through her visor. She was beyond surprise when the leading human came zipping over to her.

“What, may I ask, are you doing here?” The nasal, arrogant voice had not changed a bit. “Access to this artifact is supposed to be tightly controlled.”

“She must have been dumped here, like we were,” another voice said, just as familiar. “Hey, Professor, how’s it goin’?”

Darya shook her head hopelessly and gestured to the Misanthrope, still motionless beside her. “Let’s go in there and talk. It can’t get any messier inside, and I don’t want to be out here when the next shipment arrives.”

Darya was wrong. It got much messier within the Misanthrope before five minutes had passed, because in less than that interval the next shipment did arrive. Kallik, finding the road between the chambers open, appeared with two of the Tenthredans.

The Treel’s exploration ship had been designed for a crew of three, with emergency space for a couple of extra passengers. Packed inside it at the moment were the three Treel sisters, Hans Rebka, E.C. Tally, J’merlia, Louis Nenda, Glenna Omar, Quintus Bloom, Atvar H’sial, Kallik, and the two still-anonymous Tenthredans. Plus, of course, Darya herself.

It would have made more sense to reconvene on the Gravitas, but the Treel sisters refused to board any vessel that lacked superluminal capability. As Katerina pointed out, anyone who left Labyrinth on a subluminal ship faced a long crawl home. The presence on the Gravitas of a live, adult Zardalu was of less consequence. Maddy and her sisters just didn’t believe Louis Nenda, and his comment that passage through a Builder vortex had changed the Zardalu’s attitude toward space travel and subdued it considerably was taken as embroidery on an implausible fabrication.

Not everyone was talking at once. It merely felt that way. The only happy being of any species seemed to be Quintus Bloom. He was grinning, and he had started to lecture everyone who would listen as soon as his suit was open.

“Exactly as I expected.” The prominent nose was raised high in satisfaction. “Events are occurring precisely as my theory predicted.”

That wasn’t the way Darya remembered things. She looked at Bloom, and then carefully scanned everyone else crowded into the cabin. The expressions on the faces of the nonhumans and of E.C. Tally were largely unreadable, but the rest were a study in contrasts. Maddy and Katerina Treel were edgy and impatient, eager to leave Labyrinth as soon as possible. It was only a matter of time before they threw everyone off their ship and fled. Maybe they were the smart ones. Their blond sister, Lissie, had been caught instantly by the Bloom charisma. Her deep suspicion of men had been charmed away, and she was standing right in front of him and hanging open-mouthed on to his every word.

Next to Lissie and Bloom, Hans Rebka stood in his usual crisis mode, monitoring everything and everyone, self-contained and serious. He noticed Darya staring at him and his expression turned to one of acute discomfort.

He ignored everybody else and came across to stand by her side. “Darya, we have to talk.”

“Indeed?” She stared at him coldly. “I don’t know that I have anything to say to you. And it’s the worst possible time for talking.”

“It may be the worst time, but it could be the only chance we’ll ever have. No matter what happens to us, I want to set something straight.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that Glenna Omar was in your bedroom by accident. That nothing happened between the two of you.”

“No. That wouldn’t be true. I know I hurt you. But Glenna really doesn’t mean anything to me, and she never did. I never meant anything to her, either. I was just another man to add to her collection, another trophy for her bedroom wall.”

“Why should I believe that?”

“Darya, just look at her. Look at Louis Nenda. Can’t you see it? What do you think they’ve been doing?”

Nenda stood four or five steps away. He seemed exhausted, his swarthy face paler than usual and his eyes marked beneath by dark bruised smudges. Glenna Omar was standing very close to him, her shoulder rubbing against his. Glenna — Darya decided that the world must really be coming to an end — was wearing no makeup, and her long hair was pulled back and tied casually away from her face. She too seemed tired. But her whole body spoke of languid contentment.

The sight induced in Darya a strong feeling of irritation, not all directed toward Hans Rebka.

“We can’t talk now,” she said. “Maybe later.”

“If there is a later.” Hans took her hand in both of his. “If not, I want to tell you that I’m sorry.”

“There won’t be a later, unless we stop talking and do something.” But Darya did not pull her hand away. Instead she focused her attention on Quintus Bloom, who alone in the cabin seemed to be on a real energy high.

“You claim you predicted all this?” She interrupted Bloom’s stream of words to Lissie Treel. “I don’t remember that.”

“Then you were not paying attention.” The beaked nose turned aggressively in her direction. “And despite my explanation on Sentinel Gate, I suspect that you still do not accept the nature of the Builders. Why, otherwise, would you have come to Labyrinth uninvited?”

Uninvited. As though Bloom personally owned the artifact. But he was sweeping on.

“Recent events provide ample confirmation of what is happening. Consider the evidence. Fact: Paradox shrinks and vanishes, and Rebka and the rest of them are shipped to Labyrinth through a Builder vortex. Fact: The Torvil Anfract changes beyond recognition, and while that change is still occurring my party is sent here through another vortex.”

Darya studied Bloom’s gleaming smile and unnaturally bright eyes, and realized a great truth about herself. She and Quintus Bloom were both ambitious, both smart, both hard-working, and both dedicated. To most observers, they must appear very similar. But there was one difference, and it was the crucial one. Darya was on the right side of the line between great enthusiasm and total obsession. She would always have doubts about herself and the correctness of her ideas. Bloom, somewhere on the way from his childhood on Jerome’s World to his appearance on Sentinel Gate, had crossed the line. He was crazy. Nothing in his life was as important as being right. The idea that he might be wrong was impossible for him to accept psychologically.