Suzanne hurried over to join him. Arak followed. Both leaned out the window and followed Perry’s pointing finger.

“My gosh!” Suzanne said. “It’s our submersible! What is it doing here?”

“Oh, yes,” Arak said. “I forgot to mention how much interest your ship has generated with the curators of the museum. I believe, with your permission, they intend to make it one of the exhibits.”

“Was it damaged?” Perry asked.

“Only minimally,” Arak said. “Skilled worker clones have repaired the outside lights and manipulator arm. It’s also been decontaminated, but is otherwise intact. Are you familiar with the boat’s components?”

“Somewhat,” Perry said. “But not from an operational perspective. Suzanne knows more than I. I’ve only been in it twice.”

“Donald is the real expert,” Suzanne said. “He knows the craft like the back of his hand.”

“Excellent,” Arak said. “We do have some questions about the sonar, which we have found to be even more sophisticated than we’d imagined.”

“He’s the one to ask,” Suzanne said.

“What’s the submersible sitting on?” Perry asked.

“That’s an air taxi freighter,” Arak said.

Michael made it a point to keep up with Donald, who was cruising through the museum as if he were out for exercise rather than studying the exhibits. Every few steps Michael had to run a couple of strides. Donald had long since left Sufa and Richard far behind.

“Why the hell are you going so fast?” Michael panted. “What is this, a race?”

“You don’t have to stay with me,” Donald shot back. He turned another corner and continued on. They were moving through a gallery containing Renaissance sculptures and paintings.

“Richard and I think we should get out of Interterra ASAP,” Michael managed. He was short of breath.

“You both made that clear over breakfast,” Donald said jeeringly. He turned another corner and entered a room hung with carpets.

“We’re getting a little worried,” Michael continued, trying to stay alongside the fast-moving ex-naval officer.

“About what, sailor?” Donald asked.

“Because… well… we have a problem,” Michael said hesitantly. “It involves a couple of these Interterrans.”

“I’m not interested in your personal problems,” Donald snapped.

“But there was an accident,” Michael said. “Or actually, two accidents.”

Donald stopped short and Michael did the same. Donald stabbed the air in front of Michael’s face. Donald’s lips were pulled back in a sneer. “Listen, bonehead! You two decided to fraternize with these Interterrans. I don’t want to hear about your difficulties getting along with them. Understand?”

“But-”

“No buts, sailor!” Donald spat. “I’m trying to get us out of here, and I don’t want to be distracted by either you or your half-wit buddy.”

“Okay, okay,” Michael said, raising his hand defensively. “I’m glad you’re working on it. Getting out of here as soon as we can is all I’m concerned about. I mean, I’ll help any way I can.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Donald said scornfully.

“Do you have any ideas about how we’re going to be able to do it?”

“It’ll be difficult,” Donald admitted. “We’re going to have to find someone besides Arak to get some real answers. Information is the key. The best thing, of course, would be to find someone who’s not happy here, yet who’s been around long enough to be knowledgeable about how to get out.”

“Nobody seems unhappy,” Michael commented. “It’s like they’re living one big party.”

“I’m not talking about Interterrans,” Donald said. “Arak has implied that a number of people from our world have ended up down here. Some of them must be homesick and not quite as chummy with the Interterrans as Ismael and Mary Black seem to be. It’s human nature, or at least secondary-human nature, to resist constraint. That’s the kind of person I’d like to find.”

“How do you propose to do it?”

“I don’t know,” Donald admitted. “We’ve got to keep our eyes open for when opportunity knocks. I can tell you I like being out in the city. We’re surely not going to find such a person while we’re sitting in that damn conference room.”

“But this place is deserted,” Michael complained. His eyes took a momentary detour up and down the empty corridors.

“I didn’t come here to meet anyone,” Donald said. “I came to this damned museum with the hope of coming across some weapons. I thought there’d be some, but I haven’t seen a single one. Having a museum about human history without weapons is ridiculous. The pacifism of these Interterrans is driving me up the wall.”

“Weapons!” Michael commented. He nodded. The idea hadn’t dawned on him, but he immediately was intrigued. “Cool idea! To tell you the truth, I was wondering why you wanted to come here.”

“Well, now you know, sailor,” Donald said. “And maybe you can even help, since this place is so enormous. If we spread out we can cover a lot more ground.”

No sooner had Donald uttered this suggestion than his eye caught something he’d not seen in any other exhibition hall: a closed door with the words RESTRICTEDENTRYwritten over its upper panel. Curious as to what it might conceal, he approached it, with Michael at his heels. As Donald got closer he could see that there were several other words in smaller letters: FORENTRY, APPLY TOCOUNCIL OFELDERS.

“What the hell is the Council of Elders?” Michael asked over Donald’s shoulder.

“Some sort of governing body, I imagine,” Donald said. He put his hand on the door and pushed. It was unlocked, like all doors in Interterra.

“Eureka!” Donald said as he caught a glimpse of some of the objects displayed in the room beyond. He pushed the door all the way open and stepped over the threshold. Michael entered behind him and whistled.

“No wonder we haven’t seen any weapons,” Donald said. “It looks like they got their own hidden gallery.” The room was comparatively narrow but extremely long. On both sides were display shelves cluttered with arms.

The two men had entered the gallery approximately halfway along its length. On the shelf directly opposite the entrance was a medieval crossbow with a quiver of needle-sharp quarrels. Michael leaned over and lifted the crossbow from its resting place. He whistled again. He’d never handled such a weapon. “Jeez!” he commented. “What a fierce-looking contraption.” He knocked the stock with his knuckle. The sound was a solid thunk. He twanged the bowstring. It was still sound. He held it up in the air and sighted along its shaft. “I bet this thing still works.”

Donald had started off to the right, but soon recognized he was going in the wrong chronological direction. The weapons were becoming older. Ahead he could see a collection of Greek and Roman short swords, bows, and spears. He turned and passed Michael, who was busy trying to bend the crossbow with a hand crank to slip the string into its locking device.

“There’s still a lot of strength in the bow,” Michael said as he succeeded finally. He placed one of the bolts into the guide and held the loaded weapon up for Donald to see. “What do you think?”

“It’s got possibilities,” Donald said vaguely while heading down the other way. He was encouraged when he saw the first examples of early harquebuses. “But I was hoping for something a bit more definitive than an arbalest.”

“I thought this thing was called a crossbow,” Michael said.

“Same thing,” Donald said without turning back.

Michael put his finger on the release lever and, without meaning to, discharged the weapon. The bolt hissed from its position in the guide, ricocheted off the basalt wall with a high-pitched scraping sound, shot past Donald’s right ear, and buried itself into one of the wooden shelves. Donald had felt the wind from the missile as it sailed by.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Donald roared. “You almost nailed me with that goddamn thing!”