Wonder what it’s like down there, Louis Nenda had said. They were going to find out, and very soon. Like it or not, the seedship was heading for a rendezvous with Genizee. All they could do was sit tight and pray for the long shot of a soft landing.
Soft landing, or good-bye, life.
He thought of Darya Lang and felt sorrow. If he had known that this was coming, he would have said a decent farewell to her before he left the Erebus.
While Hans Rebka was remembering Darya and imagining their last good-bye, she was thinking of him and Louis Nenda in much less favorable terms.
They were self-centered, overbearing bastards, both of them. She had tried to tell them that she might be on the brink of a major discovery. And what had they done? Brushed her aside as though she were nothing, then at the first chance dashed off in search of Genizee — which she and Kallik had found for them — leaving her behind to fester on the Erebus and endure the babbling of E.C. Tally and the groveling of Dulcimer.
The Chism Polypheme was desperate to have another go at the power kernel. Julian Graves had ordered E.C. Tally not to release another radiation beam, so Darya was Dulcimer’s only hope. He pestered her constantly, ogling and smirking and offering her the unimaginable sexual delights that according to him only a mature Chism Polypheme could provide. If she would just crack open a kernel for him and let him soak in the beam for a few hours — a few minutes…
Darya retreated to the observation bubble and locked herself in. All she sought was solitude, but once that was achieved her old instincts took over. She went back to her interrupted study of the Anfract.
And once started, again she could not stop. With no Kallik to interrupt her work, she entered her own version of Dulcimer’s radiation high.
Call it research addiction.
There was nothing else remotely like it in the whole universe. The first long hours of learning, all apparently futile and unproductive. Then the inexplicable conviction that there was something hidden away in what you were studying, some unperceived reality just beyond reach. Then the creeping-skin sensation at the back of the neck — the lightning flash as a thousand isolated facts flew to arrange themselves into a pattern — the coherent picture that sprang into sharp focus. The bone-deep pleasure of other ideas, apparently unrelated, hurrying into position and becoming parts of the same whole.
She had felt that satisfaction a dozen times in as many years, in her work on the ancient Builder artifacts. One year earlier she had lost touch with that life, consumed by the excitement of pursuing evidence of the Builders themselves across the spiral arm and beyond. And less than a month ago, sure that her cerebral contentment was gone forever, she had gladly agreed to go with Hans Rebka.
Well, she had been wrong. Once a research worker, always a research worker. She didn’t have a hundredth the interest in the Zardalu that she was finding in the study of the Torvil Anfract. It was the most fascinating object in the universe.
And then, the paradox: as Darya tried to focus harder and harder on the Anfract, she found her mind turning away from it, again and again, back to her old studies of the Builders. It seemed like a lack of control, an irritating mental foil. The Builders were a distraction, just when she did not need one.
And then it hit her. The revelation.
The Anfract was a Builder artifact.
It was of a scale that dwarfed any other artificial structure in the spiral arm. The Anfract was a bigger project than the reconstruction of the Mandel system, bigger than the Builders’ out-of-galaxy creation of Serenity itself. Improbably big, impossibly big.
But the analogies with other artifacts, once seen, became undeniable. The light-focusing properties of Lens were here. So was the multiply-connected nature of Paradox. She recalled the Builder-made singularity in the Winch of the Dobelle Umbilical, and the knotted topology of Sentinel. They all had a correspondence with the structure of the Anfract.
And that meant—
Darya’s mind made the intuitive leap that reached beyond hard evidence. If the Anfract was a Builder construct, then the “natural” set of nested singularities around which the Erebus was orbiting was surely an artifact, too. But within it, according to Darya’s own analysis, lay the original Zardalu homeworld. If that was true, it could not be coincidence. There must be a far closer relationship than anyone had ever realized between the vanished Builders and the hated Zardalu.
A connection, between the Builders and the Zardalu.
But what connection? Darya was tempted to reject her own logic. The time scales were so incompatible. The Builders had disappeared millions of years ago. The Zardalu had been exterminated from the spiral arm only eleven thousand years ago.
The link: it had to be the sentient Builder constructs. The only surviving specimens of the Zardalu had been captured by the constructs during the Great Rising and preserved in stasis on Serenity far out of the galactic plane. Now it seemed that the world of Genizee had itself been shielded from outside contact, by barriers designed to discourage — or destroy — approaching expeditions. And only the Builders, or more likely their sentient creations, could have constructed those guarding walls.
Darya thought again of Hans Rebka, but now in very different terms. If only he were there. She desperately needed someone to talk to, someone who could listen with a cool head and demolish logical flaws or wishful thinking. But instead Hans was—
Dear God! She was jerked out of her intellectual trance by a dreadful thought. The seedship party was flying into something more complex and potentially dangerous than anyone on board had imagined. They believed that they were entering a set of natural singularities, with a natural planet inside. Instead they were entering an artifact, a lion’s den of uncertainty, filled with who-knew-what deliberate booby traps. There could be other barriers, designed to frustrate or destroy all would-be explorers of the region inside the singularities.
They had to be warned.
Darya waded out through the mess in the observation bubble — the floor was littered with her hard-copy outputs — and ran back to find Julian Graves. There was no sign of him in the control room, the galley, the sleeping quarters, or anywhere that he would normally be.
Darya cursed the huge size of the Erebus, with its hundreds of chambers of all sizes, and ran on along the main corridor that led to the cargo holds and the engine rooms.
She did not find Graves, but along the way she encountered E.C. Tally. The embodied computer was standing by the shield that surrounded one of the power kernels.
“Councilor Graves expressed a desire for privacy,” he said. “I think he wished to avoid further conversation.”
So Darya was not the only one who found Tally and Dulcimer’s yammering intolerable. “Where did he go?”
“He did not tell me.”
Any more than Darya had. He did not want them to know. “We have to find him. Has there been any word from the seedship?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, then. We’ll need Dulcimer, too, to do some tricky flying. He should be thoroughly cooled off by now. But first I must see Julian Graves. We’ll search the whole ship if we have to.” She started back toward the engines, examining every chamber. E.C. Tally trailed vaguely along behind.
“You take the rooms along that side of the corridor.” Darya pointed. “I’ll handle these.”
“May I speak?”
Gabble, gabble, gabble. “Do you have to? What is it now, E.C.?”