It’s my bat, Darya thought. And it’s my ball, and if you don’t go along with my rules you can’t play. My god, that’s what it is to them. They’re all crazy, and to them it’s just a game.

“Captain Rebka, Louis Nenda, Atvar H’sial, J’merlia, and Kallik will fly on the seedship,” Graves went on. He glared the group to silence. “And Dulcimer, Professor Lang, and E.C. Tally will stay on the Erebus.” He paused. “And I — I must stay here also.”

There was a curious diffidence and uneasiness in his last words.

“But I think—” Darya began.

“I know you do.” Graves cut her off. “You want to go. But someone has to stay.”

That had not been Darya’s point. She was going to say that it was asking for trouble, putting Rebka and Nenda together in one group. She glanced across at the two men, but Rebka was distracted, staring in puzzlement at Graves. Julian Graves himself, with the uncanny empathy of a councilor, somehow picked up Darya’s thought and read it correctly.

“We may need several individuals oriented to fast action on the seedship,” he said. “However, to avoid potential conflicts let it be clear that Captain Rebka will lead that group unless he becomes incapacitated. In which case Louis Nenda will take over.”

Darya half expected Nenda to flare up, but all he did was shrug and say thoughtfully, “Good thinkin’. It’s about time the action group had somethin’ to do. Keep the academic types all together back here, an’ mebbe the rest of us—”

“Academic types! Of all the nerve…” After the last year, Darya found such a description of herself totally ludicrous. And then she saw that Nenda was grinning at the way she had taken the bait.

“You may get your chance anyway, Darya,” Hans Rebka said. “Once we know the way in we’ll relay it back to you. Keep the Indulgence ready in case we have problems and need you to come through and collect us. But don’t start worrying until you haven’t heard from us in three days. We may need that long before we can send you a drone.”

He started to lead the seedship group out of the control chamber. “One other thing.” He turned back as he reached the exit. “Keep the Erebus engines powered up, too, all the time, and be ready to leave. And if you get a call from us and we tell you to run for it, don’t try to argue with us or wait to hear details. Go. Get out of the Anfract and into free-space, as fast as you can.”

Dulcimer was coiled in the seat next to Darya. He turned his slate-gray monocular to her. “Fly away and leave them? I can see that there may be perils for the seedship in passing through the singularities — especially without the services of the spiral arm’s master pilot. But what can they be expecting to find within the singularities, dangerous to us back here on the Erebus?”

“Zardalu.” Darya returned the stare. “You still don’t believe they’re real, do you, even after everything we’ve told you? They are, though. Cheer up, Dulcimer. Once we find them, according to your contract you’re entitled to twelve percent.”

The great lidded orb blinked. If Darya had known how to read his expressions she would have recognized a scowl on the Polypheme’s face. Zardalu, indeed! And she had referred to his twelve percent far too glibly. She was taunting him! How would he know what they found on Genizee — or how much they would stow away, to recover when he was no longer around to claim his share — if he was not with them?

Dulcimer knew when someone was trying to pull something over on him. Darya Lang could say what she liked about living Zardalu, the original bogeymen of the spiral arm, but he was sure that was all nonsense. The Zardalu had been wiped out to the last land-cephalopod, eleven thousand years before.

Dulcimer realized how he’d been had. They all talked dangers, and being ready to fly for your life, just so that Dulcimer would not want to go into the singularities.

And it had worked! They had caught him.

Well, you fool me once, shame on you. You fool me twice, shame on me. They would not trick him so easily again. The next time anyone went looking for Genizee — or Zardalu! Dulcimer sniggered to himself — he certainly intended to be with them.

The seedship was making progress.

Slow progress. It had penetrated the sphere of the first singularity through a narrow line vortex that shimmered threateningly on all sides, and now it was creeping along the outer shell of the second, cautious as bureaucracy.

Hans Rebka sat in the pilot’s seat, deep in thought, and watched the ghostly traces of distorted space-time revealed on the displays. There was little else to look at. Whatever might be hidden within the shroud of singularities, its nature could not be discerned from their present position. It had not been his decision as to who would travel on the seedship, but he realized he was glad that neither Darya Lang nor Julian Graves was aboard. They would be going mad at the slow pace, chafing at the delays, pointing out the absence of apparent danger, pushing him to speed up.

He would have refused, of course. If Hans Rebka had been asked for his basic philosophy, he would have denied that he had any. But the nearest thing to it was his profound conviction that the secret to everything was timing.

Sometimes one acted instantly, so fast that there seemed no time for any thought at all. On other occasions one took forever, hesitating for no apparent reason, pondering even the most seemingly trivial decision. Picking the right pace was the secret of survival.

Now he was crawling. He did not know why, but it did not occur to him to speed up. There had been no blue-egged robin’s nests in Rebka’s childhood, no idyllic years of maturing on a garden planet. His homeworld of Teufel offered no birthright but hardship. He and Darya Lang could not have been more different. And yet they shared one thing: the hidden voice that sometimes spoke from deep within the brain, asserting that things were not what they seemed, that something important was being overlooked.

The voice was whispering to Rebka now. He had learned from experience that he could not afford to ignore it.

As the seedship crept along a spiral path that promised to lead through the shell of another singularity, he probed for the source of his worry.

The composition of the seedship’s crew?

No. He did not trust Nenda or Atvar H’sial, but he did not doubt their competence — or their survival instincts. J’merlia and Kallik’s desire to be given orders, rather than acting independently, was a nuisance more than a threat. It would have been better if Dulcimer could have been on board and flying the seedship — Rebka knew he could not compete with the Chism Polypheme on the instinctual level where a great master pilot could operate. But it was even more important to have Dulcimer back on the Erebus, to take it out of the Anfract.

Rebka had learned not to expect optimal solutions for anything. They existed in Darya Lang’s clean, austere world of intellectual problems, but reality was a lot messier. So he did not have the ideal seedship crew. Very well. One took the crew available and did with what one had to do.

But that was not the problem that nagged at his subconscious. It did not have the right feel to it.

Was the world inside the shell of singularities actually Genizee, and would the Zardalu be found there?

He considered that question as the adaptive control system sensed a way through the next singularity and delicately began to guide them toward it. Rebka could override if he saw danger, but he had no information to prompt such action. His warning flags were all internal.

It might be the planet Genizee inside there, or it might not. Either way, they were going in. Once you were committed to a course of action, you didn’t waste your time looking back and second-guessing the decision, because every action in life was taken on the basis of incomplete information. You looked at what you had, and you did all you could to improve the odds; but at some point you had to roll the dice — and live or die with whatever you had thrown.