“See that!” Nenda said as they emerged into the fading light. He was pointing at something that the Cecropian was cradling in her front legs. “An’ you thought we had a mystery before we went in.”

Atvar H’sial extended the object that she was holding out toward Rebka. He stared at it, too surprised and baffled to speak. It was a small black icosahedron about six inches across, as familiar and unmistakable as it was mysterious. He had seen hundreds like it, scattered on free-space structures all around the spiral arm. He had seen them on planets, too, used for every possible purpose — studied in science laboratories, worshiped and feared, used as talismans and royal sigils and doorstops and paperweights.

No one knew how to penetrate one of those objects without causing the interior to melt to an uninformative gray mass. No one knew their purpose, though there were hundreds of suggestions. No one knew how old they were, or how they had reached the places where they were found.

Most workers believed that the black icosahedrons were related to the Builders, although they were on a scale far smaller than the usual artifacts. Analysts had amassed powerful arguments and statistical evidence to support those claims. A few researchers, equally adamant, denied any Builder connection. They argued with some validity for another vanished race, as old as or older than the Builders.

Rebka reached out to take the little regular solid from Atvar H’sial. As he did so there was an urgent whistle of warning from Kallik and a cry of “Behind!”

Rebka spun around. For the past few minutes he had been neglecting his self-imposed task as lookout. The sun was on the horizon, setting in a final glow of pink and gold. It cast four gigantic elongated shadows along the spit of land on which he and the others were standing. And those shadows were moving, as the objects that were throwing them emerged from the water and reared up to their full heights. Behind them, swarming up from the deep offshore, came at least a dozen others.

Zardalu. The light was poor, but those black shapes against the dying sun could be mistaken for nothing else. They were boiling up from the sea, more and more of them, threshing the water with the force of their movements. Within seconds they were ashore.

And ready for action. There was no place to hide as they came gliding forward on splayed tentacles, straight toward Hans Rebka and his three companions.

Back at the seedship, J’merlia had watched the others go with mixed feelings. He certainly wanted to be with his dominatrix, Atvar H’sial, and he certainly was curious to know more about the structures on the shoreline that Kallik had seen. But at the same time he wanted to be left in peace to repair the seedship. It was something that he could do faster and better than anyone else in the group, and their presence would only slow his progress.

He watched them leave, nodding at Rebka’s final order: “If anything happens to us, don’t try heroics. Don’t even think that way. Get the ship up to space where it’s safe, and send that drone back to the Erebus. We’ll look after ourselves.”

Their departure confirmed J’merlia’s conviction that repairs would go faster without them. He had told Rebka and Atvar H’sial that the seedship and drone fixes would be about three hours’ work, but in less than two the drone was ready to fly, the seedship pull patch was in position, the seal perfect, and everything was ready for space. J’merlia tidied up, peered at the sun, and wondered how long it would take them to walk back.

Then it occurred to him that they did not have to walk. The seedship was ready to go to orbit, but it was just as capable of making atmospheric flights, short or long, around the surface of Genizee. In fact, a minimal hop over to the structures that Kallik had described would serve a dual purpose. It would save the others a walk, and it would provide a proof — though he knew that none was needed — that the seedship was back to full working condition.

The ship lifted easily at his command. He took it to ten thousand feet and held it there for half a minute. Perfect. Completely airtight. J’merlia descended to two hundred feet and sent the ship cruising west at a soundless and leisurely twenty miles an hour. Soon he could see the buildings, looming above the flat, sandy promontory. And there, unless he was mistaken, were Kallik and Captain Rebka and Louis Nenda and his beloved dominatrix, Atvar H’sial, standing by the entrance to one of the buildings.

J’merlia was fifty yards from the spit of land, all set to descend and looking forward to their surprise when they saw the carefully repaired and functioning seedship, when the nightmare began: he saw Zardalu, dozens of them, seething up from the dark water. They were on shore — standing upright — advancing fast on Atvar H’sial and the others. And his master and companions had nowhere to go! The Zardalu were in front of them; the steep-sided beach and deep water were on all sides. J’merlia watched in horror as Atvar H’sial turned and led the trapped group into the dark interior of one of the buildings.

They were only thirty or forty paces ahead of the Zardalu. The land-cephalopods came gliding with ghostly speed on their powerful tentacles, rippling across the dark sand. Within a few seconds they, too, had crowded into the first of the buildings.

J’merlia lowered the ship to thirty feet and waited, hypnotized with horror. No one emerged. No sound rose up to his straining ears. The buildings and the sandy promontory remained empty and lifeless, while the sun fell its last few degrees in the darkening sky.

And then there was nothing but darkness. J’merlia wanted to land, but Rebka’s instructions had been quite specific.

Get the ship up to space, where it’s safe. And get that drone back to the Erebus.

A Lo’tfian found it almost impossible to disobey direct orders. J’merlia miserably initiated the ascent command to take the seedship up into orbit, away from the surface of Genizee. He stared down at the world that was fast diminishing beneath him to a tiny disk of light, and wondered what was happening to the four he had left behind. Were they fighting? Captured? Already dead? He felt terrible about leaving.

He launched the little drone without adding to its message, and sat slumped at the seedship control console. What now? Rebka had given no further instructions. He had only told J’merlia what not to do: Don’t try heroics. But J’merlia had to go back and try to rescue Atvar H’sial — except that was in conflict with Rebka’s command.

J’merlia sat locked in an agony of indecision. He longed for the good old days, when all he had had to do was to follow Atvar H’sial’s orders. Why did Julian Graves and the others keep pushing freedom on him, when all it did was make him miserable?

He scarcely noticed when the seedship raced past the artificial moon of Genizee. He was only vaguely aware of Genizee’s sun, off to one side, and the all-around glow of the annular singularities that surrounded the system. And he did not see at all the great swirl of light in space, its vortex moving into position directly ahead of the trajectory of his speeding ship. The first that J’merlia knew of the shifting whirlpool was an unpleasant shearing sensation through his whole body.

Singularity. No time for thought, no time for action. His body flexed, twisted in an impossible direction, turned to smoke.

Isolated essential singularity. Amorphous, physically divergent. J’merlia felt himself stretching, expanding, dissociating. His problems were over now. He would obey Rebka’s command… because the decision had been made for him… because return to Genizee was no longer an option… because he was…

…because he was… dead. With that thought, J’merlia popped out of existence.