And the sooner the better, matey, Birdie thought. But instead of speaking, he picked up the message flimsy that he had put down on the table, brushing off the dirt and dried black mud that had somehow found their way onto it.

“I had been oddly reluctant to do so,” Graves went on, “and I suspect that my instincts knew something denied to my forebrain. But now I think Steven has put his finger — metaphorically speaking — on the reason. It concerns the Awakening, and the ones who went off to Gargantua.”

Birdie held out the grimy message. “Speaking of Miranda, this came in about an hour ago. I didn’t read it,” he said, in an unconvincing afterthought.

Graves scanned the sheet, held it out between finger and thumb, and allowed it to flutter to the floor.

“According to reports I have had since Summertide,” he continued, “the awakening of the artifacts ended with that event. For years, Builder artifacts across the spiral arm had been showing signs of increased activity. But now all that stirring has come to an end, and the spiral arm is quiet again. Why? We do not know, but as Steven points out, Darya Lang insisted that the events of this Summertide have an influence beyond this planet, or even this stellar system. The Grand Conjunction of stellar and planetary positions here takes place only once every three hundred and fifty thousand years. Lang did not want humanity to be forced to wait that long for another awakening, and I agreed with her. When she and Hans Rebka decided to follow the sphere that emerged at Summertide from the interior of Quake, I did not oppose it. When J’merlia and Kallik requested permission to go to Gargantua also, to learn whether their former masters were living or dead, I encouraged them and took their side, although I felt in my heart that this was scarcely my business. My task was to return to Miranda and report on the case that brought me here in the first place. But—

“That’s what the message is all about.” Birdie dropped the pretense of ignorance. “They want to know why you’re still here. They ask when you’ll be leaving. You could be in a lot of trouble if you don’t reply.”

Julius Graves ignored him. “But what could be assigned to me on Miranda half as important as what may be happening out near Gargantua? To quote Steven again, if we return to Miranda we will surely be assigned to another case of interspecies conflict and ethical dilemma. But if the Builders are waiting out at Gargantua, as Darya Lang insists they must be, then the greatest interspecies meeting in the history of the spiral arm is waiting with them. The ethical issues could be vast and unprecedented, and all these events may be triggered by the arrival of Darya Lang, Hans Rebka, and the two slaves — unless they have already been precipitated by the earlier arrival of Atvar H’sial and Louis Nenda. In either case, my own future action is at last clear. I must requisition a starship and follow the others to Gargantua. I do not say this immodestly, but their interactions could be disastrous without the mediating influence of a Council member. I therefore ask your assistance in finding me such a starship, and in outfitting it suitably for the journey to Gargantua…”

Graves was maundering on, but Birdie was hardly listening. At last, they were going to be rid of a useless drone — for that’s what Julius Graves was proving to be, even if he did happen to be a Council member. If he wanted a ship, Birdie could not stop him, though Lord knows where they would find one, with everything in such a mess. Birdie would have to do it somehow, because a councilor could commandeer any local resources that he or she deemed necessary. Anyway, the temporary loss of a ship was a small price to pay to get rid of the distracting and the time-wasting influence of Julius and Steven Graves.

“… Mr. Kelly, as soon as possible.”

The mention of Birdie’s own last name jerked his attention back to the other man. “Yes, Councilor? I’m sorry, I missed that.”

“I was saying, Mr. Kelly, that I appreciate this to be a time of considerable stress for everyone on Opal. With Starside Port out of action, finding a working spaceship may call for considerable improvisation. At the same time, I hope that you and I can be on our way to Gargantua fairly soon — shall we say, in one standard week?”

“Me?” Birdie had not been listening right; he must have missed a key part of what Graves had been saying. “Did you say me? You didn’t say me, did you?”

“Certainly. I know that Gargantua and its satellites are already fifty million kilometers away and getting farther every minute, but they still form part of the Mandel system. I discussed the matter with Commander Perry, and although his own duties on Opal prevent him from traveling, he believes a presence from this planet’s government is important. He is issuing orders for you to accompany me on his behalf to Gargantua.”

Gargantua.

Week-dead Dowser did not taste great at the best of times. Birdie pushed the plate away from him and tried to hold on to what he had already eaten. He stood up. He must have said something to Julius Graves before he found himself once more walking outside the building, but under torture he could not have recalled what it was.

Gargantua! Birdie peered upward, into Opal’s blue sky. Mandel was rapidly sinking toward sunset, as Opal and Quake performed their dizzying eight-hour whirl about each other. Somewhere out there, beyond the pleasant blue sky, out where Mandel was diminished to a squinty little point of light, there rolled the gas-giant planet surrounded by its frosty retinue of satellites. They were stark, frozen, lifeless, and dark. Even the best-prepared expeditions to Gargantua, led by the Dobelle system’s most experienced space travelers, had suffered considerable casualties. The outer system was simply too remote, too cold, too inhospitable to human life. Compared with that, Opal during a Level Five storm felt safe and welcoming.

Birdie stared around him. He knew it all, from the sticky familiarity of warm black mud underfoot and the thicketed tangle of vines that began just a few meters from the building, to the heavy backs of the huge, lumbering tortoises, making their unhurried way inland through the undergrowth after surviving Summertide at sea. Birdie recognized them all; and he loved them all.

Earlier in the day this whole pleasant prospect had seemed too good to be true. He had just learned that it was.

The Summer Dreamboat had started life as a plaything, a teenager’s runabout intended for within-system planetary hops. Everything aboard the ship had been designed with that in mind, from the compact galley, sanitation, and disposal facilities, to the single pair of narrow berths. The addition of a full-fledged Bose Drive had provided the Dreamboat with a far-ranging interstellar capability, while whittling the internal space down even further.

Its occupants — or at least the human ones — were cursing that addition now as wasted space. The passage from Dobelle to Gargantua had to be done using the cold-catalyzed fusion drive, which could make no use at all of the Bose interstellar network.

During the second day of the journey Darya Lang and Hans Rebka had retreated to the berths, where they lay side by side.

“Too many legs,” Rebka said softly.

Darya Lang nodded. She did not say it, but they both knew the cramped quarters were harder on her. He had grown up on Teufel, one of the poorest and most backward worlds of the Phemus Circle. Hardship and discomfort were to him so natural and so familiar that he did not even recognize their presence. She had been spoiled — though she had never known it, until the past couple of months — by the luxury and abundance of Sentinel Gate, one of the spiral arm’s garden planets.