“I know. Don’t worry. Other body, back on Persephone. Waiting. Few more seconds, this body done.” The slitted eye opened wide, scanned. The stump of torso tried to sit up. “Darya Lang. Hans Rebka. Birdie Kelly. Last request. Turn me off. Understand? One week with no sensory input… like trillion years for human. Understand? Please. Turn me off.”

“I will.” Birdie Kelly knelt at his side. “How?”

“Switch. Base of brain.”

“I’ll find it. I promise. And when you’re turned back on it will be in your new body. I’ll see to it myself.”

A trace of a smile appeared on Tally’s guileless face. The first technicians had never gotten it right. The effect was ghastly.

“Thank you. Good-bye.” The battered head lifted. “It is a strange thought to me, but I will — miss you. Every one of you.”

The body of E. C. Tally shuddered, sighed, and died. Birdie Kelly reached down into the skull cavity, lifted the brain out, and unplugged it, then knelt with face downcast. It was illogical — this was only the temporary loss of a piece of computing equipment — but…

I will miss you.

The humans around Tally fell into a respectful silence.

That was broken by Julius Graves, staggering toward them from higher up the corridor where Atvar H’sial had put him down and abandoned him. For the past few minutes he had been blundering blindly into walls, futilely calling out the names of the others. They had been otherwise engaged. Now he was following the sounds of their voices. And just when he seemed to be getting close, they had all stopped talking.

Louis Nenda finally went over to him. “Come on, Councilor. The baddies are gone. It’s all over. You’re safe to join the party.”

Graves peered at him, seeing nothing. “Louis Nenda? I think I owe you an apology. We all do. You planned this, didn’t you?”

“Not just me. Me an’ At an’ Lang an’ Rebka. We were all in it.”

“But you had the most dangerous role — you had to lure them to the trap. That story you gave the Zardalu, about leading them to a safe escape. It was all nonsense, wasn’t it?”

Mention of the Zardalu made Nenda rub again at his sore back and middle. “I don’t know it was nonsense, exactly. Main thing is, they went into the vortex an’ the hell out of here. Mebbe they had a happy landing.”

“And maybe?”

“Mebbe they’re all frying in hell. Hope so. Hold still.” Nenda reached out and lifted Graves’s eyelids. He studied the misty blue eyes for a few seconds. “Don’t like the look of that. I tried to warn you about the Starburst. But I daren’t give too much warning, in case the Zardalu cottoned. You must have been staring straight at it when it popped. I don’t think you’ll get your sight back.”

Graves made an impatient gesture. “That is a detail. Back on Miranda, I’ll have a new pair of eyes in less than a day. Tell me important things. Was anyone of our party killed?”

“E. C. Tally. We’ve saved his brain. Nobody else is dead. We were lucky.”

“Good. That simplifies things. We won’t have to waste time on medical matters.” Graves gripped Nenda’s arm. “We must act quickly. We have an assignment of the highest priority. Since I cannot see, the rest of you must — as soon as possible — arrange a meeting for me.”

Nenda stared at him in irritation. The Zardalu were gone for two minutes, and Graves became as bossy as ever.

He felt a repeat of his earlier urge to roll the councilor down the slope and into the vortex. It would make life a lot simpler. “Meeting? With who?”

“Who else?” Graves tightened his grip and started walking Nenda forward, straight at one of the tunnel walls. “Who else, but Speaker-Between?”

In the next twenty-four hours Julius Graves learned what Hans Rebka and Darya Lang had long understood: Speaker-Between had his own agenda, with its own timetable. He did not choose to appear simply because a human wished to talk to him. They had to await his convenience, and the logic of that convenience could not be predicted.

With certain exceptions, the other survivors accepted that constraint. They concentrated on food, drink, and rest, and they needed all three. But Louis Nenda, muttering that being called a hero by everybody was worse than being called a villain, wandered off by himself; and a blind and insomniac Graves chose to follow, prowling the interior of the artifact with J’merlia as his eyes and guide. They rapidly confirmed Darya Lang’s theory that the artifact of Serenity was gigantic, equal in volume and living space to the biospheres of a dozen worlds; but only a tiny fraction of that could be attained, unless the traveler learned Speaker-Between’s knack of gliding through walls and floors.

Graves lacked that ability. As the hours wore on his agitation grew. He finally came back to the main chamber and joined the others, still restless.

“What’s the big deal?” Birdie Kelly asked. He had become Graves’s confidant, as well as the official custodian of E. C. Tally’s brain, which he carried with the distracted air of a man holding an unexploded bomb. “Tally isn’t suffering. Actually, he’s not doing anything at all. Must be nice to be able to switch yourself off when things get nasty.” Birdie became aware of Graves’s sightless glare. “Anyway, with the Zardalu gone, this place is safe enough. Come on, Councilor. Lighten up.”

“I’m not worrying about Tally. And I’m not worrying about us.” Graves flopped moodily down by one of the big Zardalu stasis tanks. “I’m worried about these.” He rapped the side of the tank. “And what was in them.”

“The Zardalu? They’re all dead.”

“Are they? Can you prove that to me?” Graves closed his blind eyes and slumped there breathing through his mouth. As usual when he spoke to Birdie, all his questions seemed to be rhetorical.

“I know they went down the vortex,” he continued, just when Kelly wondered if the councilor was falling asleep. “But who is to say that they are dead? Professor Lang is sure that the vortex is part of a transportation system. She says that Speaker-Between confirmed that, or at least didn’t deny it. Transportation systems are not designed to kill their passengers. Suppose that the Zardalu were transported safely — and have finished up somewhere in the spiral arm?”

“Suppose they were?” Birdie sniffed. “Big deal! They’ve been gone for God knows how long, eleven thousand years or something like that, and there’s only a few of them left. I’m not afraid of the Zardalu.” Not when they’re all dead, or thirty thousand light-years away, he added to himself. “I can’t see ’em doing much damage in a couple of days.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” Graves’s tone provided the “you idiot,” though he did not say the words. “I’m worried about tracing them. If this vortex is anything like a Bose Network Transition Point, the transition trail decays exponentially with time. Today we may be able to say just where they went. Tomorrow it becomes a bit more difficult. A week from now it’s a major task, and in a month it’s impossible no matter what technology you have available. The Zardalu could be tucked away where no one can find them. What do you say to that?”

Birdie was saved from saying anything by the return of Louis Nenda. That reluctant hero nodded coldly at Graves and Kelly and went over to the food-supply cabinets. He had a second satchel slung at his side, far bigger than his usual black one. He had made it, and a crude jacket, from webbing left behind by the Zardalu. He was packing the satchel and the jacket pockets with enough food for a week.

“Wish we had a way to heat this,” he grunted. “Cold food is lousy.” He turned to Graves. “Your buddy’s back, you know. Over in the next room but one.”