At least the Indulgence was intact. But the ship was useless, as it had been for the past two months. Nenda had checked the engines every day. They were in perfect condition, with ample power. There was just one problem: they refused to carry the ship up from the surface of the planet. Something — the annular singularities themselves, or more likely the Builder constructs who controlled them — had inhibited every attempt at take-off.

“Quickly, Louis Nenda. This is no time for introspection.”

It hadn’t been more than two seconds since Atvar H’sial dropped him on the ground with his chest half crushed.

“Get off my back, At. Gimme time to breathe.” Nenda swung the hatch open. “If the engines don’t work this time, it’ll be the last shot of introspection we’ll ever get.”

The lift-off sequence had been waiting in the computer for two months. The navigation system was primed and ready. Louis was in the pilot’s seat two seconds after the hatch opened. Unfortunately, the power build-up of the Indulgence’s engines took a minimum of three minutes, and it was far from silent.

Three minutes. Three minutes of sitting, staring at the screens, wondering when the first head of midnight blue would peer curiously out of one of the towers, or lift from the calm sea.

“What do we do if the engines don’t work this time, At?” Was that the curling end of a long tentacle, or just a ripple on the blue water?

“We will chastise the Zardalu, blaming them for the inadequacy of their assistance to us in refurbishing the ship.”

“Right. Lots of luck.” It was a tentacle. And now a head had broken the surface. The Zardalu were swimming rapidly for shore, four of them, and now half-a-dozen more. They must have felt the vibrations, and known that they came from the engines of the Indulgence.