Burke heard the voices first—strange voices, speaking in a strange language.
The room came clear a moment later, cool and shadowy. Burke recognized it by its shape, and by the distinctive relief in painted stucco on one wall.
So his calculations had been correct. He'd landed in the apartment off the Queen's Megaron.
Cat-like, he moved towards the room's doorway, the voices.
The speakers were man and woman, apparently. And when Burke flicked the switch of the computational translator strapped tight to his belly, he found he could understand them almost as well as if they'd been talking English.
"... and you're a pretty thing, you know," the man was saying. "As a matter of fact...."
His voice trailed off, the last words lost in a rising feminine giggle. "Master Theseus! You're here to see my mistress, not me—"
Warily, Burke peered through the grating of a sort of grilled divider that helped to separate room from room.
The chamber beyond was larger than the one in which he stood. Brighter, too—a typical Minoan light-well spilled noonday sun clear along one side. The furnishings and the octopus frescoes on the wall showed an opulence that spoke of nothing less than royalty.
As for the man and the woman, they were alone in the room, and playing a game as old as time. That is, the man was trying to catch the woman—girl, really—while she strove to stay out of his reach.
Burke decided he could have taken her efforts more seriously if she hadn't kept giggling—not to mention slowing whenever the man gave any sign of pausing in his pursuit.
Then, abruptly, the man leaped across a low table, cutting her off.
The girl promptly tripped, and fell into his arms.
The embrace that followed was a trifle too prolonged for Burke's tastes. When it ended, the girl sighed, starry-eyed, and ran long, supple fingers through her companion's short black hair. "How can a warrior such as you, a hero, even look at a serving-wench like me, Master Theseus?" she murmured.
The man straightened and swelled out his chest; and now Burke saw that he was not only a good six feet tall and powerfully built, but handsome in a somewhat coarse, heavy-featured way.
"I'll deny no wench my favors just because she's of a lower station," he proclaimed pompously. "I've no doubt you'll keep a man as warm as this Princess Ariadne who's your mistress."
The girl giggled. "You mustn't say such things, Master Theseus! Ariadne's the loveliest woman in all Knossos."
"What—?" Theseus' broad brow furrowed, and he stood with mouth half open, looking more than a little stupid. "Are you trying to confuse me, wench? If this Ariadne's such a beauty, why must she send secretly for prisoners from her father's dungeon in order to find lovers?"
An uneasy shadow seemed to fall across the maid's pretty face. She moved restlessly. "It—it's the curse of Pasiphae, Master Theseus."
"The curse of Pasiphae—?" Theseus looked blank. "What's that, wench? Tell me of it."
"Of the curse?" The girl's smile grew suddenly stiff, and her hands moved in a small, nervous gesture.
Then, quickly, she came close to her barrel-chested companion and slipped her arms about him. "No wonder you're the pride of Athens, Master Theseus! Close to you this way, I feel your strength. It brings a woman all sorts of thoughts—"
Belligerently, Theseus scowled and pushed her back. "None of that, wench! This curse—tell me about it!"
The girl drew a deep, unhappy breath, "If you must, then—" And, after a moment's pause: "You know, of course, that Pasiphae is King Minos' wife; Ariadne's mother?"
"Yes."
"And also that she lusted after the sacred bull of Zeus—"
"—and so gave birth to the monster in the Labyrinth, the Minotaur? Of course. Who hasn't heard it?"
The maid looked round almost fearfully. "Do you not see, then, Master Theseus? There's the curse! Ariadne's daughter of a woman who's defied all the laws of gods and men. Who knows what evil may befall the child? So, no youth dares even look at Ariadne, no matter how great her beauty."
Theseus' jaw sagged for a moment. Then he bristled. "It's not because of my fame, then, my prowess as a lover, that she sent you to bring me here in secret?"
The maid bowed her head. But from his vantage-point, Burke could see her hidden smile—quick, minx-like. "She seeks only to escape her destiny, Master Theseus. In you, hero that you are, she sees one who might slay the Minotaur and take her away from Crete and the scorn and loneliness that so long have been her lot here."
"So!" grunted Theseus. "She'd use me, would she! Me, hero of Athens!"
His scowl grew even blacker. Then, abruptly, it faded. Sweeping the girl up bodily in his arms, he bore her to the nearest couch. "Enough of this empty talk, wench! We've wasted too much time already on your precious mistress!"
The couch groaned with their joint weight. Throwing the maid back, tilting her face up, Theseus strove to kiss her.
But now the girl drew away, struggling in obvious earnest. "No, Master Theseus, no! We dare not! Ariadne may come at any moment—"
"Let her come!" Athenian pinned maid with hands and body. "Let her see for herself who I prefer—"
Across the room, a door opened. A slim young girl, proud-faced and beautiful and poised, stood framed within the entry.
On the couch, the maid gave a little shriek. "Princess Ariadne!" Frantically, she tried to writhe free of Theseus.
He clutched at her as she spun erect. Cloth ripped as her whole skirt tore away, leaving her standing well-nigh naked.
The maid's face flamed. Whirling, she darted for the grill-masked doorway where Burke stood hiding.
It took him off balance; it was that unexpected. Before he could even get clear, jump back, she dodged behind the grating; crashed into him full-tilt.
Burke reeled back against the door-frame.
The maid screamed.
Like an echo, Theseus tore away the screening grillwork.
After that, for Burke, there was no choice. Instinctively, he knew that no matter what the cost, he must gain command of the situation.
Snatching the Smith & Wesson from his waistband, he leveled it at Theseus. "Stand back, you!"
Apparently the computational translator put words and tone into language the bull-necked Athenian could understand. He stopped short.
Catching the maid by the shoulder, Burke shoved her, stumbling, over to join her playmate.
Next, Ariadne, still standing frozen beside the far door:
"You, princess!" Burke clipped tightly. "Over here, on the double!"
The slim girl didn't move a muscle.
Burke snapped, "Come here, I said! Now! Do you hear me?"
Coldly, the great dark eyes took in Burke and his so-different garments. Then, in a voice edged with scorn, the princess asked, "And who are you, to command the daughter of Minos in her own chambers?"
Sweat slicked Burke's palms, his forehead. "That doesn't matter. It's enough that I hold the power of the thunderbolt in my hand here." He gestured with the Smith & Wesson.
"Indeed?" Now, coolly, Ariadne strolled in his direction. "Perhaps, then, you're a god; is that it?"
Burke groped. "Perhaps."
"Or more likely, you're just a thief from some far country." The girl stood very erect before Burke, oval face even lovelier for her anger. "What brought you to my chambers, dog? Or must I have you flayed alive to get an answer?"
The trouble with taking command of a situation, Burke decided, was that you had to be willing to go all out. And he wasn't.
At least, not with this slim young beauty.
Desperately, he tried a final gambit. "You, Theseus! Seize her!"
But now the Athenian's eyes had narrowed. His head came forward, just a fraction. It had the effect of making his body loom even larger than before. He looked belligerent and dangerous.
Burke tried again. "Theseus—"
"No."
Without volition, Burke found his finger tightening on the Smith & Wesson's trigger.
Beside Theseus, the maid whimpered. "Master Theseus—the thunderbolts—"
The Athenian snorted. "He's no god; he's a man. But if he reaches Minos with a tale of having found me in the Princess Ariadne's quarters, I'll be a long time dying." He licked thick lips. "No. Better thatheshould die. Here. Now."
He lunged at Burke.
Leaping aside, Burke thrust a foot between his charging adversary's legs.
The Athenian lurched wildly, clawing at the air.
Gun high for a quick blow, Burke leaped in close behind him.
Only then, incredibly, the other was whirling on one foot, with all the grace and skill of a ballet dancer.
Simultaneously, the other foot whipped up, kicking for Burke's groin.
With a desperate effort, Burke caught the blow on his forearms.
But now it was he who'd been feinted off balance. Before he could recover, a left-handed blow sent him tottering backwards.
Then he hit a couch. His knees hinged. He sprawled belly-up exposed and helpless.
Like lightning, Theseus seized a great stone jar, a pithoi. Muscles bulging, with unbelievable strength he swung it high above his head, poised to dash down on Burke.
Burke jerked his revolver up and fired in one spasmodic movement, straight at the pithoi.
Gun-thunder echoed through the chamber. The great jar shattered, cascading slack-jawed Theseus with shards and oil.
Burke rolled from the couch and stumbled to a new defense-point against the nearest wall.
But one shot had been enough for the Hero of Athens. He still stood blank-eyed, looking more stupid than ever as he stared in a sort of numb fascination at the shattered stoneware about his feet.
As for the maid, she'd fainted. And the expression lovely Ariadne now wore was beyond Burke's power to read.
But already, feet were pounding in the corridor outside. Guards poured into the room, half-a-dozen of them—great, strapping blacks with spears and swords and shields.
Six guards ... and only three shots left in the revolver.
Now the Cretan who seemed to be in command of the Negroes looked about uncertainly. "What happened, princess?" he asked. "Who are these men, these strangers?"
For a moment, Burke thought, a smile almost flickered at the corners of Ariadne's mouth.
Then, coolly, she said, "They're strangers to me, too, warrior. I only know that when I came in, this one"—a gesture to Burke—"was tearing the clothes from my maid. Then, he swore he'd possess me, also, and would have, had it not been that this other,"—the gesture was to Theseus this time—"fought to save me."
The Cretan's nostrils flared. He spat an order to the guards: "This dog is yours. Slay him!"
Burke's stomach churned. It was all he could do to breathe.
Was this the way his dream must end—here, now, before he'd even learned the secret he'd come after?
Only then, as the blacks started forward, Ariadne spoke again: "No, guards! Don't kill him!" And slowly, calculatingly, dark eyes strangely brooding: "For this man says he's a god, and for such a blasphemer a quick death is too good.
"So, let him live—to face my father, Minos!"
The place was called the Shrine of Oracles, Burke gathered. It featured distinctively Minoan pillars—of cypress, and so tapered as to be smaller at the base than at the top.
Also, it stank with a peculiar, acrid odor.
But beyond that, to Burke, it seemed disappointingly ordinary ... hardly colorful enough to rate the trial of a man accused of playing god.
That is, so it appeared until his captors dragged him into a central room ... and there, black-browed and haughty, sat bearded Minos on his throne.
A chill ran through Burke. Never had he seen such malevolence staring out of human eyes.
For his own part, it would be the supreme test of his skill and daring if he even left this room alive. With all his heart, he wished he had the Smith & Wesson back.
Lacking it, he'd have to rely upon his wits and play the scene by ear.
And that brought up another nagging question: why had Ariadne insisted on possessing herself of the weapon? And why did she take such pains to stay well separated from him, with others of his captors always in between?
Studying her now, it once again came home to Burke that she was indeed a strange, a tragic figure, for all her loveliness. For even here, in the presence of the mighty sea-king who was her father, her isolation showed up all too clearly. The guards, the priests, the nobles—as one, they walked wide around her, as if some mark of shame and menace were blazoned on her forehead.
Perhaps—
But now Minos leaned forward upon his carved gypsum throne. "Well, blasphemer? How do you choose to die?"
The monarch's voice echoed the black hatred of all mankind that gleamed with such intensity in his eyes.
Burke forced himself to boldness. "Who says I blaspheme?" he demanded.
"Do you deny it, then, dog?" King Minos came up from his throne in blazing fury. "Do you dare to say that the Princess Ariadne, my own daughter, lies?"
"When she says I claim to be a god? No." Burke laughed harshly. And then, with sudden inspiration: "It's only the blasphemy I deny; not the godhood."
"Not the godhood—?" Now Minos' eyes distended. A note of uncertainty crept into his voice. "You mean, you stand before me claiming kinship to the mighty ones, the lords of earth and sea and sky who rule men's destinies?"
"Do you doubt it?"
"Then name yourself, mocker! Who is it you claim to be?"
With a strange sort of detachment, Burke found himself mentally flicking through the pantheon for some name that would fit well with his own.
"Well, blasphemer?"
Burke twisted his mouth into a thin, wry smile. "Would you disown mighty Dionysus?" he queried coolly. "Would you drive from your midst the giver of grapes and wine and joy?"
"Dionysus—!" In awed whispers, the name ran round the crowded room.
For the fraction of a second, Minos' gaze flickered.
Only then, a new storm of belligerence seemed to shake him. He strode forward, shaking his fist. "We'll see, dog! We'll see! The oracle shall decide!"
The whole throne-room quivered with sudden hushed fear.
"Make way!" roared Minos. "Make way to the shrine, that the oracle himself may judge this mocker!"
Then, to Burke: "—And if he declares you false, you dog, you'll wish I'd thrown you to the Minotaur before you die!"
He pivoted; stalked down an aisle formed by the onlookers.
Roughly, Burke's guards shoved him along behind. A stone-walled well loomed, with broad steps leading down.
—The lustral area! The sacred place of purification that Sir Arthur Evans first had assumed to be a bath!
Only now, it was turning out in reality to be for revelation, not purification; a holy of holies where Man could receive the pronouncements of the gods.
The guards let go of Burke when he reached the steps. Apparently they had no intention of following him down into the pit itself.
Of a sudden he felt strangely nervous. His knees showed a tendency to shake.
But he couldn't let that happen, and he knew it. Not if he wanted ever to leave this weird place alive. So he straightened his shoulders and clenched his teeth and strode boldly after King Minos.
With every step, the biting, acrid smell grew stronger. Burke almost choked on it. He found himself wondering if perhaps the oracle spoke in trances induced by vapors; if maybe this pit were outlet for a pocket of some sort of natural gas.
Not even a whisper rose from the watchers in the throne-room. The only sound was the scrape of his own shoes upon the stone.
Then, at last, he and Minos reached the bottom of the stair. Dramatically, the sea-king threw wide his arms. "Mighty oracle of Zeus, it is your chosen one who calls!" he thundered. "Speak to me! Tell me—tell all of us—if this creature here beside me is a god!"
Silence.
"Speak, oracle! Give us your answer! Is this truly Dionysus? Or is it but a man, a blasphemer we should slay?"
More silence.
Burke choked on a sudden impulse to laugh. To think of it—a twentieth century man and a Bronze Age sea-king, together in this dank, smelly hole, calling on the gods for a revelation!
And what if the oracle's secret really turned out to be gas? Might it prove his own salvation—or at least give him a quick and easy death?
For instance, suppose he were to flick the wheel of his pocket lighter—would the all-pervasive smell explode or burn?
"Oracle, I am your chosen one, King Minos! I command you—"
Quietly, Burke palmed the lighter.
"Speak, oracle; speak!"
A sudden recklessness surged through Burke. He opened his mouth to laugh.
And stopped stone cold.
Because suddenly, out of nowhere, another mind was probing in his brain!
Instinctively, he strove to force out the invader.
The very effort gave him new insight. For now, as he fought, he knew that the mind which he had joined in combat was not human, but alien. Its whole quality and mode of thought were of another order, another realm.
Feeling that mind, fighting it, Burke all at once understood the malevolence he'd seen in Minos' eyes.
In the sea-king, he faced a man possessed.
Now, the alien thing sought to possess him, too.
Savagely, Burke met its probings. Sweating, straining, he fought it, hate for hate, and turned it back, and drove it from his brain.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the pressure was gone.
But in the same instant, Minos cried out, "This is no god! This is but a man!"
And from the crowd above, a thunderous echo: "Yes, yes! He's but a man!"
The bearded king turned on Burke. His sword-point scraped the grillwork of the translator case still strapped flat against Burke's belly beneath the clothes. "Up, dog! Up from this holy shrine and meet your doom!"
Bleak, dry-lipped, Burke started up the stair.
At the top, directly ahead of him and in the front row of those waiting, stood Ariadne.
As he climbed, now, her eyes caught his and, burning, held them for a moment. Then her hands moved in a quick, restricted gesture that momentarily pulled her stylized apron to one side.
The Smith & Wesson hung beneath it.
Burke drew a shallow, unsteady breath.
Six steps more and he'd be at floor level. That left no time to question motives.
Casually, he flipped back his lighter's lid.
Three steps more, now.
Another quick, shallow breath. Then, spinning the lighter's wheel with his right thumb, he knocked Minos' sword from his back with his left forearm and thrust flame straight at the sea-king's eyes.
The monarch gave a choked, incoherent yell and jerked back. A shove, and he was crashing down the stair.
Whirling, Burke charged like a battering-ram straight into the crowd at the head of the steps.
Screams, scrambling, panic. Burke dived across two fallen priests, at Ariadne.
The next instant he had the revolver, and his free arm was locked about her waist. When a thick-shouldered noble started towards him, swinging a great double-axe, he fired by sheer reflex.
The axeman stopped short, a shocked expression on his face and a hole in his chest. When he fell, the whole throne-room sounded with the hiss of breaths sharply indrawn.
Burke rapped, "I'm leaving. Your princess goes with me. Try to stop me and she dies!"
Out the door, then. Down a corridor.
Ariadne whispered, "Quick, my lord Dionysus! Up this stair, here!"
More halls, more stairways. Big rooms and little.
Finally, a tiny, windowless cubicle opening off a light-well.
Burke turned to Ariadne. "All right, princess. We'll hide here till dark, then get you out of Knossos."
A look of strain came to the girl's face. "My lord, it—it cannot be."
"It can't?"
"No, my lord. We—I—I dare not leave the palace. My father's men—they'd run me down within a finger's-breadth of time."
"Oh?" Burke studied her. "Tell me, princess, what makes you so sure?"
"It—it is the Minotaur, my brother." Ariadne's face took on a heightened color. "You see, Lord Dionysus, at my father's will the monster holds me here within the palace. No matter how I try to hide or run away, always he tracks me down."
Burke stood very still. "He—tracks you down—?"
"Yes, my lord." The girl raised a restless hand to smooth her jet-black hair. "His mind—it follows mine, you see. So when I would flee, he sends pursuers to drag me back." And then: "Lord Dion, I confess: at first I sought to save you so that you, a god, would slay the Minotaur and carry me away."
"I see."
"But now—I'm not so sure that you're a god."
"So?"
"So ... so...." The girl's voice broke. She hid her face. "My lord, I know only that I bear a curse. So, you must go quickly, and forget me. Because if you should die on my account, I—I—"
Her words faded into sobs.
A sudden tenderness rose in Burke. He held the shaking girl close.
And then, all at once, the things he felt were beyond tenderness.
It gave his problem a new dimension; added another element to complicate his road.
"Could it be that the Minotaur and the oracle really are one?" he asked abruptly.
Ariadne lifted a tear-stained face. "How did you guess, my lord?"
"This mind-track business—do you have any idea how it works?"
The girl's cheeks flamed. "Don't shame me, Lord Dionysus! You know he's only—half—my brother."
"And on account of that wild story about the sacred bull and your mother, Pasiphae, you think he's got powers beyond the human?" Burke snorted. "Believe me, princess, it isn't true. Either that creature's not half a bull, or else he's not half your brother. A thing called science says it can't be." He grinned suddenly. "My own bet's that he's neither bull nor human. And maybe the best way to check on that is to ask your mother a few questions."
"Then I'll come with you!" This eagerly, from Ariadne.
Burke shook his head. "No. We'll not risk your pretty neck on the kind of thing I need to do."
"To walk with a god can bring no risk, my lord."
"That's just the trouble, princess," Burke acknowledged ruefully. "You see, you were right. I'm a man, not a god."
"Then all the more reason for me to stay with you."
"There's no use arguing. It's settled."
A small foot, stamping. "Lord Dion, I shall go!"
"Sorry, princess." Burke smiled bleakly. "I'll see you at your quarters later. Meanwhile...."
He struck quick and hard, straight to her jaw, then gently stretched her limp form on the floor....
It was a jigsaw puzzle with too many pieces, Burke decided. No matter how he tried to analyze it, he always came out with a vital fragment or two left over.
Take the Minotaur. Did such a creature actually exist? Or was the thing simply a figment of imagination?
Assuming its existence, what about the strange mental powers with which it had tried to probe his brain?
Alien powers.
Yet if it were alien, what was King Minos' relation to it? Why would a human join hands with anything that radiated such malevolence and hate?
Or, for that matter, what was the relation between the sea-king and his own daughter, Ariadne? Freudians would have a field day with that business of the mind-thing's holding her within the palace at her father's behest.
Finally, staying on the personal level, where did Pasiphae fit in? What lay behind the legend of her having bribed Daedalus the Smith to build her a wooden cow so that she could be joined with the sacred bull? Could she actually have given birth to the Minotaur, or was that tale merely symbolic?
Then, looking at the larger elements, the questions that had brought him here to start with, what was the origin of the radiation traces on the site of Knossos? And how had the city so mysteriously fallen in a single night?
Questions without answers, so far. All of them.
Further—Burke checked his watch—it was past four now, and that meant he had only eight hours more before the palace met its doom.
Yet he couldn't take Ariadne out till he'd somehow immobilized the Minotaur.
Cursing under his breath, he wondered what had become of Pasiphae; why she wasn't where she belonged, in the Queen's Megaron.
Now two maids appeared, an older woman between them. Hastily, Burke flattened himself on the high ledge where he was hiding and waited to see what would happen.
Leading the woman to one of the low benches along the wall, the maids spread a tapestry-like cloth for their charge to sit upon, then withdrew. The door closed behind them.
Burke frowned. There was a strangeness about the whole procedure that puzzled him. Not a word had been spoken. And, once seated, the woman hadn't moved.
Warily, he moved a fraction closer to the edge of his ledge, so that he could see the woman better.
She was richly dressed, with skirts that fell in bright folds ornamented with lotus-blossom designs. Her bodice was the most ornate that Burke had seen.
Yet it was her face, rather than her garments, that held the largest part of Burke's attention. That this was Pasiphae, he could have no doubt. The resemblance between her and Ariadne was that marked.
The points of difference puzzled him, though. He tried to analyze them.
And then, all at once, he knew.
For where Ariadne's face was alive and expressive and animated, this woman's features sagged passive and loose. Her greying hair had the neatness of the maids' attention, but none of the flair that bespoke personal interest. Her eyes stared out vacuous and blank upon the room.
Burke's frown deepened. Carefully, he checked every detail again and again.
And then, in the position of her hands, he found the key.
For the fingers of the left were turned up and twisted at an awkward angle ... yet still they stayed there, minute after minute after minute.
Burke sucked in air. "Catatonic!" he exclaimed aloud.
The woman gave no indication that she'd heard him.
Dropping from the ledge, he came close to her: passed his hand before her eyes.
Still she gave no sign of awareness.
Burke shivered. "Pasiphae ..." he whispered. "Pasiphae!"
No answer.
Burke tried again: "Pasiphae, tell me about your son, the Minotaur."
Nothing.
"About Minos, Pasiphae. About Ariadne."
Blank, staring eyes.
Burke paused, considered. Then, leaning close, he whispered, "The thing, Pasiphae; the mind-thing. The creature that comes into your brain—"
Without warning, Pasiphae screamed. Then, before Burke could stop her, she was on her feet and darting past him—fleeing like a woman possessed down a long corridor.
Burke raced after her.
Then, just when he thought that he would catch her, she came up short; whirled on him, eyes suddenly wild and wide. "You! Are you one of them?"
"One of them—?"
"No, you're not! You don't make my head hurt like they did! They always hurt. Always ... always...."
She sagged back against the wall. Once again, her eyes began to glaze.
Burke said, "Minos, your husband ... is Minos one of them?"
Startlement. "Don't take him! Don't take my baby! I won't let them have him! I'll get him back! I will—"
The woman struck out at Burke, then ran.
Sickness in him, he followed.
Only this time, she turned sharply; plunged down a narrow flight of stairs.
Cursing, Burke half-fell down the steps.
It was dark at the bottom. He could see nothing of Pasiphae. But her footsteps still sounded so, groping, he tried to follow.
The next instant he stepped off into hip-deep water. Floundering, he fought for balance.
Something clutched at his legs.
Burke bellowed aloud from sheer shock. Desperately, he tried to scramble out of the pool.
The thing holding him let go. Shaking, Burke dragged himself onto the footwalk, flicked on his lighter, and stared down into the water.
An octopus with a head nearly double the size of his own met his gaze coldly.
Shivering, Burke closed the lighter and felt his way, an uneasy step at a time, along the edge of the tank.
Then at last he met a blank wall ... found another flight of stairs ... groped his way down them.
Close at hand, Pasiphae screamed shrilly and ran on again.
Abruptly, then, light, as a distant door opened. Burke sprinted towards it.
Beyond, when he reached the entry, lay the strangest room he'd ever seen.
For this was no half-barbaric Bronze Age chamber. Instead, it shimmered with the cold fire of a blue-white metal the like of which Burke had never seen before. Light pulsed from it—all of it, till he felt as if he were walking in some sort of tremendous lamp.
And there ahead, at the far end of the room, was Pasiphae.
Again, Burke sprinted.
Laughing wildly, the woman stepped into a cubicle.
Like magic, she vanished.
For an instant Burke hesitated, then entered the box-like area himself.
This time, the room through which he'd come vanished.
Almost instantly, then, another chamber appeared—one so vast Burke couldn't be sure where it ended.
A thing like a flattened cone stood in the chamber's center, looming like a miniature mountain.
Or perhaps one not so miniature.
It, too, was of the shimmering, blue-white metal. Not a sign of an opening marred its shining surface.
And yet, Burke realized numbly, there must be ports of some sort.
Because the thing was beyond all doubt a space-ship, a vessel designed for interplanetary—maybe even interstellar—travel.
It came to Burke in that moment, with grim humor, that he'd found the answer to his questions; most of them, at any rate.
The radiation; Knossos' downfall; the mind-thing that was the Minotaur, or vice versa—all such came clear now.
This was an alien colony, set down on Crete. Which meant that anything which might befall the native population would, in the eyes of the invaders, be seen as no great issue.
So, this was a good place to be away from; and the quicker, the better.
Bleakly, he looked around for Pasiphae.
She stood cowering a dozen yards away, eyes fixed blankly on the gigantic alien craft.
Slowly, carefully, Burke approached her. The best idea he could think of was to take her hand; he'd read somewhere that leading was the best procedure in dealing with any mental case.
Gently, he reached out.
But when his fingers touched hers, it was as if an electric shock had leaped between them. Screaming as before, Pasiphae ran from him.
From him, and straight towards the space-ship.
In frantic haste, Burke started to follow.
Only then, all at once, there was a blinding flash that centered on the woman. Tendrils of smoke curled up from a charred, crumbling husk.
Sick with horror, Burke stared for one brief moment. Then, at the double, he hurried back to the cubicle from which he'd stepped.
Now he noted that a duplicate stood beside it. Which, he assumed, meant that this was a two-way transportation system, leading from the ship to Knossos. How far apart the two were, he couldn't even guess at. Miles, probably. The very fact that transportation was called for would indicate that.
He stepped into the second cubicle; then, a moment later, out again in the room beneath the palace.
It bothered him a little that he still hadn't seen any of the aliens. He liked the idea of knowing what he was fighting.
But that couldn't be helped. The important thing now was to act quickly; to meet and defeat the Minotaur so that he could get Ariadne out of the palace before it was destroyed.
He checked his watch: nearly eight already. It was incredible how fast time slipped away.
Back up the stairs and through the tank-room to the Queen's Megaron. Then out the light-well by which he'd entered, and through the gathering dark to the Shrine of Oracles.
Because that was where he'd have to start; he knew that from the things he'd heard as prisoner. The entrance to the Labyrinth, the way to the Minotaur, was through some passage in the shrine.
Only there was a guard on the first entrance he tried, and on the second also.
In ten minutes he knew the truth: a mouse couldn't creep into the shrine tonight without being run through by a Sudani spearman.
So, he had no choice but to try a different route, the route of legend.
First, he'd have to locate Ariadne, even though it demanded another hair-raising human fly act, clambering down a pitch-black light-well.
Then, through her, he'd reach Daedalus, demand a thread, plunge into the Labyrinth.
Only that wasn't right. The legend said Theseus did that.
Yet Theseus was drunk, dead drunk, back there in Ariadne's quarters.
Or was he?
It dawned on Burke, then, that nothing but delirium could account for such confusion. How else could he be flying and falling at once? What other explanation would take in such a strange, shifting mixture of past and present?
Then, suddenly, he became aware of the cold stone beneath his back. In a flash, he remembered how Theseus had trapped him ... forced him into the sewer ... dragged him to the Labyrinth's one secret entrance ... struck him down....
Consciousness returned to Burke with dragging steps.
Perhaps that was because the place in which he now lay was so dark. It stayed that way even when his bruised jaw and aching head told him for certain that this was reality, not delusion. No matter how he strained his eyes, he could see absolutely nothing.
Not that it mattered. Because he knew where he was, beyond mistaking. His nose told him, picking up the acrid scent that had been so all-pervasive in the Shrine of Oracles.
Only here, it was worse. Here, it rose sharp and biting as the very smell of death.
And that meant he could be nowhere but in the Labyrinth itself!
The thought knotted Burke's stomach. Yet when he strove to move, his bonds held him, unyielding.
Theseus had done this job well, Burke decided. With no trouble at all, it could spell doom for him.
Which brought up another question: what time was it?
By the very fact that he remained alive, he assumed it still wasn't midnight; that Knossos hadn't been destroyed.
But even if he'd blacked out only for two or three minutes, the fatal moment couldn't be far off ... not more than half an hour, at most.
It was the kind of thought to put a man upon his mettle. Floundering, Burke tried to break his bonds.
It was useless. The cords wouldn't give a fraction.
That meant he had to find some other way out.
Twisting, he made an effort to check his pockets' contents.
Small change, a comb, two keys, his lighter.
His lighter—!
Involuntarily, Burke breathed faster. Squirming, writhing, he strained to bring his bound hands to where one could reach into the proper pocket, instead of just feeling what was there through fabric.
Now tingling fingers told him the cords had cut off circulation. Let his hands get too numb, and he wouldn't even be able to hold the lighter.
A final effort. One thumb slipped into the pocket. Burke hooked it into the opening and heaved.
A seam ripped, noisy in the stillness. The pocket's contents rattled on the stone floor.
Rolling over again, Burke groped till his trembling fingers found the lighter. Flicking back the lid, he spun the wheel.
Flame licked at the palm of his other hand. For a moment it was all he could do to keep from crying out, dropping the lighter.
But he gritted his teeth instead and, sweat streaming down his face, forced himself to lower the lighter carefully so that it stood upright on the floor.
Now, once again, speed became the issue. It went without saying that the lighter's fluid must be almost exhausted.
If it burned out too soon—!
Burke bit down harder. Heedless of the pain and sweat and knotting muscles, he forced himself to thrust his wrists down so the flame could play upon the cords.
In seconds, the stench of searing flesh and burned cloth blotted out the chamber's odor. Eyes squeezed tight shut as if to shut out the agony, cursing beneath his breath, Burke strained to keep his bonds taut and in the right position.
Then, when it seemed that he could stand the pain no longer, a cord snapped like a clipped wire. Another followed.
The next instant, Burke's wrists were free.
Sobbing soundlessly, he batted out the lighter, to save what fuel remained.
After that, the job became routine—a matter of stripping loose ends of cord from his wrists; working his fingers till circulation was restored; untying his ankles.
The burns still hurt; and, he knew the pain would be even worse later on. What to do about it, though—that was something else again.
In any case, he needed light.
Rising, once more he flicked on the lighter.
Mostly, it revealed emptiness and shadow. But there was a lamp-stand over to one side, so Burke made his way to it and lighted the lamp.
Now, for the first time, he checked his watch.
Eleven thirty five. Less than half an hour till Knossos met its doom.
It raised a new problem: what was his own best course now? To stay here? To go seek out the Minotaur as first planned? Or to drop back through the open manhole he now spotted over in one corner, and put his trust in flight?
That last idea—it had much to commend it. For one thing, almost any manhole where he might come up, save only this one, would put him in a position to keep a whole skin and escape the palace, even without the thread of Daedalus to guide him.
For another, any attempt on his part now to slay the Minotaur was doomed to failure in advance. Obviously. Theseus had made off with the Smith & Wesson. Without it, or equivalent, no one could hope to meet the monster and live.
Lamp in hand, Burke went over to the manhole and sat down on the edge, legs dangling, in preparation for the drop into the drainage tunnel below.
Only then, as he momentarily hesitated there, bracing himself, his mind turned to the one subject he most wished to avoid.
Ariadne.
It had to come, of course. He'd known it all along. You couldn't ignore a woman in a moment of crisis such as this one—not when she meant as much to you as Ariadne did to him.
So, what would happen to her, if he dropped down through this manhole into the sewer?
Answer: she'd die. In less than half an hour she'd die, without note, in the destruction of this strange, gleaming palace men called Knossos.
And nothing he, Dion Burke, or anyone else, could do would save her, so long as the Minotaur lived.
Now the question became, did he care about escaping, living, if he had to do it alone, without his lovely Ariadne?
Burke forced himself to hesitate on that one. He didn't want to react to it hastily, or casually, or emotionally, or without due thought and consideration.
The only difficulty was, a man's feelings weren't something he could put on or take off at will, like a suit of clothes. They were part of him, incorporated into every cell of meat and blood and bone and tissue.
And there was the answer to his basic question: win or lose, live or die, he'd leave Knossos only with Ariadne at his side.
Beside, hadn't the legends said that Theseus slew the Minotaur with his bare fists? Maybe a proxy could do likewise!
Swinging his legs up out of the manhole, Burke scrambled to his feet, somewhat heavily. The burns on his wrists were hurting worse now, and he hardly felt in the best of shape to do battle with a monster.
But it seemed he had little choice. So, lamp in hand, he moved along the wall looking for an exit.
It wasn't till he'd worked his way through half-a-dozen pitch-black chambers that two things dawned on him:
First, the solution to the problem of his scorched, seared wrists was oil; and such was available in the jars that flanked almost every lamp-stand.
Second, the quickest way to the Minotaur was to follow his nose. Once he'd located the source of the strange, acrid smell, odds were he'd also have found the monster.
Doused liberally with oil, Burke's wrists felt better. And it was no feat at all to choose his path by odor.
Yet time still seeped away ... he had a bare fifteen minutes left now, if his watch and calculations proved right.
How big could this cursed maze be?
Too big, apparently.
Then, just when despair was about to overtake him, a thin line of light gleamed far ahead.
A sheen of cold sweat came to Burke's palms. He moved forward more warily, more silently, than ever.
The light, it developed, shone from the crack beneath a door.
Like a shadow, Burke crept close; laid his ear against the panel, listening.
No sound.
Ever so gently, he laid the fingers of his left hand against the portal; pressed slowly.
New light appeared, washing through the crack along the jamb.
A moment of taut waiting. Then Burke put his eye to the opening and peered through, into a large, sumptuously-furnished room. The room of a noble, perhaps, or even a king.
The only thing strange about it that Burke could see was that what appeared to be a large tank occupied the center of the room ... a tank of shimmering, blue-white metal, utterly unlike the bronze of the Minoans; precisely the same as the material of which the great ship in the cave was made.
The hair along the back of Burke's neck prickled. Moving first to one side and then the other, he checked as large a portion of the room beyond the door as possible.
No occupants, so far as he could see.
With a quick push, he sent the door all the way back, swinging wide, while he poised rigid in the shadows.
Still no reaction.
Silently, Burke crossed the threshold.
Here the acrid smell was almost overpowering; and though the room itself was unoccupied, a strange, pulsating aura of evil seemed to flow through it in great waves.
Burke tip-toed to the shining, blue-white tank; peered down into it.
It held clear liquid only. But the stink of the stuff made Burke choke and gasp. His eyes burned. He stumbled backward, fighting for breath.
In the same instant, cloth rustled behind him.
Burke whirled.
A tapestry had been flung back, revealing a previously-hidden door. Framed in it, well over seven feet tall, stood a creature Burke couldn't believe even now, as he stared at it.
The thing was a man, at first glance—a giant of a man, mightily muscled. He wore nothing save the traditional Minoan loin-band.
But it was the creature's head that held Burke; froze him.
For instead of a human head, to match a human body, this monster had the head of a gigantic bull, with monstrous horns and great glaring eyes and nostrils that flared and quivered.
Burke's hand shook so his lamp almost slopped over. A slow step at a time, he tried to back away.
But now, with a great bull-roar, the monster's head came down. It lunged at him.
Burke hurled the lamp at it.
Incredibly fast, the thing dodged. The lamp struck the wall. Flame leaped along the tapestry.
But the Minotaur paid the fire no heed. Again it lunged at Burke, spearing in at him with one of the great bull horns.
Barely in time, Burke dived aside. Desperately, he scrambled past the central tank, searching vainly for some weapon. When he stumbled over a low stool, he snatched it up, glad for anything that he could use to strike a blow.
Another bellow. The monster launched a new charge.
Burke swung the stool.
But even as the blow descended, the Minotaur brought up huge hands to stop it. Catching the stool by the legs, the creature jerked it up, trying to wrestle it away from Burke.
For an instant, then, they struggled, toe to toe, fighting for possession of the stool.
But only for an instant, for Burke knew without question what the outcome would be; must be. No ordinary man could stand against this hideous freak of nature. It simply was too much to hope for.
Yet unless he won, what would happen to Ariadne?
Fiercely, he threw all his weight onto the stool, swinging by it, completely clear of the floor.
Then, savagely, he slashed a foot down, so that the edge of his shoe raked his opponent's shin from knee to ankle before it hit the instep with smashing force.
The Minotaur half doubled over. A hoarse gust of pain burst from its throat.
Burke let go the stool. With all his might, he struck straight upward, between the monster's outstretched arms to the great bull-jaw.
New sounds of anguish—almost human, this time. The creature lurched forward flat-footed, off balance.
Burke leaped back. Catching the huge horns, he gave them a tremendous wrench, with all his weight behind it, the way he'd seen bull-doggers handle steers at rodeos.
Something cracked, so loud Burke could hear it even through the tumult. He wrenched again, harder.
A tearing sound, this time.
The next instant, Burke tumbled to the floor.
And that didn't make sense, because he still gripped the Minotaur's great horns.
Spasmodically, he threw himself to one side and over.
Across the room, the whole length of the tapestry was in flames now, blazing and crackling. Eddies of fire danced along the cypress beam above it, and the door-frame.
In front of it stood the Minotaur.
Only now, the Minotaur had no head.
At least, not the great bull's head. That was gone, torn away, left to lie like a hideous mask on the floor midway between Burke and the creature.
Where the bull's head had been, atop the monster's mighty shoulders was now, instead, a human head ... the tiny, distorted skull of a microcephalic imbecile.
And on top of that head—eyes glittering balefully; tentacles hugging it tight to its host's skull—squatted what appeared to be a jet-black octopus slightly less than the size of a bowling ball.
Yet it was no octopus sprung from Earth's own waters. Burke knew that the instant he saw it; knew it by the way the creature's eyes fixed on him; knew it in the chill that shook him as the thing's evil intelligence lanced forth to lock in mortal combat with him in his own brain.
And in a way, all that was good. At least, it relieved him of uncertainty; demonstrated once and for all that he'd been right when he refused to believe offspring could come from the mating of bull and woman.
No, that was only fable; a Bronze Age fantasy.
The fact, quite probably, was that Pasiphae had given birth to an imbecile who also happened by some strange quirk to be a physical giant.
What better host for an alien telepath, a creature not adapted to Earth as a planet or to dry-land living?
Then, to conceal the truth, hide alien and microcephalic skull alike beneath a great bull's head mask, and build a labyrinthine domicile where only its victims would ever meet it face to face.
All of which was interesting as conjecture, but hardly of practical use to a man faced with an alien-guided, seven-foot giant as of this very moment.
Such thoughts—! In spite of his plight, Burke couldn't help but smile wryly. With a strong effort of will, he forced the alien's probing tentacles of thought out of his brain; rose slowly, warily, holding the octopod's glittering eyes with his own.
He was on his feet now; and, once up, he became distinctly, unpleasantly aware of the room's heat ... the billows of smoke, the roaring of the flames that leaped along the roof-beams.
It was time for him to leave. Definitely.
For the fraction of a second, he let his eyes flicker towards the door.
Like a flash, his giant foe lunged for him. Before he could duck or dodge, he was jammed back against the wall. Great hands shoved at his chest, pinning him.
Desperately, Burke tried to strike back.
His reach was too short. He couldn't land a blow.
Now a vacuous smirk wreathed the microcephalic's loose-lipped face. The tiny eyes shone with delight.
There was no change in the octopod's baleful glare.
Now the giant pushed harder ... harder....
Burke felt his ribs begin to give. He swung his arms wildly, clutching in a frenzy for something—anything—
His hand touched an oil-jar. He clawed it to him.
But the Minotaur merely shifted, blocking him so he couldn't strike a blow.
Death was very close now. Burke knew it. Another moment, and his ribs would snap and pierce his heart, his lungs.
A convulsive tremor shook him. Oil spilled from the jar.
Oil—!
With his last ounce of strength, he brought the jar up sharply, knowing even as he did it that his foe would block the blow.
But the oil would keep on going, maybe....
It hit the alien full in the face.
Burke could feel the thing lose control of its host. Even in his own brain, it was as if a crushing weight had suddenly been lifted.
Simultaneously, the human giant's arms dropped.
Burke ducked and threw himself bodily at the other's knees.
The imbecile fell.
And now, alien abandoned host, racing across the floor on its tentacles towards the shimmering, blue-white tank.
Burke snatched up a second oil-jar; hurled its contents.
The oil slapped over the creature in a wave. Fire leaped from the flaming tapestry to meet it.
The next instant the alien itself was a threshing, blazing ball.
Then a ceiling timber crashed down on it in a shower of sparks.
The threshing stopped.
Burke ran for the nearest door....
She wasn't there. Even when he ran back through her rooms, calling her name aloud, she wasn't there.
Numbly, Burke stumbled forth again, out onto the long ascending ramp that led to the central court.
Over on the far side, at the Shrine of Oracles, orange-yellow flames leaped high into the black night sky. Whipped by the buffeting south wind, they jumped to another building while Burke watched; then on to still another. Silhouetted figures ran this way and that—gesturing, shouting.
Once again, Burke checked his watch.
Eleven fifty-five now. Only five brief minutes till the moment all Knossos was to be destroyed, according to the time inverter's scanner screen.
Still Burke hesitated, straining his eyes against the night as he strove for some glimpse of Ariadne. In taut concentration, he listened for the distant echo of her voice.
Without avail.
Then, while he yet lingered, a man called out to him hoarsely. He wheeled just as one of Minos' huge Sudani guards came hurrying in his direction.
It was a stimulus Burke couldn't ignore. Another moment and the man might recognize him. Whirling, he sprinted up the nearest stairway, then across the flat roof of the back of the building.
A quick drop to the ground again. A daredevil slide down the steep East Bastion. A stumbling, headlong run along the bank of the river called Kairatos to the cover of a clump of cypress trees.
But now that he had started running, it seemed the best idea not to stop. On he fled, and on, clambering over boulders, careening into ditches.
Then, at last, he found himself in a crown of brush atop a little knoll, a good half-mile or better from the palace. Panting, unable to go further, Burke flung himself down in the blackest of the shadows and lay there, staring back at the strange, stark majesty that was Knossos.
The flames of the fire he'd started in the Labyrinth still were spreading. Sparks swirled in the wind, carried high by blaze-stoked updrafts; then dispersed, floating farther and farther from the central core of heat, till at last they fell again, to ignite new buildings.
Tearing his attention from the distant holocaust, Burke peered at his watch once more.
Twelve ten.
So the zero hour had come and gone, with nothing happening save the continued spread of the fire.
Burke felt a little sick. Had all his efforts, his anguish, gone for nothing? Was he to live out his life in Bronze Age Crete to no purpose save to prove correct that part of Pendlebury's theory that said that Knossos, dying, had been swept by fire?
Burke cursed beneath his breath. He still couldn't, wouldn't, believe it. It left too many loopholes. After all, what about the business of the radiation traces he'd detected; the blighted circle that showed on the scanner screen? Why, for so many hundred years, had Cretans shunned the site of their ancient glory?
Then, too there were his own personal experiences of the past few hours to think of. Pasiphae's monstrous imbecile son; the octopodal alien telepath—what roles did they play?
Not to mention the great, shimmering, blue-white ship hidden deep within the earth.
Certainly Pendlebury's theory offered little save the detail of the fire to commend it. The invasion part, the idea that outsiders had swept down on the palace with torch and sword—that simply wasn't true.
Not unless he, Dion Burke, might be said to constitute a whole task force in himself, just because by accident he'd set the Labyrinth ablaze.
As for his hopes, his dreams, the way he felt towards Ariadne—
A wave of sheer frustration came with the thought. Savagely, Burke hammered the dirt with a clenched fist. Then, breathing hard, he scrambled to his feet.
Only in that same moment, a sound pulsed in upon him ... a high, thin, wailing sound that rose in sudden sharp crescendo.
Burke spun round.
But before he could even place the noise, the earth beneath his feet began to shake. A roar, louder and deeper than the bellow of a thousand angry bulls, thundered up to counterpoint the wail.
Simultaneously, light flared, so blinding bright Burke had to throw up his arms to shield his eyes.
The glare seemed to come from the southeast, off in the direction where Mount Lasithi's rocky pinnacles rose.
Mount Lasithi, whose towering, cliff-girt bastions shielded the sacred Cave of Zeus....
While Burke cringed, the radiance seemed to fade a little. The earth-shaking roar diminished also. The shrill wail struck a slightly less ear-piercing note.
Another moment, and Burke dared to squint skyward once more.
What he saw made the hair stand up along the back of his neck.
For off there, to the southeast, a great spray of light radiated out from Mount Lasithi. Before his very eyes, the whole crest seemed to split asunder. Rocky buttresses crumbled. Great crags and ledges split away.
Up from among them rose a huge, flattened, metallic cone—the blue-white ship at which Burke had stared in awe brief hours before.
Light pulsed from it now, as if it were a miniature sun. Rock fell away from the craft in avalanches as it broke free of the mountain.
Now the light drew into a single, broad, fan-shaped shaft that thrust down from the ship's base to the rugged terrain of the shattered mountain below. The thing began to climb, faster and faster.
Then, as it gained altitude, it swung round in a tremendous, wheeling circle ... swung round, and then straightened, and lanced earthward once more, straight for the flaming tumult that was Knossos.
Burke threw himself flat in the dirt.
It was wasted caution. He might as well not have been there. The alien ship went wide of him by miles.
Another moment, and it was hovering over Knossos; leveling off till its base was parallel to the ground below.
Slowly, slowly, then it descended, riding down on its fan-shaped shaft of light till it hung bare feet above the tops of the buildings. For an instant, Burke thought it must surely be going to land.
But no. For suddenly, the light-shaft pulsed brighter by a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times. The ship spun in a low, flat circle that carried it over the entire area of the palace and surrounding grounds in seconds.
Then the wailing sound went shrill again—so shrill Burke clapped his hands over his ears. The ship peeled away from the palace and lanced into the sky like an electron-streak. In a flash, it was gone—gone from Knossos, from Crete, from Earth itself ... a dim and distant pinpoint, sparkling as it faded away, incredibly fast, into the night.
Numbly, Burke turned once more to the palace.
So far as he could see from this vantage-point, no sign of life remained. It was as if a giant hammer had smashed down on it; reduced it to a heap of tumbled stone. Even the fires were dead.
And Ariadne—?
Burke couldn't let himself think about her. Better to marvel at the alien ship, with its pulsing power that shattered mountains and wiped out cities. Better to grope for some bitter tendril of satisfaction that at last he'd learned the truth about the palace's destruction.
As if that would do him any good now.
Because always, always, fight as he might against it, Ariadne was in his mind and heart alike.
Yet perhaps she'd survived. After all, he'd not been able to find her in her quarters. And she'd promised to meet him—where was it?—on the headland to the left of the mouth of the River of Amnissus.
At least, hunting for her would give him something to do; something to occupy his muscles and maybe, even, a small part of his brain.
So, now, he rose; turned towards the sea.
It was nearly dawn before he found his way to the headland. By then, the wind had died, and the sky in the east lay grey as the whispering, slate-colored waves.
A spark of tension came to life within Burke. Suddenly eager, heedless of fatigue, he clawed his way to the headland's highest point and scanned the whole area.
No sign of Ariadne.
The spark flickered; died. Dully, Burke stared out across the shadowy sea.
His life from now on would be like that: grey; all grey.
It didn't even matter that now he could see the hidden pattern behind the rise of Bronze Age Crete.
The alien ship's presence was, of course, the key.
Obviously, that ship had brought the biggest part of so-called Minoan culture with it. That was why Cretan civilization had flowered so incredibly fast. Perhaps even the Minoans themselves had arrived on Earth aboard the craft, as dry-land slaves in the service of masters better adapted to a liquid environment.
Why had the aliens come? That was a question harder to answer. But whether because of external foes or internal problems, the creatures had been looking for a new world to colonize. And since the Mediterranean teemed with octopi, Cephalopoda, no doubt Crete had offered advantages. Maybe there'd been experiments—attempts to cross-breed the superior, telepathic aliens with the less-highly-developed native octopi. Or perhaps the intruders had merely sought to adapt themselves to life in water, rather than the smelly stuff in the Labyrinth tank.
In any case, they'd held Crete for a long, long time—the way they'd buried their ship in the heart of Mount Lasithi proved that.
Minos, in turn, had played the role of a Quisling, power-hungry intermediary between his own race and the aliens. To hold his kingship, he'd had Daedalus build the Labyrinth, to serve as quarters for the alien overseer who, in the guise of oracle, held final power in Knossos. And when a human host for this octopodal commandant had been demanded—a man to serve as transportation for the creature—Minos had blackened his wife's name and dedicated his imbecile son to the duty.
Or perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps he'd done the things he'd done reluctantly, and only in order to save his people from alien wrath such as had struck tonight.
In any case, the death of the alien in the Labyrinth had served as trigger for the disaster. One of their number slain, the extraterrestrials no doubt had concluded Earth unsafe, and so had fled back to the outer space from which they'd come.