A night passes, tainted by anxiety and the threat of enemies nearby, and even before daybreak, "Yovne" is ready to meet with her new benefactors. They rally up their caravan of Dromodons and far more fierce-looking pack animals (perhaps some of them acquired on the other worlds?), and set their wagons in line, awaiting the word from the Kampfzengruppe soldiers that the allotted time has passed, and the Gateway can be activated again.

An argument erupts with some other merchants who show up, who had not been informed of the change in plans – They had come, expecting to do business with whatever other world the Gateway was to be opened to today, and not expecting it to be Behemoth. Sharp words and even threats are exchanged, and a Lapi merchant from the Himar region pushes his luck and his bluster too far: When he pushes his face into the obscuring mask of a Kampfzengruppe officer, and goes so far as to shove him, the officer whips out a pistol from his holster – and shoots him at point-blank.

A pistol? Yes, and a very bulky and unwieldy one at that. There is not the crack of gunfire, but rather a soft THUMP and hiss, and the scream of the wounded Lapi merchant, until the scream is abruptly cut off (and Yovne is not in a position to see just how that was accomplished, what with her limited vision and the many intervening bodies). Some of the Himarian merchants cry out in alarm, and even a couple move to avenge their fallen master, but at the brandishing of several more weapons from the soldiers, they lose their courage, and quickly melt away like sands blown by the desert wind.

The Khatta seem not the least bit surprised (uncomfortable, perhaps, but not surprised) by this event, but simply bide their time for the opening of the Gateway. The Gateway is at last opened, and the caravaners start rolling in their wagons. Despite what the two Khatta brothers might have made one believe, it appears that they are not in command of the entire caravan, but rather only a few wagons that are part of it, and they are nowhere near the front.

As wagons start to roll in, the absence of any obvious Temple presence is rather conspicuous – but at last a Templar in brightly colored armor and white kadiban and over-robe rides up with his entourage: Eustace do Varr, fashionably late. He has a smug look about him, as if he knows a secret and he would positively love to blurt it out just to see the looks on people's faces.

The short Zerda riding on a large bug next to him (a bug that for lack of a better description looks like a non-sapient beast of burden from whatever stock the Zerda originated from) looks distinctly sour by contrast, scanning the crowd warily, though putting on a facade of humble deference when anyone looks his way. When the body of the slain Lapi merchant is carried off, Eustace only gives a glance of mild disinterest, and perhaps a momentary nose-wrinkle at the most. Ra Shrikendune gives a judging look, and one might imagine him trying to figure out whether Envoy the Rogue Mage might be somehow responsible…

The wagons continue onward, taking their turns, and occasionally slowing when some merchant's beast balks at the thought of being forced to try to walk into that strange watery surface that forms a portal to another world … or because of the hold-up of some beast on the other side collapsing or panicking upon reaching the other end.

(The riders look to have their own misgivings as well, even those who apparently have gone this route before. The experience of having one's stomach turned inside out and stretched to cosmic proportions, then stuffed back again into more mortal constraints is bound to be hard to get used to, even for the promise of material gain. Yovne can't see the look on the faces of Eustace do Varr or Ra Shrikendune, alas.)

And now, Envoy's wagon is next. They pass the floating ghostly orbs that represent the planets of the Primus System, and a thin ethereal link spans the blue marble of Sinai, to the orange colossus of Behemoth. The two brothers take heavy swigs from a flask of some sort of potent-smelling elixir. Perhaps it's a potion against stomach trouble. Perhaps it's a potion of liquid courage. Through the rippling window can be seen a view of a crystal structure beyond, and a vast, gaseous expanse stretching out below; an airless, star-filled sky hovers above.

For her part, Yovne shows no outward signs of distress beyond the usual waving of antennae. Inside the costume, however, Envoy feels a bit of dread at the thought of Shrikendune coming along on the expedition. Can I really trust Eustace not to sell me out if he thinks it will win him favor with the Guild? she wonders uncomfortably.

Although Envoy's picture-perfect memory is quite capable of bringing up Eustace's smug, sure-of-himself expression she saw just a moment ago, no powers of hers allow a pry into the workings of his mind. And there is little more time to fret over the issue, before Abas and Aban manage to coax their beasts forward through the Gateway. The bizarre process that follows is one that Envoy is familiar with, though it is not quite something to get used to. Space stretches out and twists in unnatural ways, and Envoy has the strange sensation of shooting up from Sinai and through space, of being in several places at once, countless kilometers apart, of wrenching past the Procession and various satellites of the planet that whisk by too quickly to be clearly seen … and then, converging upon the gaseous world of Behemoth, in the distance seeming like a faceted polyhedron, but – closer – a gas ball surrounded by a delicately thin network of crystal tunnels of extraordinary length.

And then she, Aban, Abas, and the two poor Dromodons are crammed back into normal space again. With bellows of anguish from the beasts, and yowls of alarm from the Khattas, the wagon arrives in a large crystalline structure hovering somewhere above the outermost gases composing Behemoth.

"We must make way for the next wagon," Yovne quietly reminds the startled brothers. Somehow, she thought the merchants would be more dignified about the transition.

Aban moans, putting a hand to his forehead, while Abas looks annoyed, grabbing up the reins and snapping them, urging the beasts forward, before the Kampfzengruppe guards can come forward with their prods to encourage the beasts to move on. The Dromodons obey, and wobble their way from the gate, as the next wagon and its crew make their less-than-dignified arrival.

The walls of this chamber are fashioned of Sifran crystal that is opaque, frosty white near thickened seams and supports, but turns clear near the center of each panel, offering a fragmented view of the stars above and the swirling, earthy-colored gases below. Little can be seen of the crystal network stretching along the horizon, but veins of light pulse here and there, underscoring the fact that this is a Sifran site that is functioning and alive … and something in Envoy's mind hints to her – some little hunch – that it may have the capacity for growing and changing as well.

Numerous channels branch off to tunnels leading away, and as Abas guides the wagon to a somewhat disorganized holding area for the arriving wagons and their beasts, what looks for all the world like a giant glass bubble – large enough to hold any two of these wagons – rolls and slides down a channel, the motions of its seams complex and suggesting multiple layers inside.

Yovne turns her head this way and that to take in the vista, since her mask provides only a limited field of view. She can't help but wonder at the purpose of the network – and by extension the purpose of Behemoth itself. This place corresponds to the Probe in my quest, and I seek sensory systems for the Leviathan. Perhaps this is some sort of Sifran observatory? she wonders.

The first wagon is far across the holding platform, and its riders disembark, some of them casting aside their desert robes to reveal chitin armor and tabards with the sign of the Star and Anchor underneath. Among them is a Khatta in robes of gold, with the symbol of Light on it, flanked by a couple of Jupani. They halt merchants and start pulling off covering blankets, prodding at large packages. The Jupani sniff everywhere. "What's going on?" Aban says, slowly recovering from his discomfort after the gateway journey.

"Perhaps they are searching for stowaways or vermites," Yovne suggests. What she really believes is that they are searching for her though.

The giant glass marble rolls to a stop at one point along its channel, then splits open much like the glass window-doors at the Tower of Abaddon, or the one window-door exit at the Tower on Sinai. Its two halves fold on each other, revealing a flat disc-like platform that lies horizontally within, until the marble gives way to a crystalline hemisphere resting flush with the platform. One of the merchants starts to lead his team toward this strange device, but a Zelak bars his way.

More wagons roll in. "That's the last one!" a Jupani barks from next to the Gateway.

There's nowhere I can flee too, and doing so would only betray me, Envoy thinks, furiously looking for a way to avoid detection. The Light Mage doesn't worry her, since Scrying magic isn't likely to work anyway. But Zelak and Jupani noses are something else again, and she can only hope her disguise is sufficient to fool them.

"No one said anything about this," Abas grumbles, turning in his seat and looking around. "The Temple. What are they up to?"

A couple of Kampfzengruppe guards near the entrance walk up to Eustace do Varr. By their pose and the sounds of their voices, they're displeased about something – or so Envoy might assume. Unfortunately, Bosch (or whatever it is they speak) is not yet in her amazing repertoire of languages, and as she thinks on it, she hasn't heard a Kampzengrupper yet say something in a pleasant-sounding tone. (If anything, one might assume that when they're pleased, they say nothing at all.)

"Master do Varr is a candidate seeking to found a new Knightly Order of the Temple of Rephidim," Yovne explains. "From what I have heard, only one other has successfully completed a candidate quest. It is to be expected that they would be very cautious and security minded." She hopes that's the case, at least.

A Jupani guard rips the cowl from a member of the entourage two wagons ahead of Aban and Abas. There is some shouting and barking, and a couple of other Jupani rush over, dragging the unfortunate fellow to the ground. They tear off the stranger's cloak, and Envoy catches a sight of feathers and scales underneath – a Nohbakim? The Jupani poke and prod at the hapless Nohbakim, forcing him to strip down, and suffer other indignities, as if they feel some need to make sure that what they see is real.

A Kampfzengrupper soldier shouts out, and there's a thundering BOOM. A gunshot! (Wherever that bullet went, since it's not followed by explosive decompression or a loud crack, one can hope that the structure exhibits the legendary strength of many varieties of Sifran crystal.)

That isn't a good sign, Envoy thinks, since her own disguise is heavily reliant on clothing, but her train of thought is interrupting by the gunshot, and she turns her attention back towards the soldier.

Several soldiers converge on the scene with the Nohbakim, guns readied, and accordingly several of the Jupani guards break away from searching the wagons to head toward the commotion as well. Envoy can only make out snippets from the argument ensuing, though it largely seems to deal with matters of who is in charge here, and who has the authority to do what. One of the Kampfzengruppers knows enough Standard to be demanding to speak to the leader of this expedition immediately. Aban and Abas look increasingly less comfortable. "We shouldn't have come," Aban moans. "The Temple, the Emirate and the Kampfzengruppe are going to go to war, and here we are right in the middle of it!"

"I am sure it will not come to that," Yovne says, trying to sound reassuring without putting too much actual inflection into her Nohbakim voice. "The Temple will not risk losing access to the Gateway."

"I am sure they will not, our good and noble friend," Aban says, "but will that young man whom you said has ambitions to become a knight?"

Envoy pauses to consider this. She remembers Eustace as being rather brash in his recent youth. "Perhaps the Mages Guild representatives will help him to see reason," Yovne finally suggests.

The fennec witch hunter, meanwhile, shoves his way through the crowd, in a way entirely unbecoming of stereotypical Himaatian etiquette, as he makes his way to the fallen Nohbakim. "This is not the one!" he barks, loudly enough that Envoy can make it out through the crowd. "Move on!"

A couple more glass marbles roll through two different tunnels, and coast to stops near the platform. Envoy can see that the tunnels actually have thin layers of crystal that seal them off, though they crackle and open as a sphere rolls through, and then slowly start to seal again once they move through. As before, the Zelak prevents anyone from approaching the orbs as they split open into a couple more hemispheric platforms.

Perhaps they will shoot Ra, although it would be improper to hope for such a thing, Envoy thinks. She does hope the Light Mage is taking note of the Zerda's behavior, and how it could adversely reflect on the Guild though.

Eustace leans over and whispers something in one of the fennec's large ears. A couple of guards move in the way before Envoy can see what sort of reaction the witch hunter has to this.

While she awaits the outcome of Eustace's intervention, Envoy wonders about Nohbakim marriage practices. Could she claim that only her husband is allowed to see her disrobed – and that anyone who attempts to do so to her is proposing marriage by the act? It might at least make the Jupani hesitate, if not the Zelak.

Another person is hauled down from the wagon in front of this one, prompting a yowl from the hunchbacked Khatta who is mistaken (it seems) for a Nohbakim by the overly agitated Jupani. The Kampfzengruppe continue to brandish guns, while the Temple Guards keep to their sabers, and Eustace seems to be putting on a face of peacemaking, even while the guards continue their work.

Abas growls, "I will sooner die than let one of those idiots strip me down. I will not suffer such indignity!" He clutches the mother-and-pearl pommel of a curved dagger sheathed within his broad sash.

Aban raises his eyebrows in alarm. "No, brother, think rationally, not like a Jupani!"

"Is it not true that the Kampfzengruppe and the Off-World Legion are in authority on the Gateway Worlds, by treaty with the Emirate?" Yovne asks Aban. "I would not suffer the indignity of being searched either, as it will certainly damage my reputation."

Aban looks between his brother and the Nohbakim, and gives them a forlorn expression. At last, he nods. "You are right. By the Scimitar and the Dagger, we are to live and die by the pride of the people of the Himaat." He says it with a tone of one trying to make a speech to encourage his own ears and to instill a courage he doesn't wholly have.

Yovne turns her attention back towards Eustace, to see if he is making any progress at defusing the situation.

If Eustace is accomplishing anything, it is only to prolong the confrontation, translating into it taking a bit longer for the guards to work their way toward the wagon of the Sons of Abdel and their "Nohbakim" passenger.

Yovne begins to fidget slightly. It probably wouldn't be good if a Temple guard was bitten by one of her antennae, after all. It would be even worse if her identity was exposed as well.

A couple of Jupani walk over toward Envoy's wagon. One of them is a Jupani woman, with sandy-brown fur and raven black hair tied back in a braid, whereas the other is a white Jupani male with only a tuft of gray on top that suggests head-hair. They ignore the other wagons, walking up toward the wagon of Aban and Abas with what looks like casual purpose.

Crossing her arms across her chest and clutching her cloak about her, Yovne tries to shrink down into her seat. Drats, one of them is female, she thinks, doubting that her ploy of claiming indecency will hold now.

"Yovne of the Nohbakim?" the female Guard asks, looking up from a parchment. "We would like to ask you a few questions, if you will come with us."

"Questions?" Yovne asks. "Is that what you were doing to those who were dragged out of their wagons? Where do you mean to take me?"

"To the side," the Guard repeats, while her male partner remains silent. "If need be, we will use force, but it would be in your best interest to be quiet. Lord do Varr assigned us to give you special consideration."

Resigned – and hopeful that do Varr will keep her secret – Yovne steps down from the wagon. "There will be no need for force. I have always cooperated with the Temple."

The silent white wolf offers Yovne a hand down, even as Abas hisses, "If our guest is dishonored, we are obliged by the code of the desert to seek retribution! The Emir will hear of this!"

"Lord do Varr is a gentleman," Yovne whispers back towards Abas. "I am sure there will no improprieties."

The sandy-brown Jupani, meanwhile, just nods, and leads the way over to stand at the edge of one of the "marble" channels, even as another group of Jupani come up and briefly size up the two alarmed Khattas and start going through their possessions. "Now then, questions. What is your name, Yovne? What is the name of your tribe? What's your favorite type of sand? Please try to sound convincing. It's noisy, but Jupani ears are keen."

"My name is Yovne of the Yranigami Tribe," Yovne says. "My favorite sand is Whistling Sand, when the wind is right."

The Jupani nods, and jots down notes now and then – or perhaps she's doodling on her pad; it's hard to tell. She asks several other dull, dry questions, then says, "If anyone asks, you were forced to disrobe, and then I let you dress again, convinced that you are the Nohbakim you claim to be. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Yovne states, and bows to the Jupani.

"We're done with you. Move along now," the Jupani woman says, waving a hand dismissively. "Quickly, before someone else notices you and assumes you haven't been searched yet."

Yovne makes a few adjustments to her clothing on the way back to the brothers' wagon, to give the appearance that they've been removed and put back on again.

Aban and Abas are stooping over, picking up various supplies that have been dropped on the ground. "Have heart, brother!" Aban says. "The Temple paid us to bring our goods. Surely they cannot penalize us for damage to them they themselves inflicted!"

"Surely," Abas growls, and then he looks up. "Yovne, our good fellow! Have they done you harm?"

"Do you need help repacking?" Yovne asks once she arrives. "The female officer examined me in private," she relates. "My honor remains intact."

Aban and Abas exchange glances, as if they were never entirely sure just what Yovne's gender was in the first place, but at last they nod. "If you so wish," Aban offers, "you may help, so that we may move on more quickly – but if you wish to rest, that is no trouble."

"I will aid you," Yovne says, and helps to pick up and secure the various items. "I will be able to rest when we are in friendlier environs."

Together, they pick up what can be salvaged, though a few food items are now destined to be Dromodon treats. The wagons get back into something resembling order. The Khatta in the golden robes bows several times as he converses with a Kampfzengruppe officer, making florid apologies (it is presumed) and desperately trying to make them sound pleasant even in the harsh tongue of the soldiers. Ra Shrikendune walks about, looking falsely calm, though his ear tips are red in fury. Eustace just looks smug, and if he weren't a noble, someone might suspect him of holding something back. (As it is, young brash noble knights-in-training visiting a foreign planet for the first time probably always look that way.)

Yovne takes care not to make eye-contact (such at it is, given the three bulbous eyes on her mask) with either the angry Zerda or the smug Gallee, and focuses instead on the interesting looking platforms ahead.

Although the platforms look large enough to hold two of most of the wagons (which are more or less kept to a standard size due to the demands of the Kampfzengruppe and the difficulty in navigating the Gateway Towers), only one rolls onto one of the hemispheric platforms. The riders get off to calm their skittish beasts, and it proves all the more necessary when the hemisphere's outer shells unfold and slide back to form a sphere. The ball rolls away, and one can only hope that somehow those inside are not forced to tumble along with it, or it's unlikely many of these supplies will get anywhere intact.

The disguised Exile considers warning her companions to watch for giant hamsters, but decides they wouldn't understand the context.

One after one, the wagons load on, or sometimes a sphere takes on pedestrians alone. More of the spheres roll in every now and then, so the number of platforms waiting for passengers varies. Occasionally, a platform seems to just "get impatient" and roll on without taking any passengers at all. In time, Aban and Abas have their turn, and they roll the wagon onto the platform. "I would have felt much better," Aban whispers, as he dismounts and starts patting the hide of the left Dromodon, "if we'd seen someone come back on one of these first."

Yovne also disembarks from the wagon, and goes up to the edge of the platform to get a better view of the nested shells closing over them.

In short order, she has an excellent view. There are, she is able to guess, enough pieces to encompass the sphere at least twice over – or, that is, at least four hemispheric shells – that roll about from the bottom, overlapping each other, and slightly contorting in a way that demonstrates how Sifran crystal manages to behave in liquid ways now and then despite its legendary hardness. The ball starts rolling, but – much to the relief of Aban and Abas and probably to the Dromodons as well – the platform inside remains horizontal. One shell rotates one way, and the other rotates in the opposite direction, as if serving as a sort of counterweight, and they can only dimly see outside. The ball rolls toward one of the tunnels, and Yovne can't even make out the glassy "window" that must have parted for them to go through and into the tunnel beyond.

"They must not have wanted people to become disoriented when entering the maze," Yovne comments. "What do you think is the purpose of this gigantic structure?" she asks Aban.

Aban looks out toward the mass of clouds somewhere far below, with only a few seemingly filmy layers of crystal between himself and them … and no visible means of support. He starts to look woozy, and begins to move to rest his hand against the "wall" – but Abas quickly stops him, catching his wrist. Aban snaps out of it, and shakes his head. "Ah … please forgive my poor foolishness, but … I have no idea!"

Abas says, with more conviction, "It is a toy for the gods, a great game played with marbles – and, see, we are riding one! I would not be surprised that the First Ones do not even now place wagers on us, for some game with rules we do not know."

"Perhaps it is some sort of training or testing facility, then," Yovne speculates, carrying Abas' notion further. "Like teaching vermites to run a maze."

"It is of little use," Aban says, "when I have no idea how to direct our movement." Then, his ears flatten in alarm. "Who controls these marbles? What if we do not arrive in the same place?"

"Or worse – what if the marbles pour into a large area to knock each other about, until only one is left," Yovne adds. At least, that's how she's seen Kavis play with marbles before.

Abas whispers to Envoy, "I do not think you are helping my poor brother's nerves! Of course, if I were not so alarmed myself, I would be amused."

The marble continues to roll along, reaching some junctions, and branching off this way or that. Eventually, it goes on a straight stretch, and ahead can be barely made out yet another "marble" running in the same path, ahead … and then it disappears around a corner. Ahead is an intersection, and a marble crosses it, whisking by … and this one passes on through.

Trying to sound more reassuring to Aban, Yovne says, "But it would make the Kampfzengruppe lose face if they sent us immediately to our doom. Given their nature, I doubt they would risk such. Therefore, we must be safe and heading for a known location."

Abas laughs. "Yes! If there is anyone they would send to his doom, it would be that knight-to-be and his Temple cronies who caused us all this grief!"

"Abas!" Aban snaps, forgetting his discomfort. "The Temple is our customer this day. We must not be disrespectful … no matter what has happened this day."

"It was the Zerdan witch hunter who was responsible for the rudeness," Yovne says. "Did you not notice the posters hung about the city seeking the Exile Envoy?"

"Ah!" Abas says, "Well then, if it was some witch we have to blame for this mess, then a pox on this Exile Envoy instead! A pox on someone for this trouble."

"Indeed," Yovne says, returning to the wagon. "Perhaps the hunter has returned to Sinai now."

"Ah, I do not know if it is my imagination," Aban interjects, "but perhaps the marble is slowing?"

"We may be nearing our destination then," Yovne says, sounding hopeful.

The platform bobs a little, prompting the Dromodons and Aban to moan, but at last the sphere passes out of the tunnel and into a much larger chamber, albeit one that is apparently not any taller. It finally rolls to a stop in the center of a circular crystal chamber that is divided by channels that lead off in eight evenly-spaced directions, sliced up like a portioned pie. The sphere splits open, and Aban and Abas get to the business of leading their wagon out, toward the "slice" where most of the wagons are unloading their supplies.

"We are here!" Aban says, smiling at last. "Tomorrow, we shall go back to Sinai, get the rest of our pay, and then off to Arcadia."

"The day after tomorrow, my dear brother," Abas corrects. "I checked the revised schedule."

"There is a schedule?" Yovne asks, surprised. "That hardly seems enough time to do serious exploration."

"Ah, but we are not explorers!" Abas says. "We are only here to bring the supplies. What use are we to Technopriests and young Gallee nobles, to stay here?"

"Well, to haul back the treasure of course," Yovne points out.

"It is cheaper to send for us when there is treasure to haul out," Aban says, "than to keep us fed and idle for the duration of their stay."

"That is true," Yovne admits. "May I see the schedule? I would like to know when the expedition itself is set to return."

Abas laughs. "I am thinking it is also cheaper that they do not have to worry about any of us helping ourselves to treasure before they are ready to go home. But we have two days. Perhaps we will find something of worth to take home." He digs through his vest, and pulls out a folded parchment, hand-written, which he hands to Envoy.

Envoy holds the paper up close, so that she can make it out better through the distortion of her masks eyes.

According to this schedule, today the gateway opens to Behemoth. Tomorrow, it opens from Abaddon to Sinai. The day after, from Behemoth to Sinai. The day after that, from Sinai to Abaddon. The next day, Sinai to Ashtoreth. After that, Ashtoreth to Sinai. Then, Sinai to Arcadia. And after that, two days in a row of Abaddon back to Sinai. It's hard to figure out the pattern here.

Handing back the schedule, Yovne says, "I suppose we will learn more once the expedition is finished assembling."

Abas tucks back the parchment, then sets to the business of unloading supplies. Some Khattas direct the work, one of their number using an abacus, and another writing down inventory. This process goes on for a while, and on some of the other "slices" of the room, some tents are set up – for privacy, apparently, since there's no evidence of any precipitation.

Envoy takes the opportunity to check her own supplies – especially the crystal crown, which she keeps hidden inside her pack and simply looks at it through the opening.

The crown seems quiet and still, and any flicker she sees could possibly just be a trick of the light, for all she can tell. It looks like everything is intact, none the worse for any of the trouble she's been through as of late. Aban and Abas set up their own tent with some difficulty, since there is no earth to dig in, and no convenient holes to put posts into. Instead, they have to content themselves with some awkward tripod arrangements of poles bound together with ropes, suspending tent fabric, in an arrangement that begs not to be pushed upon, lest it fall over. They nonetheless at the end of it look fairly pleased with their accomplishment in such a bizarre environment. Aban seems pleased mostly that he has something to distract him from looking down through the glassy material at the gaseous expanse below.

Across the "pie," Eustace seems far better prepared, as he has a pavilion set up by underlings in short order, and some scholars gather together. There's no sign of Shrikendune, though the golden-robed Khatta is still there. (Surely Scrying would be of no use here, but Scryers often have other scholarly abilities to supplement their magic.)

Securing her pack, Yovne approaches the brothers and compliments them on their achievement. "I am going to see what is happening at the pavilion, if you do not need me now," she says.

Aban and Abas just nod to Yovne, being more interested in discussing plans about their next schemes to gain wealth and glory through trading to the natives of Arcadia. As Envoy approaches the crossroads of channels, she finds that it's not really possible to reach any of the other slices without either making use of her wings, or stepping on one of the parked platforms to get to the other side. From her experience, there is a pause before any of the spheres closes up and whisks its passengers off to another location, though, and if it does whisk off once she's disembarked … well, it does seem that there are more where they came from. (Occasionally, one rolls off by itself, and another one eventually rolls in to take its place.)

Deciding to take the risk, Envoy shuffles across a connecting platform as quickly as she can, hoping to reach the next area before it can react.

This proves to be without incident, and she reaches the far tier. A couple of the guards look up at Yovne as she approaches, but then look away, disinterested. Eustace and the others are gathered around what appears to be a section of the floor that's slightly distinguished from the rest by a pattern of pulsating "veins" converging into a tight ring, leaving the circular area it transcribes perfectly transparent. "… some sort of short-range gateway, but we haven't been able to activate it," says a uniformed human with close-cropped white hair and a hint of an old scar marking his right cheek.

Yovne tries to work her way closer while keeping unobtrusive. A short-range gateway? she thinks, trying to get a better look at the thing.

Yovne manages not to step on any toes, or draw any dirty looks, though her view isn't much improved. "… an activation key," a bespectacled Khatta says, "and one which we don't have access to. If we had access to magic here, I'm certain an Earth Mage could manage … but, of course, that is not an option, and we can't take this back with us for study."

At the mention of Earth Magic, Envoy turns her magic sense on the alleged portal to see if there is anything to the scholar's theory.

Although she tries to focus, the environment seems less than cooperative to give her any sensations she can clearly pick out as one branch of magic or another. If there is any magic to be sensed, it is in weak, unfocused quantities, strange patterns that flit by, thwarting her attempts to put any order to them. But there's some sort of a presence she feels below – far, far below – and the circle seems somehow a mirror of that, as if it were reflecting a small portion of that massive presence that lies within the shrouds of Behemoth.

"Do you suppose this portal leads to the surface of Behemoth?" Yovne asks the scholar in quiet tones.

The scholar blinks and looks up at Yovne, and briefly looks at one of his fellows with a "How did this one get in here?" look, but then he adopts a more patronizing smile and says, "There is no surface of Behemoth. It's an old myth that Behemoth is a massive world of rock. Rather, it is a network of crystal tunnels – like these – orbiting a world of gas. Though, to be more precise, it's not a single interlinked network. To the best of our calculations, the network is divided into many segments which do not physically connect to each other, though they interlock like … " He holds his two hands together, twining his fingers. "… like this. Close to each other, but not actually touching. If it's possible to get to those other systems, it's only through lesser gateways – like this one."

"How very interesting," Yovne replies. "Would you mind if I tried to activate this lesser gateway? I am a… crystal singer," she adds.

"A … crystal singer?" The golden-robed Khatta furrows his brow deeply. The scholar laughs, shaking his head.

Eustace, however, grins faintly. "Yes, let us see what happens! It could do no harm, surely."

"Many types of crystal react to sound," Yovne explains. "There are even exposed Sifran formations on Abaddon which do so. Or so I've heard." Turning to Eustace, she says, "I need a few moments of privacy to prepare myself. May I use your tent?"

Eustace gets several odd looks, but he just looks the part of the gregarious host. "By all means. We are here to experiment and explore, are we not?" He gestures toward his personal pavilion.

The sandy-furred Jupani who "examined" Envoy earlier frowns a bit, looking uncomfortable.

Yovne bows to the noble, and then looks to the Jupani officer. "If you wish, you may accompany me to ensure I do not go where I should not," she says.

The Jupani nods. "I'll do that," she says, following Yovne/Envoy.

Once inside the large tent, Envoy whispers to the Guard, "What is your security clearance within the Temple?"

"High enough to be trusted by the do Varr family," the Jupani replies. "I am Sergeant Rezhina yodh Barlael."

"Very well then," Envoy says, and begins to rummage in her pack. "I can say that I report directly to Bridge Officer Nimiss and Arch Inquisitor Melchizedek. If you have any reason to avoid their notice, you may wish to close your eyes for a few moments," she warns, once she gets her gloved hand around her crown.

The Jupani smirks. "Such big names. But then, I should not be surprised." She turns her back to Envoy. "I'll trust my keen hearing."

Envoy quickly extracts her crown, and then removes her mask to fit it onto her head. Just as quickly, she puts the Yovne mask back on over it. "Alright, done," she tells the Sergeant. Hopefully, the crown will help her make a bit more sense of the magic streams she detected before.

For a moment, Envoy feels disoriented, as if she'd somehow forgotten to put the mask back on before Rezhina turns back around. But, no, it's back in place … but somehow her magical sense seems more refined, clarified, as if now her magical sense is more reliable than her own ears to tell her the truth of her surroundings. Somehow, if she were to close her eyes, she would still be able to sense the crystal around her. She can feel the network stretching outward in all directions … and she can definitely feel something further down, obscured by the mists. Perhaps the Khatta is wrong. Maybe there is a solid center to Behemoth, very, very far down.

It takes a moment for the Aeolun-cum-Nohbakim to find her balance. "Okay… let's return to the portal now," she says to Rezhina. "I may need your help though, so could you please catch me if I seem about to stumble?" she asks. It's hard to feel her feet in the flood of information the crown is feeding her.

Envoy can only barely make out the Jupani nodding in answer, then lifting the tent flap to let her pass. The golden-robed Khatta is looking intently at "Yovne" as she exits the tent, his brow creased, his nose wrinkled, his whiskers twitching, with a look on his face that something's not right, and he just can't figure it out. Eustace, however, still has this big grin on his face, as if anticipating getting some big goodie, or springing a joke on his friends.

With some effort, Envoy manages to sit down next to the gateway, and tries to isolate it from the flood. And to think I used to feel like this all of the time before arriving on Sinai, she thinks, not too appreciative of the irony.

As Envoy approaches the gateway, she can sense it more strongly. To one side, however, she feels somehow imbalanced – asymmetrical. Nonetheless, the crown is definitely reacting, and she is able to separate its pattern from the cacophony of her surroundings. In her mind, the room is devoid of any pavilions or visitors. (Envoy is, however, keenly aware that some of the scholars have a few small fragments of Sifran crystal in their packs or on their person, perhaps brought in the hopes of witnessing some sort of reaction with the local material.)

Could this gateway lead to more than one destination? Envoy wonders when she notices the imbalance. She sings out a tone to focus her concentration as she tries to find the activation key for the gateway.

There are several gasps around her, and Envoy can feel a light show playing through the crystal in the room, just as her audience can surely see it. At first, her notes fail to give more than a seemingly random response, but then she reaches a sort of harmony that the disc reacts to. Still, the acoustics are a bit off. It's as if there are several receptacles, and for true harmony, the song must reach all of them, equidistant. The only spot to make such a thing possible would be to stand on what is assumed to be the "gate" itself.

Not really considering the consequences, Envoy gets up and steps onto the disc in order to bring about the needed resonance.

And there she has it. A perfect link. The song swells and fills the room, as crystal chimes join into the song. Envoy can feel the link between this spot and some realm far below. She can sense … large crystals floating in the gases. Sky islands. She also senses other things, much larger than sky islands … yet at the same time far smaller. It is a sensation that seems to defy any sense of space and time, and defies quick interpretation. "It's glowing!" someone says, though Envoy can hardly hear him over the song.

What is at the center? Envoy wonders, trying to focus on that oddly folded area. It almost feels like a giant ansible.

As Envoy focuses on it, she feels as if she's being drawn into it. "What! Someone – stop him!" "Her," Eustace's voice corrects. "Stop HER, then!" But then, there is a flash of light, a rushing of air, and Envoy feels herself shooting through the floor, toward the center, down into the gaseous clouds!

Some part of her thinks to hold her breath, while the bulk of Envoy's mind continues to focus on her goal – the core.

Envoy shoots downward, and she can sense that she's traveling along a stretching beam of light. There's a cluster of crystals at the center, though her perception of how large they are seems to vary. For a moment, she has a fleeting image of a blue world of oceans, swathed by white swirling clouds and dotted by archipelagoes of islands … then, a darkened, blackened, poisoned world, cratered and enshrouded by choking gases … and then, a sky island passing directly between herself and the center. And then…

… she is herself again, in a manner of speaking, and the music stops. She is standing on a mountain top, with multi-colored mists curling low about her feet, surrounded by orange clouds that obscure any view of the horizon. The mountain descends, vanishing into the mists, and the ground beneath her sports vegetation and clumps of earth, but here and there, crystals poke from the soil and glitter brightly.

"Am I on Behemoth?" she wonders out loud, and kneels down to run her gloved fingers through the soil. "Or is this some other world? Have I found the Sifras' ultimate Gateway nexus?"

"Zana du Sifras?" comes a voice from the mists. A dark, silhouetted form pushes its way through a golden cloud, revealing itself to be a short, broad, muscular creature covered in coarse, short fur in patchy patterns of black and gray. Its face is almost equine, but with a very abbreviated muzzle, its eyes small and wide-set. Four long and broad ears radiate out from the sides of its head. "Zana du Sifras?" it repeats, stepping into the light that comes from some unseen source far above through the clouds.

Envoy blinks at the strange creature, and ponders an appropriate reply. "I am not a Sifras," she finally says, guessing that that's what the being was asking her.

"Sa-eeee?" the creature lows, as its four ears fold back, and it drops down on all fours, before Envoy. "Naza du Kor. Du Balfin. Naza se tonar Sifras." Other shadowy forms appear in the mists – more creatures like the first, though of varying builds, and Envoy might wager a guess that this first one is a male representative of his species.

To improve her view, Envoy removes her Nohbakim mask. "Zana du… Aelfin?" she asks, since that is the race the creature most resembles to her. She's a bit disturbed by the way the first one appears to be prostrating itself before her.

Knick and Knack chatter and chirrup, and skitter off of the mask to rest on Envoy's shoulders instead.

I hope he doesn't think I'm a god of some sort, the Aeolun worries. Perhaps showing her actual face will let them see she isn't so very different from them.

The others stop, and stare in awe. Then they drop to their knees as well. With no particular order, they cry, "Du Balfin!" and variations on "Naza se tonar Sifras!" Yes, Envoy seems to have made quite an impression on the natives.

"Well," Envoy says to the stocky beings, "take me to your leader?"