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.