The Dreaming Void

SIX

'How long? Corrie-Lyn asked.

Aaron growled again and ignored her. He was inside a gym cage that the starship's cabin had extruded; testing the flexibility and strength of his restored upper torso. Pulling weight, pushing weight, bending, twisting. Working up a sweat as endurance was evaluated, measuring the oxygen consumption of the new flesh, blood flow rate, nerve speed…

'You knew Qatux could do it, she whined. 'So you must know how long it'll take.

Aaron gritted his teeth as gravity shifted off vertical and increased, forcing him to pull the handle he was gripping while stretching at the same time. Biononics reported the tendons were approaching their tear limit.

His patience was also undergoing a strenuous work out. They'd been back in the Artful Dodger for fifteen hours, a time which Corrie-Lyn had devoted to drinking and moaning. She now considered handing over Inigo's memories to be a terrible betrayal, not to mention a bad idea. A really bad idea. Stupid actually. As she kept saying.

'So it'll have like a mini-Inigo hanging round inside its own brain?

Aaron took a look at the oxygen usage in his shoulder muscles. The levels were only a couple of points off the original muscle. Not bad for a couple of days. Drugs and biononics had done what they could, the rest of it was down to good old-fashioned exercise. A decent callisthenics program should see the levels equalize over the next week or so. He shut the gym down.

'Something like that, he said.

Corrie-Lyn blinked at the unexpected answer. She rolled over on the couch and reached for the pitcher of tasimion margarita. 'So you ask the mini-Inigo a question…

'And Qatux answers it for us. Yes.

'What a load of bullshit.

'We'll see. He slipped his T-shirt off, and examined his torso. The membrane was starting to peel off. Underneath, the new skin was tender, but at last the colour was deepening to the same shade as the rest of him. 'I'm going to take a shower, he said.

'You're shaping up good, she giggled. 'Need a hand in there?

Aaron rolled his eyes. 'No thanks. He now had a strong theory of his own why Inigo had run away from Living Dream, and it wasn't anything to do with Last Dreams or the pressure of being idolized by billions. Maybe she only turned into this after he left?

The gym sank into the wall, and there was a moment's pause before the shower cubical extended out from the same section. He slipped his shorts off and stepped in as Corrie-Lyn let out a wolf-whistle. He must be recuperating, his cock was stirring. But if Qatux did come up with a notion of where the reluctant messiah was hiding out, she'd be more necessary than ever. So he turned the spore temperature down about as low as it would go, and thought of other things. Unfortunately, with a memory that didn't reach back past Ethan's appointment he didn't have much to mull over. Except his odd dreams. That horse ride… he'd been young. So it must have been his childhood. Seemed pleasant enough.

After he'd showered, they carried on their research into the odd Raiel who'd agreed to help them. Clued in by what it had said they'd sent their u-shadows out into the Unisphere to search for files on the history of Far Away during the Starflyer War. The first surprise was to find just over a million files on the period available. It took eight hours for them to filter it down to relevant and useful information. Even then, their was no direct evidence Qatux had been there.

There were endless documents on Bradley Johansson's team of Guardians chasing the Starflyer back to its lair, and how they joined up with an odd security team that Nigel Sheldon assigned to help them. Admiral Kime was one of them, of course; that was a common history text. His audacious hyperglider flight over Mount Herculaneum, and subsequent rescue by Nigel himself. Anna the Judas. Oscar the martyr. Paula Myo and the Navy interdiction squad, Cat's Claws.

'I didn't know it was Nigel who originally sent the Cat to Far Away, Corrie-Lyn exclaimed. 'What was he thinking of? She was sober again after a meal and a couple of alcohol-binder aerosols. Aspects of the search seemed to genuinely interest her.

'Be fair, he couldn't see the future.

There were some appendices that claimed the pursuit was aided by an alien. But the context was strange. The Bose motile was known to be part of Nigel's secret clique at the time. There were no references to a Raiel. One file said the Barsoomian group helped Johansson because he'd brought their genetic holy grail to Far Away. Again, nothing as to what that grail actually was.

'Let's try another angle, Aaron said. He told his u-shadow to find all files relating to a Commonwealth citizen called Tiger Pansy around the time of the Starflyer War.

The cabin's portal projected a rather startling image.

'No way, Corrie-Lyn said.

Aaron stared at the woman in equal disbelief. She was a complete mess. Terrible hair; bad facial reprofiling ruining the symmetry of her eyes, nose, and lips, appalling cosmetics making them appear worse; ridiculous breast enlargements; tight, short clothes that no girl over twenty could ever get away with wearing, let alone this one who must have been close to rejuvenation time again.

'Signed to the Wayside Production company on Oaktier, Corrie-Lyn read off her exovision. 'Appeared in a large number of their, aha, productions. Left them in the last year of the Starflyer War. No subsequent information. Nothing; no residency listing on any planetary cybersphere, no records of rejuvenation treatment, no bodyloss certificate. She simply dropped out of sight.

Aaron shook himself and cancelled the projection. 'Easy enough at the time. There was a mass migration from the Lost23 worlds which the Primes had invaded. After that, it got even more chaotic'

'Coincidence?

'The Raiel are not known for their lies. Maybe Qatux did marry her. She certainly looks the emotional type.

'That's not quite how I'd describe her, Corrie-Lyn muttered. And how did she get to Far Away? The planet was virtually cut off for decades until the starlines started flying there.

'She must have been with the Johansson team. I don't think it's relevant.

'No, but it's interesting. Why would a Raiel go there?

'You want to ask?

She shook her head. 'Naa, too intimidated.

'I'll ask for you.

'No. Let's just drop it.

'You're right though. It is interesting. I was obviously given the correct information. Qatux helps humans.

'He said he used to. Until Tiger Pansy was killed.

'By the Cat, no less. That'd be enough to shock anyone out of their dependency routine, no matter how delightful and ingrained.

'Yes, well, thank Ozzie, Paula Myo finally caught her.

'Yeah. And in about another four thousand years we can all share the joy of her coming out of suspension.

'Urrgh. I won't be around for that no matter what.

'Qatux knew Paula Myo, Aaron said. 'I wonder if that's relevant.

'How could it be?

He waited for a moment to see if his subconscious produced any clues. It didn't. 'No idea.

The Artful Dodgers smartcore told them the High Angel was calling. 'Please prepare for teleport, the alien starship told them.

'Oh bollocks, Corrie-Lyn said as she clambered to her feet. 'I really don't like this—

The cabin vanished. Once again they were standing in the large circular chamber facing Qatux.

'—part. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Aaron bowed to the Raiel. 'Thank you for obliging us.

'You are welcome, the big alien whispered.

'Were you successful?

'I have lived through Inigo's early life. It was not that distinguished.

Aaron looked straight at Qatux, avoiding Corrie-Lyn. His gaiamotes revealed the pique which that last remark had triggered in her mind. 'None the less, it must have provided you with an understanding of his behaviour patterns.

'Guilt drives him.

'Guilt?

'He spent his whole life hiding what he was from everyone, his family, those he loved, and his enemies.

'Are you talking about the Protectorate?

'Yes. He was aware of their constant surveillance. Towards the end he took a perverse enjoyment from maintaining the illusion that he was an ordinary Advancer. But such a lie weighed heavily on him. It was one of the main reasons he volunteered for duty at Centurion Station.

'All right, I can buy into that scenario. Given the circumstances of his later life, where do you think he might have gone?

'Hanko.

Which wasn't the kind of answer Aaron was bracing himself for. Not even close. 'The Second47 world?

'Yes.

'I know that was where Anagaska's population originated from, but they were forced off because it became uninhabitable after the Prime attack. There's nothing there, not any more.

'Inigo was always fascinated by what he considered his true ancestral home, Qatux said. 'Remember he did not belong in Anagaska's Advancer culture. Hanko gave him a psychological ground point, amplified by an ancestor obsession rooted in his psyche due to the loss of his father so soon after his birth. Such a trauma affects any child, Higher as much as Advancer, especially when the event is regarded with such bitterness by his mother.

'A wound she kept open, unintentionally or otherwise.

'Correct. Hanko provided the perfect solution to someone as displaced as Inigo. A real place, yet at the same time unattainable. The illusion which could not be broken. He often contributed to charities which supplemented the official government Restoration teams. A telling point. He was never a wealthy man on Anagaska.

'And you think he's gone back there?

'If he abandoned Living Dream due to his own uncertainty on the direction it was taking, I would assign it a very high possibility. He is Higher, the radiation and climate will have little physical effect on him.

'There are a lot of unknowns in this assumption.

'If you had certainties you would not be here.

'I apologize. I was expecting you to say he had fled the Commonwealth, or there was some secret cabal devoted to helping him. But Hanko would certainly explain why no one has found him.

'Will you go there?

Aaron looked over at Corrie-Lyn, who looked very puzzled. 'Yes, he said.

'Ambition and good intentions are always an excellent starting point, Likan said. 'Then before you know it you come right smack up against reality. You either adapt, become realistic and respond in kind, or you flounder along until you sink under the weight of your own capitulations. Now I know those of you in this auditorium aren't quitters. Hell, quitters couldn't afford these ticket prices. He grinned round at the murmur of dutiful amusement. 'In life, either you get pressured or you apply pressure. Same for business—

Three rows back from the small podium, Araminta glanced round at her fellow entrepreneurs. It was like the gathering of a clone army. All eager young business people, smartly dressed and sharply styled; hanging on to every word the richest man on the planet had to say about acquiring that same wealth. Each one of them desperate for a tiny hint of which way the market would go, a quip about financial trends, what new law to watch out for, a state project that was worth trying to bandwagon.

If they thought the Sheldonite would give them that, they were in for a big disappointment. Basic research: Likan was a ruthless man. He was here in Colwyn City to give another of his How-I-Made-It lectures for publicity and prestige, not to help fledgling rivals. A high profile helped his business, and in addition he got a buzz out of being adulated. This whole evening exemplified his favourite catchphrase: win-win.

Bovey would hate all this, she knew, and smiled secretively at the knowledge. Sitting amidst the faithful, such thoughts were near-sacrilege. But then Bovey had a little bit of a hang-up about the genuinely rich and powerful. All politicians were worthless incompetents. All billionaires corrupt criminals. It was one of those quirks she was fond of. It could be quite funny hearing his youngest self, the biological fourteen-year-old, raging on about the cabinet secretary for social affairs. Mr Bovey had the true hatred of every self-employed person for bureaucracy, and the taxes it demanded to keep functioning; and, worse, expanding. In her mind, fourteen-year-olds didn't have adult concerns like that, it was all angst and impossible aspirations at that age. She recalled it well.

Araminta sighed warm-heartedly. Louder than she intended. She saw Likan's gaze flick in her direction, though his speech never faltered. Her lips pressed together in self-censure.

The speech was exactly what she was expecting. Plenty of motivational talk, a few anecdotes, a whole load of financial-services product-placement, and an excess of toothy smiles during the pauses for applause and laughter. Araminta even clapped along with the rest of them. It was all standard stuff, but there were some nuggets among the waffle. She was interested in his early years, how to make the jump from a small operation like hers up to a more corporate level. According to Likan, advancement was all down to risk, and how much of it you were prepared to take. He mentioned self-confidence a lot, along with determination and hard work. Araminta wondered if he'd ever met Laril. Now that would be an interesting conversation.

Likan finished, and was provided with a standing ovation. Araminta got to her feet with the rest of them, and applauded half-heartedly. She wished he'd been more specific, maybe given some case-study examples. The chairman of the Colwyn Small Business Association thanked their distinguished guest, and announced refreshments were available in the function room outside.

By the time Araminta made it out of the auditorium, her fellow small business owners were forming tight little groups to chatter away to each other while they gulped down the free drinks and canapes. From the snippets she overheard on her way to the bar the majority ran virtual companies. Talk was about expansion curves and cross-promotional market penetration and share options and when to merge. Men glanced at her as she walked past. There were welcoming smiles, even a few pings to her u-shadow, offering compliments and invitations. Her u-shadow didn't respond — pings were so adolescent. If you want to take me out to dinner have the courage to ask me to my face. She'd chosen a deep-turquoise dress that complemented her hair colour. Strictly speaking the neckline was low and the hem high for a business occasion; but she now had the confidence to buck convention — at least on a small level. Independence and all that exposure to Cressida had given her that.

'Pear water, she told the barman.

'Interesting choice.

She turned to find Likan standing behind her. For someone so rich, his appearance was puzzling. The skin on his face was slightly puffy, with flushed cheeks as if he were permanently out of breath. His biological age was higher than usual, fixed in his late thirties rather than the mid-twenties everyone else favoured. The clothes he wore were always expensive, but never quite gelled, as if he got his dress sense from adverts. His jacket with a shark-skin shimmer was chic, but not with that particular purple shirt and green neck twister. And the brown shoes were best worn when gardening.

'I have to work later tonight, she said. 'Can't afford lack of judgement from alcohol.

'Good self-control. I like that.

'Thank you, she said levelly.

'I got the impression you weren't impressed tonight.

People nearby were discreetly looking their way. Likan's voice was as forceful as it had been on the podium. That at least gave the impression of a strong personality.

Araminta sipped her pear water, wondering how to play this. 'I was hoping for more detail, she told him.

'What kind of detail? Come on, you paid for your ticket, you're entitled.

'Okay: small company, doing well. Needs to step up a level. Do you re-invest profits and ride a gradual expansion with each project slightly larger than the last, or do you take the bank loan and jump ten levels.

'How small a company?

'One woman band, supported by some bots.

'Company product?

'Property development.

'Good choice for a start up. High profitability relative to scale. There is a ceiling, though, especially with one person. After the first three properties there should be enough profit to take on more staff. With that you move on from one property at a time, and start multiple developments. Timing for that has never been better, property is the hot item here today thanks to Living Dream.

'Everything is relative. With that demand, a developer has to buy high.

'Then this developer should buy a whole street that's in decline. It's a profit multiplier, the individual unit prices rise because you've taken the entire street upmarket and made it desirable.

'That's a big step.

'The level of risk you are prepared to undertake is proportional to your growth potential. If you don't take it you are declaring this far and no further. That will define your life. I don't think you want that.

'Question: would you advise the staff expansion be accomplished by becoming multiple?

'No.

'Why not?

'Going multiple only seems like a solution to a solo act. Ultimately it's a lifestyle choice rather than a business one. Ask yourself what you can accomplish by being multiple that you can't by good aggressive management. As you came to listen to me tonight I know you're already thinking ahead, thinking big. Property is a foundation stone for a corporate empire. A good one, I still have a vast property portfolio, but to achieve real market dominance you must diversify and interlock your interests. That's what Sheldon did. He used his interstellar transport monopoly as a cash source to fund industrial, commercial, and financial enterprises on a hundred worlds. At the time of the Starflyer War he was effectively Emperor of the Commonwealth.

'Do you want to be our emperor?

'Yes.

Araminta was slightly shaken by his bluntness. She thought he was somehow calling her bluff. 'Why?

'Because it's a position where you can do whatever you want. The ultimate freedom. Isn't that what we all strive for?

'With power comes responsibility.

'That's what politicians tell you when they want your vote. There's a difference between political power and financial power, especially out here in the External Worlds. I'd like to demonstrate that to you.

'How would you do that?

'Come and stay with me at my home for a weekend. See first hand what I've achieved. Decide if that's what you want for yourself.

'What about your wives? It was common knowledge just how staunchly committed he was to replicating his idol's ideology and life, including (or perhaps especially) the harem.

'What about them?

'Won't they mind my visit?

'No. They'll be joining us in bed.

That'll teach me; you can't be more direct to my face than that. She was pleased with the way she kept her reaction in check, no startled expression, no give-away body language — squaring the shoulders, straightening the back. In effect telling him she could hold her own against him any day. 'I accept, she said as if it was some kind of request to review finance statements.

'I knew I was right about you, he said.

'In what way?

'You know yourself, you know what you want. That's always dangerous.

'To whom?

'To everyone else. That's what makes you so desirable.

'Win-win, then, she mocked.

The Alexis Denken slid comfortably into the big airlock at the base of the Raiel dome stalk. Behind it, the stars vanished as the wall materialized again. Paula stood up, pulled wrinkles out of her suit jacket self-consciously, and straightened her spine. The High Angel teleported her into Qatux's private chamber. Raiel homes were traditionally split into three sections: public, residence, and private. You had to be a very good friend indeed to be invited beyond the public. The circular chamber had a pale-blue floor while, in keeping with tradition, the ceiling was invisible somewhere overhead. Around her, silver and grey walls rippled as if water was flowing down them, yet there was no sound, no dampness in the air. Beyond the cavorting surface, images of planetscapes and strange galaxies writhed insubstan-tially. However, one image remained firm and clear, a human face that Paula knew only too well.

She inclined her head to the big alien who occupied the centre of the chamber.

'Paula, I rejoice you are here.

'It's been a long time, Qatux. How are you?

'I am well. If I were a human, I would be fit.

'I am glad.

'I have risen to the High Angel's fifth echelon.

'How many are there?

'Five.

Paula laughed, she'd forgotten Qatux's sly humour. 'So you're the captain, then.

'I have that honour.

'Congratulations.

'And you, Paula, do you continue to prosper?

'I continue to be very busy. For me that's about the same thing.

'That is to be expected. There are few of your species who remain in their bodies for as long as you have.

'It's also why I'm here. I need information.

'Just like the good old days. How intriguing.

Paula cocked her head to one side as she regarded the big alien. That phrase was slightly out of kilter. Qatux's eye clusters remained steady on her. Long ago it would never have been so bold as to tease her. But then long ago it had been something of a wreck, until the Far Away mission came along. Of course, she'd been very different then, too. 'The starship Alini has just visited the Raiel dome. Can you tell me if these people were on board. Her u-shadow retrieved image files for Aaron and Corrie-Lyn.

'They were, Qatux whispered.

'What did they want?

'I believe their mission was confidential.

She gave her old friend a shrewd glance, not liking the conclusions she was drawing. 'It was you who saw them, wasn't it?

'Yes. The bottom set of tentacle limbs shivered slightly, the Raiel equivalent of a blush.

'Qatux, did you review Inigo's memories?

'I did.

'Why? she asked, genuinely concerned. 'I thought that had stopped centuries ago. Tiger… She couldn't finish. Her gaze was drawn to the face suspended behind the wall. Tiger Pansy's silly carefree grin looked hauntingly back at her, obviously captured at a moment when the woman was blissfully happy.

'I know, the Raiel whispered. 'It is not a return to my addiction, I assure you. There would be few Raiel indeed who could refuse the opportunity of experiencing Inigo's mind. He dreams the Void, Paula. The Void! That evil enigma bedevils us to a degree which humans will never appreciate.

'All right, Paula ran her hand back through her hair, making an effort to ignore the uncomfortable personal side effects which the case was kicking up. 'Inigo's memorycell was stolen from a clinic on Anagaska. Why did you help Aaron?

'I did not know the memories were stolen. He arrived in an ultradrive starship. It was intimated that he was a representative of ANA: Governance. In truth, he never confirmed that. I am sorry. I believe I was had. How stupid, me of all Raiel. The deception was quite simple.

'Don't beat yourself up over it. Happens to the best of us. So what did he want to know?

'He asked me to guess where Inigo might be.

'Clever man. Which is curious in itself. There aren't many humans who knew of your little problem. One of them must have joined up to a Faction. So what did you tell him?

'I guessed Inigo might be on Hanko.

'Hanko? But it's just a radioactive ruin. She stopped, examining the idea. 'But, Earth aside, it is his ethnic birthworld. Still, an odd choice.

'Are you aware he was born Higher?

'No I was not! That has never been on any file. Are you sure?

Qatux's biggest tentacles waved in agitation. 'I am forty years of his early life, Paula. Through me you are talking to the young Inigo.

'If ANA: Governance and I didn't know, then its pretty certain very few other people did, either. That changes his whole profile. No wonder nobody could ever find him. As a Higher he has much greater personal resources.

'Will you go after Aaron and Corrie-Lyn?

'I'm not sure. I hadn't envisaged Aaron being so close to finding Inigo. But even if he is on Hanko it'll take Aaron a while to actually track him down. I need to consult with ANA: Governance on this. Thank you for helping, Qatux.

'You are welcome, Paula. Always.

She was on the verge of asking to be teleported back to her ship when she hesitated. 'What do the Raiel think of the Pilgrimage?

'That it is incredibly foolish. Opening the Dyson Alpha barrier was one thing, but this takes your obduracy to a whole new level. Why does ANA: Governance allow it?

Paula sighed. 'I have no idea. Humans always want to test their boundaries, it's an instinctive thing.

'It is a stupid thing.

'We're not as old as you. We don't have species-wide wisdom, let alone responsibility.

'Higher humans do.

'The tenet of universal responsibility is the root of their culture, but as individuals they have a long way to go. And as for ANA, it's like the intellectual equivalent of primordial ooze in there; who knows what's going to come wiggling out triumphantly at the end of the day. I'm beginning to doubt ANA: Governance's ability to keep order.

'Are you serious?

'I don't know, she admitted. 'This whole event has me badly troubled. There are too many people playing with catastrophic unknowns. Part of me, the old part that worships order, wants to shut down the entire Pilgrimage project. It's obviously a monstrous folly. Yet the liberal side of me agrees that these people have a right to seek happiness, especially when nothing in the Commonwealth appeals to them. It's indicative of our cultural heritage that we cannot provide a home for everyone.

'But Paula, their «right» to seek the solution of perfection in the Void will endanger the rest of the galaxy. That right cannot be permitted.

'Quite. And yet, we don't have conclusive proof that the Void will respond the way you claim.

Qatux was silent, as if startled. 'You doubt us, Paula?

'Humans need to know things for themselves. It is our nature, Qatux.

'I understand that. I am sorry for you.

'We're being too melancholy. I give you my word I'm working to try and sort out this mess.

'As always you are honourable. I hope you succeed. I would not like to see our two species fall into conflict.

'We won't.

The High Angel teleported Paula back into the cabin of the Alexis Denken. Like all modern starships the cabin could provide her with every physical necessity; like a hotel room with a particularly bad view. She ordered up a plain chair and took her guitar out of the storage locker. Music was something she'd come to late in life. As her genetically ordained compulsions were slowly erased, so she found her cultural horizons expanding. Art was a whole area she could never quite appreciate, she was always looking for rationalist explanation in every work. Literature was a lot more satisfactory, stories had a point, a resolution. Not that there were many books released into the Unisphere these days, current writers tended to produce outlines and scripts for sensory dramas.

But the classics were enjoyable enough; the only genre she tended to shy away from was crime and thrillers. Poetry she ignored as an absurd irrelevance. Music, though, had something for every mood, every place. She took a great deal of pleasure from it, listening to everything from orchestral arrangements to singer songwriters, jazz to gaianature tonality, choral to starsphere dance. The Alexis Denken would often streak between star systems reverberating to the sounds of Rachmaninoff or Pink Floyd or Deeley KTC.

Paula sat back and started to pluck a few chords at random, then gradually dropped into Johnny Cash's 'The Wanderer'. She didn't try to sing; there were some limits in life you just had to accept. Instead the smartcore projected the Man in Black into the cabin, and he started to croon along to her melody.

The song helped her think.

She knew she should be heading straight for Orakum or even Hanko, but she was feeling a lot more troubled by Qatux's last comment than she ought to have been. It seemed as though this whole Pilgrimage situation was designed to disrupt her judgement and objectivity.

That, or I'm just getting lonely and uncertain in my old age.

Paula finished strumming. The Man in Black gave her a forlorn look, and she waved her hand dismissively. The smartcore cancelled the projection.

Her u-shadow opened a link to Kazimir — someone who did have empathy for her position.

'What can I do for you? he asked.

'I'm at the High Angel. Aaron gave Inigo's memorycell to Qatux. Someone knew about our friend's predilection.

'Did Qatux review it?

'Oh yes. Qatux told Aaron that Inigo was probably hiding out on Hanko.

'Interesting. Presumably that's where the Artful Dodger aka the Alini is heading?

'Yes.

'Another ultradrive ship arrived in system just before the Artful Dodger departed. The Navy commander at High Angel said it stood off in the cometary belt, and left in hot pursuit.

'Does every faction have ultradrive ships? she asked indignantly. 'Justine caught the Delivery Man using a Hawking m-sink on Arevalo.

'So she told me. I consider it significant that the Factions are openly using such technology. This whole Pilgrimage event could well be the trigger for an irreversible culture spilt within the human race.

'Whose side will you take?

'The Navy was created by ANA to protect humans from stronger, hostile aliens. That is what it will continue to do until I am removed from my position. If ANA chooses to leave the physical universe, I will stay behind and ensure that whatever sections of us remain continue to receive that protection. Is that a side, do you think?

'No. But it's certainly a plan.

'Are you going after Aaron?

'Not immediately. Can you provide some protection for Hanko and Inigo, if he's there?

'I will observe and advise you of developments; but you know the Navy cannot intervene directly in the internal affairs of Commonwealth citizens. Despite the scale of the problem, that's what this is.

Paula was thrown by the answer. She was expecting Kazimir to be a lot more helpful. 'A thousand years ago I stuck to the rules, too. No good comes of it. You need to bend a little, Kazimir.

'You and other representatives exist so I don't have to. You handle the grey areas, while I deal in black and white.

'There's no such thing.

'Nonetheless, I operate within a set of rules that I will not break.

'I understand. Just do what you can, please.

'Of course.

The Artful Dodger dropped out of hyperspace five thousand kilometres above Hanko's equator. Sensors examined the surrounding environment, bringing up several amber warning symbols, and even a couple of red ones. The local star had an abnormally large number of sunspots chasing across its surface, producing a dangerously thick solar wind. Below the starship's metallic purple hull, a global cloud blanket reflected the star's sharp white glow back into space, its uniform glare broken only by the vast aural streamers that lashed across the stratosphere. Above the atmosphere monstrous arches of violet fluorescence soared out far beyond geosynchronous orbit, engorged Van Allen radiation belts that choked the planet with a hurricane of high-energy particles. The Artful Dodger s hull sparked with a corposant discharge as it slid across into a high inclination orbit.

'Welcome to hell, Aaron muttered as he monitored the images from outside. The ship began to probe through the clouds with high-resolution hysradar sweeps, standard radar, magnoscan, quantum signature receptors, and electromagnetic sensors; revealing the lay of the frozen land underneath. Several com-beacon signals appeared on the emerging cartography, the only indication of activity on this bygone world. They broadcast the official channels of the Restoration team, asking all arriving ships to make contact.

Corrie-Lyn watched the images in the portal with a mournful face as the starship flew round and round the planet, building up a detailed survey of the surface. Twelve hundred years after the Prime attack, glaciers were still advancing out of the polar regions. 'I can't believe Inigo was ever attracted to this place, she said.

'You heard Qatux; he enjoyed the idea of an ancestral homework!.

'Even if he came here, he'd take one look and leave. There's nothing here.

'There are Restoration teams down there, even today, Aaron said, waving at the little scarlet lights dotted across the map. The beacons acted as crude relays across continents, the only communication net on the planet.

'That's got to be the biggest lost cause in the galaxy, she said.

'You're probably right. Seventeen of the Second47 worlds have officially closed their Restoration projects, and the remainder are winding down. Budgets get reduced every year. Nobody kicks up a fuss about it any more, not like the first couple of centuries after the War.

After ten orbits, the smartcore had mapped all the exposed land lurking below the eternal cloud. Sensors had located twenty-three centres of dense electromagnetic activity. The largest was a force field dome in the centre of Kajaani, the old capital city. All the others were little more than clumps of machinery and buildings scattered across the dead tundra of three continents. No thermal sensor could begin to penetrate the cloud, so he had no way of telling if any of the outposts were occupied. There didn't seem to be any capsules in flight. Electrical activity in the air was strong, interfering with several sensor fields.

'No way of telling if he's down there, Aaron said. 'Not from up here. I can't even see what ships are parked under the force field.

'What were you expecting?

'Nothing more than this. I'm just scouting the territory before we go in to make sure there are no surprises.

Corrie-Lyn rubbed her arms, as if the cold from the planet was seeping into the cabin. 'So what's our cover story this time?

'No point in one. It's not like the teams are heavily armed.

'So you just shoot them one at a time until they give him up to us?

He gave her an annoyed stare. 'We'll tell them that you're searching for a former lover. He changed his name and profile to forget you, but you've tracked him down here. All very romantic'

'That makes me look like a complete loser.

'Oh dear, he sneered, and told the smartcore to call the beacon at Kajaani.

It took several minutes to get a reply from the shielded base. Eventually a very startled Restoration project director called Ansan Purillar came on line to give them landing authority.

The Artful Dodger sank deftly through the three kilometres of the upper cloud layer. Two hundred kph winds buffeted the hull with near-solid clumps of grey mist while lightning clawed furiously at the force field. Eventually they cleared the base of the layer into a strata of super-clear air and the outside temperature plummeted. A gloomy panorama opened up beneath them. Black ice-locked land smeared with long dunes of snow. Eenuded of vegetation, every geographical feature was shaded in stark monochrome. Long braids of grubby cloud chased across the dead features.

'It must have been terrifying, Corrie-Lyn said sadly.

'The Primes dropped two flare bombs into the star, Aaron told her. 'The only way the Navy could knock them out was by using quantumbusters on the corona. Between them, they produced enough radiation to slaughter every living cell a million times over. Hanko's atmosphere absorbed the energy until it reached saturation point, which triggered a superstorm, which in turn threw up enough cloud to cover the planet and kick off an ice age. And the star still hasn't stabilized. Even if it did, it wouldn't matter; the radiation has completely destroyed the biosphere. According to the files, there's some marine life that's still alive in the deepest parts of the oceans, but that's all. The land is as sterile as a surgical chamber. Check out those radiation levels — and we're still five kilometres high.

'I didn't appreciate what a scale this War was fought on.

'They were going to genocide us. The words were almost painful to speak. It had been a fearful time. Aaron shuddered. How do I know what the War was like? A deeper instinct assured him he wasn't that old.

The Artful Dodger continued its descent through the rampaging lower clouds, blazing with solar brilliance as it sloughed off whip-like tendrils of electrical energy. At this altitude the wind speeds had dropped to a hundred and fifty kilometres per hour, but the air density meant the ship's ingrav units were straining to hold them stable against the pressure.

Corrie-Lyn tried not to look alarmed as the starship began to shake. High velocity ice crystals shattered against the force field as an amok cloud braid hurtled around them. The crunch of disintegrating ice could be heard inside the cabin.

'Okay then, this is why there aren't any capsules flying down here, Aaron muttered. His exovision was showing him the force field dome below altering its permeability index to allow them through. The wind speed was now less than a hundred kilometres.

Outside the dome, there was very little evidence of the city remaining. In its time, Kajaani had been home to three million people. Its force field had warded off the storms in the days following the Prime attack, protecting the wormhole station so that the planet's population could be evacuated to Anagaska. The process had taken over a month, with government vehicles transporting refugees from outlying counties on every continent as the storms grew worse and worse and vegetation withered and died. Seven weeks and three days after the planet's Premier Speaker led the way, CST closed the Hanko wormhole. If there was anybody left on the planet, they were beyond contact. Every effort had been made, every known habitation and isolated farmstead searched.

With the people gone, the force fields protecting cities and towns failed one by one, allowing the winds to pound against the buildings and floodwater to scour the ground around them. Not even modern superstrong materials could resist such pummelling for ever. The structures began to crumple and collapse. Eventually, with the climate spiralling down into its ice age the rains chilled to become snow, then ice. Mushy scree piled up against the frozen ruins, obliterating yet more evidence that this had once been an inhabited world.

The Artful Dodger passed through the force field and into the calm bubble of warm air that was the Restoration team's main base. It was centred on one of Kajaani's old parks. Under the protective auspice of the force field, the ground had been decontaminated and replanted. Grass grew once again, as did a short avenue of trees. Clusters of airborne polyphoto spheres shone an imitation sunlight on to the lush greenery; irrigation pipes provided clean water; there were even native birds and insects humming about, oblivious to the dark sky with its sub-zero winds outside.

They landed on a small patch of concrete on the edge of the park which held just one other starship, a thirty-year-old commercial combi-freighter with a continuous wormhole drive, that could carry a mix of cargo and passengers. The difference between the two ships was patent, with the Artful Dodger's smooth chrome-purple hull seeming almost organic compared to the Restoration team's workhorse with its carbon-bonded titanium fuselage and fading paintwork.

Aaron and Corrie-Lyn floated gently down out of the airlock to touch down between the five bulbous landing legs. Ten people had turned out to greet them, quite a crowd by the base's standards; and all curious to see the unscheduled arrivals. Ansan Purillar stood at the head of the delegation, a slightly rotund man with fair hair cut short, dressed in a simple dark-blue tunic with a Restoration logo on the arm.

'Greetings to both of you, he said. 'I'd like to know why you're here. We're pleased to see you, of course, don't get me wrong. But we never have visitors. Ever. His attitude was pleasant, but there was an underlying determination.

Aaron's biononics performed a fast low-level field scan. Director Purillar was an ordinary Advancer human; as were his coworkers, none were Higher. 'It's rather awkward, he said with a twisted smile. 'Er, Corrie…

'I'm looking for someone, she said.

It was a low voice, hauntingly mournful. Aaron was quite impressed; she'd backed it up with a soft ache in the base's tiny gaiafield. The team were suddenly all attention and sympathy.

'A man. Yigo. We were in love. Then it went bad. My fault. I was so stupid. I shouldn't have… I don't want to say…

Aaron put his arm comfortingly round her shoulder as she sniffed convincingly, head bowed. 'There there, he assured her. 'They don't want details.

Corrie-Lyn nodded bravely and continued. 'He left. It took me a long time before I realized what a mistake I'd made. But I'd hurt him, really badly. I've been looking for him for three years. He changed his name and his profile, but his sister let slip he'd come here.

'Who is it? Director Purillar asked.

'I don't know. All I know is what his sister said, that he'd joined the Restoration project. I just had to come. If there is any chance…

'Um, yes, sure. Purillar glanced round at his colleagues, who were busy checking each other out to see if any of them was going to own up to being The One. He waved an arm about. 'Anyone look familiar?

Corrie-Lyn shook her head despondently. 'No. I probably won't recognize him. She faced her little audience. 'Yigo, please, if it's you, please just tell me. I just want to talk, that's all. Please.

Now nobody was meeting her gaze.

'You don't have to do it in front of your friends, she said. 'Come to me later. I really really miss you. That last was accompanied by a burst of sincere desperation into the gaiafield.

'All right then, a now thoroughly embarrassed Purillar said to his team, 'I'll get this organized. We can meet up again at dinner.

People broke off, heading back towards the main expanse of grass, keeping their smiles under tight control. As soon as they were a few paces away, couples went into deep intense conversations, heads pressed close together.

Aaron watched them go, keeping his own face impassive. The base would be talking about this for the next twenty years.

Ansan Purillar was left standing in front of his two uninvited guests, one hand scratching at his fuzz of hair in some perplexity. His gaiamotes were leaking an equal amount of disquiet. 'You're welcome to use the accommodation here. There are plenty of rooms spare, a legacy of when the project was conducted on a grander scale. But, quite frankly, I suspect your own ship would be more comfortable. He eyed the Artful Dodger jealously. 'Our living quarters haven't been updated in a century.

'That's very kind of you, and of course we'll use the ship, Aaron said. 'We have no intention of imposing.

'Quite the contrary, Purillar said sheepishly. 'You are going to be excellent for morale. The only entertainment we get here is sensory dramas, and they tend to pale after a while. Whereas a quest like this… One of us dull old souls with a romantic past. Well!

'How long have you been here? Aaron asked.

'Myself? I will have notched up twenty-five years in the last hundred and thirty.

Aaron whistled. 'That's devotion. Do you mind telling me why?

Purillar beckoned to them, and set off across the grass. 'I'm nearly three hundred years old, so in fact it's a small portion of my life. I don't mind donating the time because I can extend my life as long as I want to make up for it.

'That sounds almost like Higher philosophy.

'I suppose it does. I'll probably migrate inwards once the Restoration project ends. Higher culture appeals to me.

'But why that first donation?

'Simple enough, I met one of the Restored. She died just after the Prime attack, caught outside a force field when the storm struck. Seven hundred years later one of our teams found her corpse and extracted her memorycell. She was re-lifed in a clone, and lived happily on Anagaska. It was her contentment which affected me; she had such a busy fulfilling life, there was a huge family, her involvement with the local community. I was struck by how much poorer the world, my world, would have been without her. So I signed up for a tour. Then when you're here you get to see first hand the people who you find, follow them from excavation through assessment and DNA extraction, memorycell rehabilitation, right up to re-life. You understand? I meet the living individual after I dig up their corpse. Innocent people who were struck down, people who didn't deserve to die; victims of a hideous war. Maybe it's self serving, but do you have any idea how good that makes me feel?

'I can't even imagine. I can see I'm going to have to make a financial contribution when I get back to Anagaska.

They crossed the big grass field to the low buildings on the other side. Housing for the team members consisted of small individual cottages arranged in five neat circles, each with a central clump of community buildings. As they approached, Aaron saw an open-air swimming pool and several barbeque areas, even a sports pitch was marked out. Only two of the circles were in use now. It was impossible to see what the cottages were built out of; they were all covered by thick creepers with long brown leaves that dangled golden flowers from their tips. It was a pleasant arboreal contrast to the icy desolation outside the force field. A deliberate one he suspected; the vines were nicely shaggy, but pruned so as not to obstruct windows.

Behind the cottages were two modern functional blocks. One containing the project laboratories, Purillar explained, while the other housed their maintenance shops and garaged their equipment.

'We're heavily cybernated, he told them, 'But even we need a few technicians to repair the bots now and again.

'Could he be working as a technician? Aaron asked Corrie-Lyn.

'Who knows? she said lightly. 'I just know he's here. Probably. It is a long-shot, after all.

Aaron didn't look at her. That hell-damned mouth of hers! He'd managed to get into the starship's culinary unit program, altering her patches on his original blocks so the drinks she ordered only had half the alcohol content she'd designated. Her attitude hadn't made any miraculous changes. 'Can we meet everyone? Aaron asked.

'Sure. I suppose. This is a civil outpost after all. I'm not exactly a police commissioner, you know. I can't compel anyone who doesn't want to be introduced. He gave Corrie-Lyn an apologetic shrug.

'Anyone who refuses is pretty likely to be him, don't you think? said Aaron.

'Sounds about right, the director said. 'You do realize that everyone on the planet will now know you're here, and especially why. This is a small operation.

'How many people is that, exactly?

'Four hundred and twenty-seven of us; of which a hundred and eighty are here in the base. Five hundred years ago, there were six thousand people involved.

'How many people have you restored?

'Two point one million in total, Purillar said proudly.

Aaron whistled appreciatively. 'I had no idea.

'The bulk of them were in the early years, of course. But our techniques have improved dramatically since then. Thankfully, because, even with the cold helping preservation, entropy is our real enemy. Come on in, I'll show you. He stepped through the door of the laboratory block.

The assessment room was the first section they looked in. A big clean chamber with ten long medical tables surrounded by plyplastic limbs tipped with instruments and sensors. One of the tables had a recently discovered corpse on it. Aaron wrinkled his nose up at the sight. It was hard to tell the thing had been human. A dark lump wrapped in shrunken cloth and smeared with grime, its limbs were difficult to determine, showing as long ridges. Strings of hair at one end at least showed him where the head was located. After a minute he realized the corpse was curled up in foetal position.

Two of the Recovery team were standing beside the table in sealed white overalls, peering down through their bubble-helmets as they directed the wand-shape sensors sliding along various creases in the body's surface. Their movements dislodged grains of snow, which were carefully vacuumed up from the table top.

'We keep the temperature in there the same as outside, Purillar said. 'Any sudden change in environment could be catastrophic. As it is we have to keep the assessment room sterile, too.

'Why? Corrie-Lyn asked.

'The radiation has killed off Hanko's microbial life. It's another factor which helps the preservation process. If any bugs got in there, they'd have a feast day, and we'd be left with slush.

'They must be very delicate by now, Aaron said.

'Yes. This one is almost intact. We normally deal with broken segments.

'Don't you use a stabilizer field?

'Not if we can help it. We found the field actually has a detrimental effect on their memorycells. Don't forget, back then the Commonwealth was still using crystal matrices. In some early cases we scrambled ten per cent of the information.

'Must be hard to remove the memorycell, then.

'We don't even try. Once we've extracted enough DNA samples to sequence a full genome, we deploy infiltrator filaments into the crystal. Even that can be hazardous. Powering up a memorycell after this long is fatal. It has to be read cold, which is done a molecular layer at a time. Each one takes about nine months.

I'd have thought that crystal memorycells would last longer than this.

'They built them pretty robust, even back then. But consider what they've endured for twelve hundred years. It doesn't help.

'Who is he? Corrie-Lyn asked.

'Her, actually. We think she's Aeva Sondlin. We'll know for certain when her genome has been read, but the location was right.

'Location?

'She was found four kilometres from her car. In itself that was hard to find. Washed downstream in a flash flood. We know from records that she lived in the house above the valley's flood level. We think she was making a dash for the nearest town during a break in the storm. There was an official evacuation point set up there, and she informed the authorities she was coming. Never arrived. Must have got caught by the winds, or the water. Maybe shell be able to tell us.

'You knew she was missing?

'Yes. The records of the time aren't perfect, naturally, given the circumstances. But we have a full census, and of course everyone who arrived on Anagaska was fully documented. It's our job to try and determine what happened to those who got lost. We have to handle each case separately. In Aeva's case, we've been searching possible locations for seventy years.

'You're bullshitting me, Aaron said.

'I assure you I'm not.

'Sorry, but seventy years?

'We start with the route she must have taken, pick the obvious danger points, and seed them with sensor bots. They spread out in a circle, trying to find some trace. Like all our equipment, the bots have improved considerably during the centuries we've been here. The majority are tunnelers, burrowing through the snow and surface soil layers. So much topsoil was displaced during the storms that the continent's whole topology shifted, and now it's all locked into place by the permafrost. Ninety-nine per cent of the people we recover these days are buried. It means the bots operate in highly detrimental conditions even for this world. In total, the Restoration project has deployed four hundred and fifty million since it began. There are still eleven million active and searching. They're not fast moving, but they are thorough.

'How many people are you still looking for?

'A third of a million. I don't hold out much hope. Most of them will have been washed into the sea. He gestured at the wrinkled lump on the table. 'Dear Aeva's car was forty-seven kilometres from the road she used, and that was the easy find; she was deep under sediment. Persistence pays off. We still find about twenty or so each year, even now.

They moved on into DNA sequencing. To Aaron it was just an ordinary office with five large smartcores. Even in ordinary circumstances, human DNA decomposed quickly; after twelve hundred years on Hanko, only the smallest fragments remained. But there were a lot of cells in each body, each with its own fragments. Piecing them together was possible with the right techniques, and a vast amount of computing power. Once the main sequences had been established, the project could use family records to fill the gaps. In a lot of cases, there were full DNA records from clinics available. As soon as the body had been properly identified, a clone was grown for re-life.

'But not here, Purillar said. 'Clinics back on Anagaska handle that part. After all, who would want to wake up here? People have enough trouble adjusting to the present — their future — as it is. Most need specialist counselling.

'Is life that different?

'Essentially no, and most died hoping for rescue in the form of re-life. It is the amount of time involved which shocks them. None of their immediate family and friends remain. They are very much alone when they wake.

After DNA there was the memory rehabilitation section, which tried to reassemble the information read from memorycells. A process orders of magnitude more complex than DNA sequencing.

The history archive: for recovered people who couldn't be identified. All of Hanko's civic records, and memoirs of families with lost relatives, the logs and recollections of the evacuation teams. Lists of people who may have been visiting Hanko when the attack started. The Intersolar missing persons list of the time.

Laboratories specializing in analysis of molecular structures; identifying baroque, minute clues the bots had discovered as they wormed their way through Hanko's frozen earth. Trying to place flakes of paint with individual car models. Tying scraps of cloth to specific clothes, from that to manufacturer, to retail outlet, to customer lists, to bank statements. Items of jewellery. Even pets. A long register of unknown artefacts, each one potentially leading to another lost corpse.

The case room. With files on everyone still known to be missing.

Operations centre, which monitored the sensor bots and the outpost teams which were excavating in terrible conditions.

After two hours, they'd met everyone in the building. None reacted to Corrie-Lyn, and nobody tried to avoid her. Aaron quietly scanned all of them. No one was enriched with biononics.

'There are a few other people around, Purillar said. 'You'll probably meet them tonight at the canteen. We tend to eat together.

'And if he's not there? Aaron asked.

'Then I'm sorry, but there's not much I can do, the director said. He gave Corrie-Lyn an uncomfortable glance.

'Can we visit the outposts? she asked.

'If he is here, he'll know about you by now. He would have used the beacon net to call in. I guess he doesn't want to get back with you.

'Seeing me in the flesh might be the one thing he can't resist, Corrie-Lyn said. 'Please. Her outpouring of grief into the gaia-field was disturbing.

The director looked deeply unhappy. 'If you want to venture outside, there's nothing I can do to stop you, technically this is still a free Commonwealth world. You can go wherever you want. I'd have advise against it, though.

'Why? Aaron asked.

'You've got a good ship, but even that would be hard pressed to manoeuvre close to the ground. We can't use capsules here, the winds are too strong, and the atmospheric energy content too high. The two times we tried to use our ship for an emergency rescue nearly ended in disaster. We aborted both, and wound up having to re-life the team members.

'My ship has an excellent force field.

'I'm sure it does. But expanding the force field doesn't help, you just give the wind a bigger surface area to push at. Down here it actually makes you more susceptible to the storm. The only stability you have in the air is what your drive units can provide.

Aaron didn't like it. The Artful Dodger was just about the best protection possible. Under normal circumstances. He couldn't forget the way the regrav units had approached their limits bringing them down to the base's force field dome, and that was a big target. 'How do your teams get about? he asked.

'Ground crawlers. They weigh three tons apiece, and move on tracks. They're not fast, but they are dependable.

'Can we borrow one? There must be some you're not using. You said there used to be a lot more personnel here at one time. Just an old one will do.

'Look. Really. He's not here.

'Whatever release document you want us to certify, we'll do it. Corrie-Lyn said. 'Please. Give me this last chance.

'I've got over twenty teams out there. Half of them aren't even on this continent. We use the polar caps as a bridge to get to the other landmasses. It would take you a year to get round them all.

'At least we can make a start. If Yigo hears we're going round everyone, he'll know he'll have to face me eventually. That might make him get in contact.

Purillar rubbed agitated fingers across his forehead. 'It will have to be the mother of all legal release claims. I can't have any come-back against the project.

'I understand. And thank you.

After dinner, Aaron and Corrie-Lyn made their way over to the second block to inspect the ground crawler Purillar was oh-so-reluctantly allowing them to use. Overhead, the airborne lights were dimming down to a gentle twilight. The effect was spoiled by constant flares of lightning outside the force field.

'He wasn't at the canteen then? Corrie-Lyn asked.

'No. I've scanned everyone in the base now. None of them have biononics. Though quite a few have some interesting enrichments. It can't be as tame here as the good director claims.

'You always judge people, don't you?

'Quite the opposite. I don't care what they do to each other in the privacy of their own cottage. I just need to make a threat-assessment.

The malmetal door of garage eleven rolled apart to show them the ground crawler. It was a simple wedge-shape of metal on four low caterpillar tracks. With the bodywork painted bright orange, its slit windows made empty black gashes in the sides. Force field projectors were lumpy bulbs on the upper edges, along with crablike maintenance bots which clung to the surface like marsupial babies. When Aaron queried the vehicle's net he found it had a large self-repair function. A third of the cargo compartments were filled with spares.

'We should be all right in this, he told her. 'The net will drive it. All we have to do is tell it where we want to go.

'And that is, exactly? You know, Purillar was right. If Inigo is here, then he knows I'm here looking for him. He would have contacted us. Me, at least.

'Would he?

'Oh don't, she said, her face furrowed in disgust. 'Just don't.

'He obviously doesn't miss you as much as you miss him. He left, remember.

'Screw you! she screamed.

'Don't hide from this. Not now. I need you functional.

'Functional, she sneered. 'Well I'm not. And if we find him the first thing I'll tell him is not to help you, you psychofuck misfit.

'I never expected anything else from you.

She glowered, but didn't walk away. Aaron smiled behind her back.

'If he's here, the Pilgrimage will be long gone before we find him, she said sulkily.

'Not quite. Remember we have an advantage that lets us reduce the search field. We know he's Higher.

'How does that help? There was distain in her voice still, but warring with curiosity now.

'The field scan effect would be very useful out there, helping to track down bodies buried in the ground. I can use it to detect anomalies several hundred metres away. It's a little more difficult through a solid mass, but the pervasive function is still capable of reaching a reasonable distance.

'If he's here, he'll have a better success rate than the others, she said.

'There are other factors, such as getting the location of a lost person reasonably accurate. Which is all down to how well an individual case has been researched. But yes. It's a reasonable assumption to say the team with the best success rate will be Inigo's.

'Is there one?

'Yep. My u-shadow didn't even have to hack any files. They're all open to review. The team with the current highest Recovery rate is working up at Olhava province. That's on this continent, nine hundred kilometres south-west. If we start first thing tomorrow morning, we'll be there in forty-eight hours.

Oscar Monroe had fallen in love with the house the first moment he saw it. It was a plain circle, with a high glass wall separating floor and ceiling, standing five metres off the ground on a central pillar that contained a spiral stair. Both the base and the roof were made from some smooth artificial rock similar to white granite, which shone like mountain-top snow in Orakum's blue-tinged sunlight. The sprawling grounds outside resembled some grand historical parkland that had fallen into disuse, with woolly grass overgrowing paths, lines of ornamental trees, and a couple of lakes with a little waterfall between them. There were even some brick Hellenic structures resting in deep nooks, swamped by moss and flowering creepers to add to the image of great age. That image was one which several dozen gardening bots worked hard at achieving.

He had lived there for nineteen years now. It was a wonderful home to return to every time his pilot shift was over, devoid of stress and the kind of bullshit politics that went in tandem with any corporate job. Oscar flew commercial starships for Orakum's thriving national spaceline, which had routes to over twenty External planets. Piloting was the only job he'd sought since he'd been re-lifed.

Waking up in the clinic had been one hell of a surprise. The last thing he remembered was crashing his hyperglider into an identical one piloted by Anna Kime. Saving the Commonwealth — good. Killing the wife of his best friend — not so hot. Without Anna to wreck their flight, Wilson Kime should have managed to fly unimpeded on a mission that was pivotal in the Starflyer War. Oscar could remember the instant before the collision, a moment of complete serenity. He hadn't expected anyone to recover his memorycell. Not after his confession, that in his youth he'd been involved in an act of politically-motivated terrorism that had killed four hundred and eight people, a third of them without memorycells, mostly children too young for the inserts. The fact that he'd never intended it, that the deaths were a mistake, that they'd missed their actual target — that should never have counted in his favour. But it seemed as though his service to the Commonwealth, and ultimate sacrifice, had meant something to the judge. He wanted to think Wilson had maybe paid for a decent lawyer. They'd been good friends.

'I guess this means we won, then, were his first words. It even sounded like his own voice.

Above him, a youthful doctor's face smiled. 'Welcome back Mr Yaohui, he said.

'Call me Oscar. I was that longer than I was ever Yaohui. His new identity when he went on the run for over forty years.

'As you wish.

Oscar managed to prop himself up on his elbows. A movement which surprised him; he'd seen re-life clones several times; pitiful things with thin flesh stretched over bones and organs that had been force-grown to adolescence, unable to move for months while they painfully built up muscle mass. This body, though, seemed almost complete. Which meant the technique had improved. There had been a lot of bodyloss in the War — tens of millions at least. He'd probably been shoved down to the bottom of the list. 'How long?

'Please understand, er, Oscar, you were put on trial for your, uh, previous crime. It set quite a few legal precedents, given your, uh, state at the time.

'What trial? What do you mean, state? I was dead.

'You suffered bodyloss. Your memorycell survived the crash intact — legally that is recognized by the Commonwealth as being your true self. It was recovered by one Paula Myo.

'Uh— Oscar was suddenly getting a very bad feeling about this. 'Paula recovered me?

'Yes. You and Anna Kime. She brought both of you back to Earth.

'But Anna was a Starflyer agent.

'Yes. Under the terms of the Doi amnesty her Starflyer conditioning was edited out of her memories and she was re-lifed as a normal human. Apparently she went on to have a long life and a successful marriage to Wilson Kime. She was certainly on the Discovery with him when it flew round the galaxy.

Oscar's shoulders weren't so strong after all; he sagged back on to the mattress. 'How long? he repeated, there was an urgency in his growl.

'You were found guilty at the trial. Your Navy service record was a mitigating factor in sentencing of course, but it couldn't compensate for the number of people who were killed at Abadan Station. The judge gave you suspension. But as the Commonwealth clinics were unable to cope with the sheer quantity of, uh, non-criminals requiring re-life at the time, he allowed you to remain as a stored memory rather than be re-lifed before the sentence began.

'How long? Oscar whispered.

'You were sentenced to one thousand one hundred years.

'Fuck me!

He was all alone. That was probably a worse punishment than suspension. After all, he wasn't aware of time passing during that millennia, he couldn't reflect and repent on his wrongdoing. But in this present, life was different. Everyone he'd known had either died or migrated inwards — ridiculous phrase, a politically correct way of saying they'd committed euthanasia with a safety net. Maybe that was the point of suspension after all. It certainly hurt.

So, with no friends, no family, knowledge and skills that even museums wouldn't be interested in, Oscar Monroe had to start afresh.

The Navy, rather understandably, didn't want him. He explained he didn't expect to be part of the deterrence fleet, and offered to retrain as a pilot for their exploration crews. They declined again.

Back before the Starflyer War he'd worked in the exploration division at CST. Opening new planets, giving people a fresh start, was kind of like a self-imposed penance. Except he'd really enjoyed it. So he did train as a starship pilot. Fortunately the modern continuous wormhole drive used principles and theories developed during his first life, he brought himself up to speed on its current technology applications quite rapidly.

Orakum SolarStar was the third company he'd worked for since his re-life. It wasn't much different to any other External World starline. In fact it was smaller than most. Orakum was on the edge of the Greater Commonwealth, settled for a mere two hundred years. But that location made it a chief candidate from which to mount new exploration flights, opening up yet more worlds. They were rare events. The Navy had charted every star system directly outside the External Worlds. Expansion to new worlds was also at a historical low. The boundary between Central and External Worlds hadn't changed much for centuries. The old assumption that Higher culture would always be extending outwards, and the ordinary humans would be an expanding wave in front of it was proving to be a fallacy. With inward migration, the number of Higher humans remained about constant; and the External Worlds provided just about every kind of society in terms of ethnicity, ideology, technology, and religion. Should any citizen feel disenfranchised on their own planet they just had to take a commercial flight to relocate. There was very little reason to found a new world these days.

In the nineteen years he'd been on Orakum, SolarStar had only launched three planetary survey flights. Two of these had been closer than the company's long-range commercial flights travelled. Hardly breaking through new frontiers. But he had seniority now. If another outward venture came along, he ought to be chosen. Like all pilots, he was an eternal optimist.

There was no hint of that elusive mission in the company offices when he filed his flight report. He'd just got back from a long haul flight to Troyan, seventy lightyears away. A fifteen-hour trip with nothing to do other than talk to the smartcore and trawl the Unisphere for anything interesting. One day soon, he was sure, people would finally chuck the notion that they had to have a fellow human in charge. He was only sitting up in the front of the starship for public relations. In fact there were probably people sitting in the passenger cabin who were better qualified than him if repairs were ever needed. Not that they ever were.

But at least he got to visit new planets. The same ones. Over and over again.

His regrav capsule sank out of the wispy clouds to curve sedately round the house and land on the grass beside the spinney of lofty rancata trees, nearly twenty metres tall with reddish-brown whip-leaves that swayed in the mild breeze. He climbed out and took a deep breath of the warm, plains-scented air. Out beyond the horizon, Orakum's untamed countryside was carpeted by spiky wildflowers that budded most of the year. Another reason to choose Orakum was its benign climate.

Jesaral was walking out from underneath the house. The splendidly handsome youth didn't quite have a welcoming smile on his face, but definitely looked relieved to see Oscar. He was only wearing a pair of knee-length white trousers, showing off a tanned body that always got Oscar's blood pumping a little faster. Jesaral was the youngest of his three life partners, barely twenty.

Which, Oscar suspected, probably qualified him as the worst Punk Skunk in the galaxy. A thousand-year-plus age gap: it was delightfully naughty.

The youth opened his arms wide and gave Oscar a big hug to accompany a long sultry kiss. Enthusiasm sprayed out heedlessly into the gaiafield.

'What's the matter? Oscar asked.

'Them, Jesaral said, stabbing a thumb dismissively back at the house.

Oscar refused to sigh. He and his other partners Dushiku and Anja had been a stable trio for over a decade. They were both over a hundred, and completely at ease with each other. At their age they understood perfectly the little accommodations necessary to make any relationship to work. It was taking everyone longer than expected to accommodate and adjust to their newcomer — who didn't have anything like their experience and sophistication. Which was what made him so exciting in and out of bed.

'What have they done?

'It's a surprise for you. And I know how you hate surprises.

'Not always, Oscar assured him. 'Depends if it's good or bad. What's this one?

'Oh no. I'm just telling you there is a surprise for you. I don't want you to be upset that it's there, that's all'

Oscar used a macrocellular cluster to connect to the house's net. Whatever was waiting inside had been skilfully blocked. That would be Anja, who developed commercial neural routines. She was one of the best on the planet.

'You have the strangest logic I've ever known, Oscar said.

Jesaral smiled broadly. 'Come on! I can't wait. He tugged at Oscar's arm, his outpouring of enthusiasm shining like sunrise.

They hurried to the base of the pillar and climbed the wide spiral stair. It brought them out into a small vestibule, planted with colourful bushes from several worlds, their flowers reaching for the open sky above. Ten doors opened off it. Jesaral led the way into their main lounge. In contrast to the exterior, the lounge was clad in caranwood, a local variety that was a rich gold-brown.

The grain of the planks had been blended so skilfully it looked as if they were inside a giant hollowed-out trunk. Its furniture was scarlet and gold, contributing to the sumptuous feel.

Dushiku was waiting in the middle of the big room, holding out a tumbler of malt whisky, three ice cubes. He had a mischievous smile on his broad face. 'Welcome home.

'Thanks. Oscar took the drink wearily.

'I see Jesaral's restraint is as strong as ever.

'I didn't tell him, Jesaral protested.

'So? Oscar enquired.

Dushiku raised an eyebrow, and half turned, indicating the balcony beyond the glass wall at the far end of the lounge. Anja was standing out there, leaning on the rail as she spoke about some aspect of the gardens below. Her laughter-filled voice was just audible through the open door. Oscar knew the tone well, she was playing perfect hostess: marking her territory. Anja was astonishingly beautiful, a beauty which took a full third of her salary to maintain. Two visits to a clinic each year were considered an essential minimum, for beauty was fluid and fashions were treacherous ephemera even on Orakum. She'd returned three weeks ago from her last treatments, showing off her reduced height and dark satin-texture skin. Her face was all gentle curves veiled by a mane of thick chestnut hair swishing down past her shoulders. Huge fawn-coloured eyes peered innocently out of the shadows, projecting a girlish innocence complemented by a perpetual ingenue effervescence into the gaiafield. Her clothes were deceptively simple, a scarlet T-shirt and dark-blue swirling skirt demonstrating her compact figure's expensive femininity.

Yet for once, Anja wasn't impressing the person she was talking to. Oscar watched the other woman leaning on the rail. Easily half-a-head shorter than Anja, wearing a modern white dress with a slight surface shimmer, and a rust-red short-sleeved jacket. Stylish without Anja's feminine overload. She wasn't responding with the kind of attention Anja was used to extracting from everyone she came across. He could tell. After ten years, Anja's body language, the tone of her voice were an open book.

And the more she failed to impress, the more huffy she got. He even allowed some of his amusement to trickle out into the gaiafield.

Anja must have sensed it. Her full lips hardened into a rebuke as Oscar walked towards the balcony. 'Oscar, darling, I've been talking to an old friend of yours.

The other person on the balcony turned round. Smiled shrewdly.

Oscar dropped the tumbler as his hands along with every other part of his body were shocked into loss of sensation. The crystal smashed, sending the ice cubes bouncing across the polished wood.

'Hello, Oscar, Paula Myo said.

'Holy shit!

'Long time no see.

Oscar couldn't even grunt.

Alarm was starting to seep into the gaiafield as his life partners took in the tableau.

'You two… Jesaral said, his finger rising to point accusingly at Paula. 'I thought—

'It's all right, Oscar managed to croak.

'What is this? Jesaral said accusingly to Paula. 'You said you were friends.

'We used to be. A long time ago.

'That old excuse. Again! Everything happened before I was born.

'Everything did, Oscar said. His u-shadow summoned a maidbot to clean up the broken tumbler. Only then did he finally manage a weak smile. 'How are you doing, Paula?

'Same as usual.

'Yeah. She hadn't changed. Not physically. Nothing was different, except maybe her straight dark hair was a couple of centimetres longer. Unlike him, who'd been given a great new Advancer body, based on his own DNA then enriched with all the macrocellular clusters, and stronger bones, more efficient organs, and greater longevity. After eighty-six years, he still wasn't anywhere near needing rejuvenation, although his face was now starting to show signs of his newly lived years — as Anja never tired of pointing out. But her… He guessed she must be Higher now. Somehow he couldn't see her visiting clinics for vanity's sake.

'You do know each other, then? Dushiku asked uncertainly.

'Yes. Oscar cleared his throat. 'Could you give us a moment, please?

His life partners exchanged troubled glances, flooding the gaiafield with concern and considerable irritation. 'We'll be outside, Anja said, patting his arm as she went past. 'Just yell.

The maidbot waddled into the lounge and started sucking up the malt. Oscar backed up to a settee and sat down hard. The numbness was dissipating, replaced by a growing anger. He glared at Paula. 'One thousand one hundred years. Thanks for that.

'I recovered your memorycell.

'You put it on trial!

'You're as alive now as the day you flew the hyperglider. That's more than can be said for your victims at Abadan.

'Jesus fucking wept! Will you stop persecuting me.

'I can't make you feel guilty. You do that to yourself.

'Yeah yeah. He sank deeper into the cushioning. 'What the hell are you doing here?

'You live well' She turned her head, studying the lounge. 'Anja was quite proud of the house. I can see why.

'My CST R&R pension fund was paid over into a trust the day the trial ended, courtesy of Wilson. You want to know what one thousand one hundred years' interest looks like? You're standing in it. Bloody inflation! I should have been able to buy a planet'

'And your life partners; they're good people. Jesaral is rather young, isn't he?

'Yeah, Oscar growled at her. 'He's also got a very big cock.

Paula smiled. 'Did you ever get in touch with Wilson when you were re-lifed?

'He left a message. So did Anna. They both downloaded into ANA long ago. Which frankly I don't admire. Look, this is bullshit; what the fuck do you want?

'I need you do a job for me.

Oscar wouldn't have believed it possible. He was in the same room as Paula Myo, and laughing at her. 'Oh boy, did you ever lose it over the centuries. You want me to do a job for you?. You've got to be fucking joking.

Paula's answering smile veered towards immoral. 'Exactly.

Oscar's humour vanished abruptly, leaving him with a very queasy sensation heating his stomach. 'Oh shit: you're not joking.

'Of course not. It's a perfect arrangement. Who would ever suspect such a thing?

'No. No chance. Go and blackmail someone else. I'd rather go back into suspension.

'Come on, Oscar, you're not lesaral so stop acting like him. I'm not here to threaten, I'm here to ask because I know you and I know what you want.

'You do not know me, lady!

Paula leaned in towards him, her eyes shining. 'Oh yes I do, Oscar. We spent the last few days of your life together. I nearly died, and you did. Don't tell me we don't understand each other. You martyred yourself so that the human race could survive. You are an honourable man, Oscar. Screwed up by guilt, but honourable.

Oscar was doing his best not to be intimidated by her. 'That was a mad situation. It won't ever happen again.

'Oh really? Who do you think I work for these days?

'I'll take a wild guess and say ANA. You never change.

'You're right about ANA, but wrong about change. I am different.

'Yeah, it looks it. The same job for thirteen hundred years. I barely recognized you. Paula, you can't change, that is you.

'Far Away altered me. It nearly killed me, but I understood I had to adapt. So I resequenced my DNA to edit out the compulsive behaviour trait.

'It shows.

'Self-determination can overcome artificial nature.

'I'm sure the old nature versus nurture philosophers will be delighted to hear it. Why don't you call them and let them know? Oh, yes, right. They're all dead for two thousand years.

'You're trying to avoid answering me. Trying to justify your fright to yourself.

'Wrong, lady. Utterly totally, wrong. The answer is no. No I will not help you. Would you like that clarifying? No.

'How bad do you think it is, that I'm here to ask you?

'Don't care. I won't help you.

'It's the Pilgrimage. Oscar, I'm worried about it. Really worried.

He stared up at her, not sure if he could take many more shocks. 'Look, I've followed the story closely enough, who hasn't? The Navy will stop the Ocisen Empire dead in its tracks. ANA will halt the Pilgrimage ships. It's not stupid. The Void will eat up half the galaxy if Inigo's dumbass sheep ever get inside.

'And you think that's all there is to it? Oscar, you and I were there with Nigel before we travelled to Far Away. You know how complex that situation was, how many factors were at play. Well, this is worse, a lot worse. The Void is only a peripheral event, a convenient gadfly; this is the Factions finally marching out to fight. This is a battle for the destiny of humanity. Our soul will be decided by the outcome.

'I can't help, he said, mortified by the way it was nearly a wail. 'I'm a pilot for Christ's sake.

'Oh Oscar. Her voice was rich with sympathy. She knelt down in front of him and grasped his hands. Her fingers were warm to the touch. 'Enough humility. It's your character I desperately need help from. I know that once you agree I don't have to worry about the problem any more. You won't quit on me, and that's what's important.

'This is a nostalgia trip for you. I'm just a pilot.

'You were just a Navy captain, but you saved us from the Starflyer. I'm going to tell you what I'm asking you to do. And then I'm going to tell you why you'll do it. If you want to hate me for making you face reality then that's fine by me, too.

He shook his hands loose from her grip. 'Say your piece, then go-

'The Factions know me, they watch me as I watch their agents. So I can't have them knowing that I am desperate to locate the Second Dreamer.

Oscar just laughed. It trailed off into a near-whimper. 'Find the Second Dreamer? Me?

'Yes. And you know why that'll work?

'Because no one will be expecting it. He made it sound like a schoolkid reciting a useless fact.

'Correct. And do you know why you'll do it for me — and please don't shoot the messenger.

He braced himself. Surely there was nothing else in his life she could threaten him with? Did I erase a memory? My God, was there another Abadan? 'What?

'Because you're bored shitless with this dreary monotonous life you sleepwalk through.

Oscar opened his mouth to shout at her. Tell her she'd finally flipped. That she was so fantastically wrong. That his life was rich. That he had people who loved him. That every day was a joy. That he never wanted to go back to the crazy days of the Starflyer War. That he'd already endured all the terror and wild exhilaration one life could possibly contain. That such things were best left to the new generation. But for some reason his head had fallen into his hands, and he was sighing heavily. He couldn't look at her. And he could certainly never look at his life partners. 'I can't tell them that, he whispered painfully. 'How can I? They'll believe it's their fault.

Paula stood up. A hand rested on his shoulder with gentle sympathy. 'You want me to do it?

'No. He shook his head. Wiped the back of his hand across his eyes to remove the annoying smears of moisture. 'No. I'm not that much of a coward.

'Whatever cover story you need, you've got it. I can arrange… anything, basically.

'Uh huh.

'There's a starship waiting for you at the local spaceport. She smiled mischievously. 'An ultradrive.

Oscar smiled faintly, feeling the joy stirring deep inside him. 'Ultradrive? Well at least you don't think I'm a cheap whore.

This wasn't how Araminta expected to be returning to the Suvorov continent, sitting in an ageing carry capsule as it flew across the Great Cloud Ocean, lower and slower than every other capsule on the planet. It didn't exactly smack of style. She'd always promised herself she'd only ever return to her birth continent when she could step out of some swank luxury capsule and smile condescendingly around at Langham and the family's business.

Not there just yet.

Unfortunately, Likan's estate was on Suvorov. Understandably, as that was where Viota's capital, Ludor, was situated. Likan wasn't a provinces kind of person, he had to be near the action. So back across the ocean she went. With a baggage hold packed with her best clothes, and a deepening sense of anxiety.

She was genuinely interested in the Sheldonite's abilities. To get to his level in under a hundred and fifty years illustrated a phenomenal achievement. There was a lot she could learn from him, providing she could get him talking.

Then there was the whole Sheldonite culture thing. Thousands of people on hundreds of External Worlds trying to emulate their ancient hyper-capitalist idol. An emulation dangerously close to blind worship, she thought. But she was willing to suspend judgement until she experienced it first hand. Maybe this was the route she should be taking. Even Bovey couldn't deny Sheldonism was the pinnacle of business culture. Successful Sheldonism, that was. There were enough failed adherents littered across the External Worlds.

And finally the harem. Typical male fantasy; a rich man making his dreams come true. Yet a lot more common than in Sheldon's day; group-life-partner relationships were growing in popularity among the External Worlds. And she was hardly in any position to criticize; what she'd enjoyed with Bovey was essentially the same arrangement. So here she was, technically free and single, and still interested in experimenting sexually to see what suited her. She didn't think this was going to be her, but she'd surprised herself before with Bovey.

A last wild fling, then. So whatever I discover, this weekend will he win-win.

With that delinquent thought warming her, the capsule finally made land and began to fly over Likan's estate. He owned an area of a hundred thousand square miles, taking in a long stretch of coastline — developed with resort complexes. Massive tracts of farmland with square-mile fields, growing every imaginable luxury crop, the kind nobody produced in a culinary unit, tended by over a million agribots; all processed in immaculately hygienic cybernated factories and sold under his own brands.

Then there was Albany, his industrial complex. Set on a flat plain, it was a square eight miles to a side; tall boxy buildings laid out in a perfect grid; every one a factory or processing plant. A spaceport spread out of one side, long rows of landing pads stretching across the green meadows to a nearby river. Ocean barges clotted the water, while fat cargo starships formed near-solid lines stretching up through the sky. No humans actually lived in Albany itself; the technicians who kept it running were all housed in dormitory towns twenty miles away. She flew over one of them, surprised by how nice it looked, with large houses and plenty of green space, ornate civic buildings providing every amenity.

He owns it all. And more: he created it. Now that is real vision.

Her capsule's net was queried by local traffic control. She supplied her identity certificate and received a descent vector.

Likan's home was actually three separate buildings. Two of them were on the shore of a lake ten miles long. One was a giant chateau made of stone which must have had five hundred rooms. Araminta had seen smaller villages. The second, almost opposite the first, was an ultramodern ovoid of shimmering opalescence that seemed to dip down into the water as it lay longside across the ground. The third was small by comparison, just a wooden lodge atop the cliffs of a rugged island.

The capsule landed outside the ovoid. Araminta was quietly grateful. She wanted to see what it was like inside, if there were any design concepts she could use.

Two of the harem were waiting to greet her when she stepped out. Clemance, a slim teenager, dressed in a simple white shirt and blue cotton shorts. She had a fresh face, freckled on her nose and brow, an eager smile, and fair hair that was barely styled. Not quite what Araminta had expected. While the other, Marak-ata, was tall and classically beautiful, with ebony skin that gleamed in the sunlight. Her scarlet gown probably cost more than every item Araminta had brought put together. And that's what she wears in the middle of the afternoon. Subtle cosmetic scales highlighted jade eyes and a wide mouth. She didn't smile, her whole attitude was one of cool amusement.

Clemance bounded forward, her smile growing even wider. She threw her arms around Araminta. 'Likan has told us all about you. It's so great to finally get to meet you.

A mildly startled Araminta gave the girl a tentative hug back. What did he say?

'To be careful, Marakata said. She raised an elegant eyebrow, observing Araminta's response.

'He says you're really ambitious, and smart, and attractive, and your own boss— Clemance seemed to run out of breath. 'Just all-round fabulous.

Araminta finally managed to disentangle herself from the girl. 'I didn't realize I'd made such an impression.

'Likan makes very fast assessments, Marakata said.

'Do you? Araminta asked, as cool as she could.

It actually drew a small smile from the imposing woman. 'I take my time and get it absolutely right.

'Good to know.

Clemance giggled. 'Come on, we'll show you your room. She grabbed Araminta's hand and pulled like a five-year-old hauling her parent to the Christmas tree.

'The staff will get your bags, Marakata said airily.

Araminta frowned, then saw she wasn't joking. A couple of women in identical smart grey toga suits were heading for her capsule, followed by a regrav sled. 'You have human staff?

'Of course.

'So Nigel Sheldon must have had them.

'Humm, you are quite quick, aren't you?

Clemance laughed, and pulled harder. 'Come on! I chose this one for you.

They were right up against the scintillating surface. Araminta hadn't realized how big the ovoid was. Standing at the base it must have reached ten storeys above her, though the curvature made it hard to tell. There were no discernible features, certainly no door. The entire base was surrounded by a broad marble path, as if it were resting on a plinth. A couple of thin gold lines had materialized underfoot, which Clemance had followed. She slipped through the torrent of multicoloured light. Araminta followed. It was similar to walking through a pressure field, or a spore shower, a slight tingle on the skin, bright flash against the eye, and she was in a bubble-chamber with transparent furniture delineated by glowing emerald lines, like curving laser beams. Closets and drawers were all empty, chairs and couches contained a more diffuse glow inside their cushions, looking like faulty portal projections. The floor and cupola walls were a duller version of the external scintillations. Only the cream and gold sheets on the bed were what she thought of as tangible.

'The house smartnet is offering an operations program, her u-shadow told her.

'Accept it. Her exovision showed her the file opening into a storage lacuna.

Clemance was already sitting on the edge of the bed, bouncing up and down. 'Like it?

'The house's main entrance opens into a guest bedroom?

'Only when you need it to be, the girl said sprightly. 'Tell your control program you want to see out.

Araminta did, and the walls on one side lost their lustre to show the gardens outside, and her capsule with the regrav sled loading up cases.

'Now, if you need the bathroom… Clemance said. The whole room started to slide upwards, following the curvature of the external wall. There must have been excellent gravity compensators hidden somewhere below the floor because Araminta didn't feel any movement. Then they were sliding horizontally into the centre of the ovoid. Other bubble rooms flowed past them.

Araminta imagined this was the perspective which corpuscles had as they raced through a vein. She smiled in delight. 'How brilliant, the whole thing is protean.

Her bedroom touched a bathroom, and the wall rolled apart to give her access. The design beyond the new door was more conventional, with a huge pool-bath, showers, dryer chambers. It was bigger than the living rooms back in the apartments she was developing.

'You want to see someone, or go to the dining room for dinner, or just change the view — tell the house, Marakata said.

'I will, Araminta said positively.

A door opened opposite the bathroom, and Marakata stepped through. Araminta caught a glimpse of an all-white chamber with a long desk, and several gym apparatus. 'I'll see you later, Marakata said, and the door swept shut behind her.

'Was that a threat? Araminta muttered.

'Oh ignore her, Clemance said. 'She's always shy around new people. She's a lot more fun in bed, honest.

'I'm sure. Araminta turned round, giving the room a more thorough inspection. The drawers began to fill up with her clothes. The process was like watching water bubble up into a glass. 'Take me to Likan, she told her u-shadow.

The room closed the door into the bathroom. Curving walls slipped past; horizontally then curving to vertical. 'And opaque the walls. Gravity might be perfectly stable, but the sight was strangely disorientating.

Likan's room was huge. Araminta suspected it didn't move often. Everything else in the house would be displaced. It was circular with a polished oak floor which appeared to be a single giant segment. Vat grown; she'd read a file on the process in one of her design courses. The walls were pale pink and blue, with a translucent eggshell texture. They slipped into transparency along a third of the length, providing a panorama out across the lake.

Likan was walking towards her, dressed in a simple mauve sweatshirt and long green shorts. Small coloured symbols were shrinking around him, then vanishing. The walls must be portals, she thought, which gave them a vast projection capacity. This was probably his office. He smiled warmly, paused in front of her and gave her a kiss. The kind of kiss that told her what he was expecting from her later.

'Great house, she said.

'I knew you'd like it. The concept is an old one, but we've just got the manufacturing process down to an affordable level. Not easy without Higher replicators.

'I'd like to have the Colwyn City franchise.

He responded with a warm, admiring smile. 'Now see, most developers would have made a crack about me putting them out of business. But you… you see how to adapt and move onward. That's what makes you stand out.

'Thank you.

Clemance scampered over to a new door. 'Catch you later.

Likan waved dismissively as he led Araminta over to the transparent wall. 'Drink? Food? he asked.

'I'm good for a few hours.

'Good. The Prime Minister and two cabinet ministers are coming for dinner.

Are you trying to impress me?

'They were coming anyway. But hopefully it gives you an idea of the life I lead. To get this big you have to delve into politics.

'Colwyn City Hall can be a beast issuing permits.

'Take the development officer for dinner. Loan your local councillor a high-end capsule. They're all in it for what they can get. Wouldn't be feeding from the public trough otherwise.

'Unless they're in it to clean up the corruption.

'Yeah. Those ones are a problem. Fortunately, they don't tend to last long.

'You're a cynic'

'Pragmatist, if you don't mind. I'm also a lot more experienced than you in every field. So trust me when I say politicians all have their weakness.

'What's yours? she teased.

'One, I'm an easy lay. But you already know that. Two, risk. Risk is my weakness. The sensation when a risk pays off is like nothing else. I always take the risk. I enjoy the reward too much not to.

'So what risk are you taking right now?

'You're smart, you've researched me. The finance files, at least. Tell me.

'I accessed some background on my way over. Opinion is you're dangerously overextended.

'And those loans have grown significantly in the last couple of years. So why do you think that is?

'You're going to wipe out property companies with houses like this one? Flood the market.

He grinned. 'Small scale. I think big. Besides, it'll take a decade for something like this to first become fashionable then generally accepted. Think, what's the most pressing problem Viotia has today?

'Living Dream?

'Kind of. Ellezelin is always looming over us. Rightly so. The Free Trade Zone is a massive market; it's not going away and it's always growing. Anyone already operating in it has a huge financial and production capacity advantage over some poor little Viotia company. The worry is that when they eventually open a wormhole here all our companies will lose out to cheap imports. Trade will be one way.

Her mind went back to Albany, the sheer scale of the place. 'You're going to undercut them.

'Albany is as automated as anyone can be without replicators. I've spent a decade investing in the most advanced cybernated systems we can have to drive production costs down. To do that, to push each unit cost as low as it can physically go, you have to have massive volume production. That's what's killing me at the moment. The factories are barely ticking over. But when that wormhole finally opens…

'It's not going to be the financial massacre they expect.

'They import. I export. Only the quantity of those exports will be ten times greater than they assume.

'You'd need a distribution network.

His smile was triumphant as he turned out to face the lake. 'Certainly would.

'Wow, she said. And meant it. Likan's ambition was so great hers wouldn't even register on the same scale. 'Why tell me? You can't be trying to impress me into bed. You've already got that.

'Although I have an egotistical opinion of my own ability, I can't actually manage every aspect by myself, even with an augmented mentality. Too many details. For an expansion phase on this level, I need people I can trust in senior management positions; especially offworld.

'That's very flattering.

'Yes and no. You'd be capable management, I think; you have the right kind of drive and mindset. You don't have the experience to be top rank, but that will come.

She frowned. 'Why me?

'How much research did you really do? On Sheldon himself?

'None, she admitted. 'Just what I picked up in school'

'The old Dynasties were just that, family enterprises. The surest way humans have ever come up with to retain loyalty and control. Nigel used his own flesh and blood.

'Ah. It was as if the room was suddenly on the move: downwards.

'All the senior positions were held by his own children, Likan said. 'That's also what I do.

A memory abruptly rushed to the fore of her mind. 'Debbina? she said before she could stop it.

Likan actually winced. 'What did I ever do to you? No, okay, not my beloved little girl. But a lot of my other children are running sections of my company.

'And how do I fit into this?

'How do you think?

'Spell it out for me.

'You become one of my wives. You have my children. They take their place in the company.

'You really know how to romance a girl.

He flashed her a wry smile. 'Come on, we're grown-ups. Every marriage today is half business. We'll have a great time in bed. I can afford any lifestyle you want. Your children grow up being part of the most dynamic company in this section of the Commonwealth. They'll never want for anything, and they'll be presented with virtually unlimited challenges. I know you well enough to know that appeals. Who wants trust fund brats, right? And the same goes for you. Stick with me for ten, fifteen years, then you can either continue with a post in the company, or you cut loose with a huge chunk of money and enough insider knowledge to run circles around everyone else.

'Ozzie's mother! Are you serious?

'Perfectly. He sidled up close, and put his arm round her, kissing again, more gently this time. 'I don't want an answer this instant. This is why you're here. Experience everything you can and you want, then take your time and decide.

Wow, second time I've had that proposal in a month.

'Okay, she said shakily. 'I'll do that.

'You mean it? You're not just saying that?

'No. I mean it.

Araminta didn't wear her own clothes for dinner. That was the first thing she learned about what membership of the harem would be like. A stylist called Helenna was waiting in her bedroom when it collected her from Likan's airy office. A jovial woman, close to rejuvenation, whose age meant she'd piled on a lot of weight in recent years. Genuinely friendly, she was keen to confide household gossip, most of which made no sense to Araminta, although there was a lot of it. She'd been with Likan for fifty years. 'So I know it all, honey, seen even more. I don't judge anyone, and nothing you do here is going to surprise me. You want anything special for tonight, you just ask me for it. Araminta wasn't sure what counted as that special. It was tempting to ask what other girls had requested. One thing Helenna was sure of was that, 'Likan likes his woman elegant. So we've got to get you spruced up, ready to stand your own ground against the others.

That took hours. Her bedroom bounded all over the ovoid house to link up with various other specialist rooms. The sauna to start with, clearing her pores. Massage, by a man called Nifran, who was as brutal as he was skilful; afterwards she just sort of poured herself off the table with loose floppy limbs. The fitting room. A house that has a fitting room? Where she was measured up for her evening dress.

Spiralling dawn to the salon, where Helenna was finally exposed as a sorceress. Layers of cosmetic membrane were applied, yet when Araminta looked in the mirror there was no sign of them. Instead her nineteen-year-old self looked back at her. A nineteen that she'd never known but always wanted, with sharp cheekbones, absolutely no excess flesh, soft long eyelashes, perfectly clear skin, eyes that sparkled. Another hour saw her hair repaired, as Helenna disapprovingly termed the first procedure. Then extended, thickened, softened, waved, and styled.

Clemance had the chair next to her as it was being done. Another member of the harem, Alsena, took the other side. They chatted comfortably enough, which was an insight into the kind of sisterhood the women had. She was given a rundown of Likan's genealogy with emphasis on the wayward children, a saga for which she needed to open a new file in a storage lacuna to keep track of.

For all their friendliness, the girls weren't quite engaged with the real world. Which was a pretty bitchy observation, but one Araminta felt applied. If Likan wanted women like her, what was he doing with the others? They certainly didn't aspire to run sections of his corporate empire.

'He likes variety, Helenna told her as the salon rendezvoused back with the fitting room.

The classic little black dress had never fallen out of style. And looking at the one the fitting room's apprentice sorceresses had conjured up for her, Araminta could see why. She felt randy just slipping into it — so Ozzie alone knew what effect it would have on any male that crossed her path. It clung disgracefully, yet allowed her breasts complete freedom of movement. She blushed the first time she walked in it. Somehow the high hem and silk-gloss microfabric sprayed on her legs made her calves and thighs slim down to that same nineteen-year-old ideal Helenna's spell had blessed her face with for the night.

Pre-dinner cocktails were served to the household and Likan's guests in the music room, which had claimed his office's lake view. Araminta walked in with her head held high, knowing just how great she looked. Likan's double take, and the smiles from the harem, Clemance's little bounce as she clapped her hands excitedly, were all the accolades she was simply due. It all helped buoy her confidence close to levels of arrogance. So when Likan introduced her to the Prime Minister and her husband, she was perfectly civil, and treated them as if they were almost her equal.

All the while as she made small talk and sampled weird-tasting canapes she kept wondering how Bovey would behave if he were here. He enjoyed his culture, and could be as snobbish about food and wine as anyone. But the company she mingled with; the world's powerful and wealthy, and a few merely famous — she just couldn't get away from the idea of how he'd turn his nose up at them.

Yet here I am, holding my own.

The evening did have a downside. The Prime Minister's husband, who she was seated next to at the dinner table, was fantastically boring. Thankfully, Eridal, one of Likan's older sons, sat on her other side. As smart and charming as Likan, he ran a finance house in Ludor; but he lacked that bullish determination which drove his father. She dutifully tried to not spend the whole evening chatting to him.

When it was all over, after the dining hall had descended to ground level so the guests could walk to their capsules, there was just Likan and eight of his harem left. The door contracted and the walls resumed their sparkle; everyone gave a spontaneous laugh of release which Araminta joined in wholeheartedly.

Likan gave her a congratulatory kiss. 'Damnit I'd forgotten how awful that dickhead was, he told her. 'I wanted to smack him one, and he wasn't even talking to me. Thanks for putting up with him.

Doors were opening into various bedrooms around the dining hall. The harem were vanishing through them. Out of all the women at the dinner, they were undeniably the most beautiful, most of them astonishingly so. Despite all Helenna's efforts, Araminta couldn't help but feel like the poor relation in their presence.

'Go and get ready, Likan told her. 'We'll be waiting.

He turned and left through a door into a small darkened room. Araminta stared after him for a moment, then summoned her own bedroom. That whole alpha male issuing orders thing just didn't do it for her. For one, he didn't have the charisma to pull it off, not with his dress sense and throwback physical appearance. On the other hand to have accomplished so much was darkly compelling. She grinned at her own inner argument. What the hell, at least Clemance will be fun.

'Dress me the way he'll enjoy, she told the waiting Helenna. A process which turned out to be more elaborate than she anticipated. For a start it involved Nifran again, who chided her about lack of proper exercise, and how he couldn't relax her enough. What he did with her legs was virtually sex in itself.

Helenna applied some fabulously scented oil which acted in conjunction with Nifran's pummelling to make her flesh glow.

'He's not into sadism or anything, is he? Araminta asked. These preparations were all very detailed. Her usual idea of getting ready for a hot night was wearing something a man could remove quickly.

'Not to worry, sweetie, he enjoys sex the way he enjoys his women; tasteful.

Pondering that, Araminta allowed Helenna to dress her. The white negligee was mostly straps, yet perversely managed to cover more of her body than the black dress. She checked herself out in the mirror. So his idea of tasteful is a Slut Princess? How very male.

Her bedroom whisked her away to Likan's boudoir — no other word for it. Vast bed in the middle, naughty-shaped furniture, low rose-gold lighting. Harem in attendance, and yes, dressed elegantly in silk and satin, with open gowns swirling, lounging on couches sipping champagne as they watched two of their number make love on the bed.

Araminta strolled in, trying not to appear too apprehensive. Likan greeted her, wearing a black robe. 'Champagne? he offered.

'Thank you. She took a crystal flute from Marakata, who gave her a detailed appraisal. There was something alarmingly erotic about the way the aloof woman seemed able to look right through the negligee.

'You two should kiss, Likan said.

Araminta pressed herself against the statuesque woman, enjoying the sensual touch. Marakata certainly knew how to kiss.

When they'd finished Araminta took a sip of the champagne as Likan took her hand and led her slowly over to the couch where Alsena was waiting. Araminta knelt down, and began the kiss.

As she went on to kiss all the other women as he instructed, Araminta decided the experience wasn't so much tasteful as formulaic. Likan had ritualized his lovemaking. Finally she kissed him. After that she was taken over to the bed. There was a specific way of kneeling he wanted her to assume, very sex kittenish. One of the harem helped arrange her hair decoratively over her shoulder.

Clemance removed Likan's gown. Araminta stared at his huge erection.

'I have a gift for you. 'Yes, she said emphatically. 'I see that. 'A program. 'Huh?

'A melange I've composed myself over several years. It allows you deeper access to your own mind, opening levels that verge on the subconscious in the way the old yogis achieved through meditation.

'Right, she said dubiously. Talk about killing the mood. He smiled fondly, and stroked her cheek. 'I use it myself to focus. It helps to clean your mind of extraneous thought. You can revert to the animal basics which form our core identity. His face came close to hers. 'There are no inhibitions to be had in such a state. Whatever you pursue is unashamedly pure. 'No inhibitions?

'Clarity is a helpful tool for business. But also for lovemaking. You can concentrate on the sensations of your body to the exclusion of anything else. It helps to amplify even the smallest nerve signal.

'You mean I can make a climax stronger? It sounded like an electronic version of the sex aerosols she and Bovey used.

'Yes. There are also adapted biofeedback routines which can influence your physical self. Once you determine the origin of your body's pleasure, you can repeat it. His voice became softer, tempting. 'As many times as you have the physical strength for. Her u-shadow told her he was offering the program. Suddenly, she was feeling very hot in the negligee. 'Scan it for infiltrators and trojans, she told her u-shadow as she held his level gaze.

'It's clean.

'Load and run. Through her exovision she watched the program expand into one of her lacunas. It had many similarities with a learning program, which she allowed to mushroom into her grey matter. Instinctive knowledge bubbled away in her mind.

'Don't be afraid, Likan said softly. 'I'll use it with you. It will make our first time spectacular.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Now she considered it, clearing her mind was a simple process; following the rising sleep cycles yet never accepting them. Her breathing steadied, and she grew aware of the body's rhythms, the flow of nervous energy. Heartbeat. Peripheral thoughts fell away, allowing her to centre herself in the boudoir, on the bed. Her awareness grew of the light touch of fabric against her skin. Tiny beads of perspiration clung to her. The sound of bubbles fizzing in the crystal flutes. Likan's breathing. She saw his arm move out, a finger beckon.

Marakata answered the summons, sliding sinuously over the mattress. Her fingers stroked Araminta's skin. The sensations her nerves experienced flowed like a tidal wave into her brain. She gasped at the impact, and pulled her attention to the sensations which were most pleasurable. Wallowing in them.

Under Likan's direction, Marakata plucked the negligee straps off Araminta's shoulders. Air flowed over her exposed breasts, followed by warm fingers. Araminta shuddered fiercely at the touch, smiling as she centred her mind on the feeling. Blood was loud and hot as it rushed into her nipples, swelling the buds.

'There, she told the owner of the fingers.

The caress was repeated, the ecstasy replicated. Then many hands were gliding over her. Warm eager mouths kissed. She wailed with helpless delight at the symphony of sensation which the harem kindled. The negligee was removed completely. Instinctively she arched her back. Likan's cock slid inside her. The experience was close to unbearable, it was all there was. Still her mind remained steadfast on the torrent of physical joy. Araminta promised herself, no matter what, she would not faint away as she had done with Bovey. This time there were no chemicals fugging her mind, this she was free to experience its incredible conclusion. She laughed and wept simultaneously as Likan started to move in a powerful rhythm. Then the harem recommenced their virtuoso performance.

The Skylord glided across the outer atmosphere of the solid planet; its vacuum wings long since retracted. Thick turbulent streams of the ionosphere swept across its forward section, creating lengthy vibrations across its giant bulk. Energy stirred in specific patterns within it, thoughts mingling with its body's elemental power, manipulating the fabric of the universe outside. Its speed began to slow, as it imposed its wishes on reality. Gently it started to lower itself into the atmosphere. Far below, the minds of the sentient entities sang out in welcome.

'Now! Cleric Conservator Ethan commanded the obedient waiting minds of the Dream Masters.

Their thoughts flared out into the gaiafield in a single stream, pushing at the dream fabric, seeking entry. Tendrils of raw will prodded and poked at the stubbornly resistant image emanating from the Second Dreamer. As the Skylord began to focus its attention of the ancient coastal city beneath, they felt its perception turn outwards, towards them. It felt them! It knew they were there!

'My Lord, Ethan called with profound respect. 'We need your help.

The Skylord's descent halted. Those dreaming the Skylord felt the mass of the planet press against the magnificent creature's perception. In that way they knew the winds that blew across the Iguru Plain. Experienced the waves rolling lazily over the Lyot Sea towards the coast. And there, right underneath them, so tantalizingly close, the physical form of Makkathran's buildings brushed against their consciousness. Each one exactly as it was in Inigo's dreams.

Adoration and gratitude swelled out into the gaiafield, buoying Ethan's thoughts along. 'We seek to reach you. Show us the way to you, my Lord. Receive us.

The dream shattered into a glorious pinnacle of agony. The Skylord's magisterial thoughts were wrenched away by a terrible power.

'NO! the Second Dreamer commanded amid the ruined bliss. 'I am me.

An infinite black surface swelled with malignant anger, sealing the gulf between the gaiafield and the Skylord.

Blinding pain seared deep into Ethan's mind as the blackness snapped at him. He screamed, every muscle contorting to fling him out of his chair and fall into merciful unconscious.

Araminta woke with a gasp, shooting upright on the bed; heart racing and breath coming in judders. She instinctively applied the program's knowledge again; settling her racing mind and quelling her body's distress. It worked a treat.

What the fuck is it with that dream?

It had been quite pleasant to start with, drifting gently above a strange planet; warm sun on her back, mysterious continents rolling by underneath. Then something happened, a smothering sensation that triggered an adrenaline rush, and she had to thrash about, trying to wake herself. Push herself clear from that oppressive constriction. It was as if someone was trying to steal her soul. She yelled defiance at the dark force, and finally managed to wake.

Kicking and writhing around as she shouted. Surely? Yet actually all she seemed to have done was shuffle round a bit and sit up.

She looked about her in confusion. Likan's boudoir was still illuminated by the same warm light. Nobody else was awake. Clemance was curled up beside her, one arm draped over her legs. The girl was stirring, blinking in confusion as Araminta moved. Araminta stroked her tangled hair and cheek, soothing her as she would a troubled child. A drowsy Clemance smiled worshipfully then closed her eyes again.

Araminta blew out an exasperated breath, and slowly sank back down. Despite the supple mattress her body was stressed tight — which would no doubt annoy Nifran. As she lay there rigid, she could hear two of the harem whimpering softly in their sleep. So she wasn't the only one suffering a bad dream. She wondered if she should creep across the room to wake them. But eventually they subsided into a deeper sleep. Yet she still couldn't relax and drop off. There was something scrabbling about in her subconscious that was unsettling her, an elusive memory she was trying to connect. Not the dream, something before that.

Once again, the program came to her aid. She cleared her mind and concentrated on her memories of the orgy. Physically, it had been hugely satisfying — no denying that. And the harem had delighted in teaching her a whole range of sensual acts which they and Likan enjoyed. But it was that ritual thing again; true passion had been missing, and with it the heat which came from abandoning herself the way she did with Bovey. This had been a little too much like mechanics, with all of them busy doing as Likan instructed.

Araminta sat up on the bed again, her skin cooling with shock. The memory of Likan and Marakata was perfectly clear in her mind, all thanks to his own wonderful program. And how's that for irony. She thought it through again, then reviewed some other suspicious recollections before finally dropping her head into her hands and groaning in dismay. 'Oh shit.

True to her word, Helenna didn't judge. She made no comment as the house emptied the drawers and closets, the clothes slithering away through the interstices between the rooms to fill her cases in the butler's lodge. Araminta almost wanted to ask how many others she'd seen leave abruptly after a night with Likan. But that would have been unfair on both of them.

Her bedroom wound through the ovoid house, and opened a door on to the path which ran round the outside of the building. Dawn light was shining a murky grey off the placid lake. Two of the household's smartly-suited staff were loading her cases back into her carry capsule.

'It's a shame, sweetie, Helenna said. 'I had you down as one who'd fit in easily here.

'Me too, Araminta said. Gave the maid a quick hug. 'Thanks for everything.

'Hey, it was nice meeting you.

Araminta turned and walked out of the bedroom. The door unrolled behind her.

'Wait! Clemance called out. 'You can't leave! She was hurrying out of another door, ten metres away, trying to pull on a translucent wrap.

Likan walked behind her, considerably more composed in a thick dark-purple robe. 'Not even going to say goodbye? he asked. There was a nasty frown on his puggish face.

'The house's net is active. You knew I was leaving. If you wanted to say anything before I left, you could, Araminta told him. 'And here you are.

'Yes, here I am. I would like to know why you're running out. I think I'm entitled after the offer I made you. I know you enjoyed yourself last night. So what is this?

Araminta glanced at the distraught girl who was hovering between them, uncertain who to go to. 'Are you sure?

Likan took a step forward and put his arm around Clemance's shoulder, helping to pull her wrap on. 'I don't keep anything from my wives.

'Even that they're psychoneural profiled?

His face remained impassive. 'It was helpful to begin with.

'Helpful? she cried. 'You had them bred to be your slaves. Profiling like that is illegal, it always has been. It's a vile, inhuman thing to do. They don't have a choice. They don't have free will. It's obscene! Why, for Ozzie's sake? You don't need to force people into your bed. I would have probably joined you. And I know there are thousands of others who'd love the chance. Why did you do it?

Likan glanced down at Clemance with an almost paternal expression. 'They were the first, he said simply.

'First?

'Of my harem. I had to start it somewhere. It was the bootstrap principle.

'What are you talking about?

'To start with, when you have nothing, you begin by pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps. I needed to be him, to be Nigel Sheldon. He had a harem, therefore I had one. You don't understand what that man was. He ruled hundreds of worlds, billions of people. I wasn't joking when I called him an emperor. He was the greatest human who ever lived. I need to know how to think like he did. He almost ground the words out.

'So you created slaves to achieve that?

'They're not slaves. All of us are predisposed to various personality traits. The way they combine: that's what makes us individuals. I just amplified a few of the behavioural attributes in the girls.

'Yeah: submissiveness! I watched them last night, Likan. They obeyed you like they were bots.

'The relationship is a lot more complex than that.

'That's what it boils down to. Why didn't you profile yourself to think like Sheldon? If you have to wreck somebody, why not yourself?

'I have incorporated his known neural characteristics into my DNA. But a neural structure is only a vessel for personality. You need the environment as well. As complete as you can make it.

'Oh, for Ozzie's sake! You have deliberately, maliciously bred slaves. And you think that's an acceptable way to achieve what you are. That makes me sick. I don't want any part of you or your perverted family. You won't even let them go! Why don't you remove their profiling when they go for rejuvenation treatment?

'I created them because of my belief, wrongly in your opinion; now you think they should be altered because of your belief. Does that strike you as slightly ironic? There's an old saying that two wrongs don't make a right. I take responsibility for my wives, especially the profiled ones — just as Sheldon would have done.

Araminta glowered at him, then she switched her attention to Clemance, softening her expression to plead. 'Come with me. Come away from here. It's reversible. I can show you what it's like to be free, to be truly human. I know you don't believe me, but just please try. Try Clemance.

'You're such a fool, the girl said. She pressed harder into Likan. 'I'm not profiled. I like this. I like being in the harem. I like the money. I like the life. I like that my children will rule whole planets. Without Likan, what will yours ever be?

'Themselves, Araminta said weakly.

Clemance gave her a genuinely pitying look. 'That's not good enough for me.

Araminta raised an uncertain hand. 'Is she…?

'There were only ever three, Likan said. 'Clemance is not one of them. Would you like to guess again?

Araminta shook her head. She didn't trust herself to speak. Marakata. Marakata is one, I know. Perhaps if I just…

'Goodbye, Likan said.

Araminta climbed into the carry capsule, and told it to take her home.

Oscar had never thought he'd return to the very place where he died. Of course, he hadn't expected to see Paula Myo again, either.

Just to make matters worse, enterprising Far Away natives had turned his last desperate hyperglide flight into a tourist attraction. Worse still, it was a failing attraction.

Still, at least Oscar had got to name the brand new starship which ANA had delivered to Orakum for him, and without much thought went and called it the Elvin's Payback. There was a large briefing file sitting in its smartcore, which he zipped through and sent a few queries to Paula, who by then was back in her own starship and en route to somewhere. She wouldn't say where.

After he'd finished the file, one thing became very clear to him. Paula had severely overestimated his abilities. There were a lot of very powerful, very determined groups searching for the Second Dreamer. Now that might not have fazed Paula, but… 'I'm only a pilot, he repeated to her when she called him on a secure TD channel and asked him why he was flying to Far Away. She hadn't said she could track the Elvin's Payback, but somehow he wasn't surprised.

'I'm going to need help. And as you trust me, so I trust someone else. He got an evil little buzz out of not telling her who. Though he suspected she would know — it was hardly hyperspace science.

He landed at Armstrong City starport, which was a huge field to the north east of the city itself with four big terminal buildings handling passenger flights and a grid of warehouses where the freighters came and went. He picked out a parking pad out near the fence, away from any real activity. As the starship descended he swept its visual sensors across the ancient city that spread back from the shore of the North Sea. Inevitably, there was a dense congregation of tall towers and pyramids above the coast; while broad estates of big houses swamped the land behind. It was all a lot more chaotic than the layout of most Commonwealth cities, which he rather enjoyed. He was looking for a glimpse of Highway One, the historic road where his friends had chased the Starflyer to its doom. All that remained now was a long, fat urban strip following the old route as it struck out for miles across the Great Iril Steppes, as if city buildings were seeking to escape from their historical anchor at the centre. Like every Commonwealth world, Far Away's ground traffic was now a shrinking minority. The sky above the city swarmed with regrav capsules.

Oscar floated down out of the airlock underneath the Elvin's Payback, and stood once more on the ground of Far Away. For some ridiculous reason he was trembling. He took a long moment, breathing in the air, then moved away from the starship. His feet pushed gently on the short grass, sending his body gliding in a short arc in the low gravity. He'd forgotten how enjoyable that part of this world was, those soar-lope steps were a freedom like having teenage hormones again.

Once he'd cleared the starship he stopped and turned a full circle. There was the city skyline on one side, some distant mountains. Nothing he recognized. Apart from the glorious sapphire sky. Thankfully, that had remained the same, as the planet's biosphere slowly regenerated with the new plants and creatures which humans had brought to this world.

Warm sea air gusted constantly from the passage of starships using the terminals, ruffling his hair. It was all very different to Orakum's main starport which he flew from, and had barely fifty flights a day. But then Far Away was the self-proclaimed capital of the External Worlds; the planet which had refused political and economic integration with the Greater Commonwealth. Even today, it was technically only an affiliate member. Its staunch independence had inspired a whole generation of newly settled worlds after the Starflyer War. The political will, coupled with the end of CST's transport monopoly which the starships brought, allowed the first cultural division to open within Commonwealth society as a whole. As the Sheldon Dynasty made biononics available, starting Higher culture, so Far Away's Bar-soomians introduced genetic improvements which took the human body far beyond its natural meridian, developing into the Advancer movement. After that, Far Away with its fierce libertar-ianist tradition declared itself the ideological counterweight to Earth and ANA. The Commonwealth's Senators might regard the notion with their ancient wise distain, but Far Away's citizens believed their own destiny.

Oscar smiled at the busy city as he experienced the emotional tide of the local gaiafield. Even that had a stridency which celebrated the stubbornness of the inhabitants. His u-shadow opened a channel to the planetary cybersphere, and called a onetime address code he'd been given eighty-six years earlier, on the day he emerged from the re-life clinic. To his surprise, it was answered immediately. 'Yes?

'I need to see you, Oscar said. 'I have a problem and I need help sorting it out.

'Who the fuck are you, and how did you steal this code?

'I am Oscar Monroe, and this code was given to me. Some time ago.

There was a long pause, though the channel remained open.

'If you are an impostor, you have once chance to walk away, and that chance is now.

'I know who I am, Oscar said.

'We'll know if you are.

'Good.

'Very well. Be at the Kime Sanctuary on top of Mount Herculaneum in one hour. One of us will meet you.

The channel went dead. Oscar grinned. He shouldn't be all fired up by this, he really shouldn't.

His u-shadow contacted a local hire company, and he rented a high-performance ingrav capsule. Given who he was going to meet, he didn't want to risk technology leakage by arriving in an ultradrive ship.

The capsule bounced him over to Mount Herculaneum in a semi-ballistic lob that took twenty-eight minutes. The last time he'd seen the colossal volcano was the day he died by crashing into its lower slopes. Today, his arrival was all a lot more comfortable. The capsule shot out of the upper atmosphere, and followed the planet's curvature south-west. He watched through the sensors as the Grand Triad rose up out of the horizon. They were still the biggest mountains to be found on an H-congruous world. On a planet with a standard gravity, they would have collapsed under their own weight, but here they had kept on growing as the magma pushed further and further upwards. Mount Herculaneum, the biggest, stood thirty-two kilometres high, its plateau summit rising high above Far Away's troposphere. Northwards, Mount Zeus topped out at seventeen kilometres. While south of Herculaneum, Mount Titan reached twenty-three kilometres high; it was the only one of the Triad to remain active.

Oscar's capsule rode a tight curve above the sea-like grasslands of the Aldrin Plains before it began to sink back down again. The view was magnificent, with the vast cone of Herculaneum spread out below him. Its plateau of grubby brown regolith was broken by twin calderas. Around that, naked rock dropped down to the glacier ring far below, before the lower slopes were finally smothered in pine forests and low meadowland. Luckily for him, Titan, was semi-active today. He looked down almost vertically into its glowing red crater, watching the slow-motion ripples spreading out across the huge lake of lava. Radiant white boulders spat upwards out of the inferno to traverse lazy arcs through the vacuum, spitting off orange sparks. Some of them were flung far enough to clear the crater wall and begin their long fall to oblivion.

His sight was inevitably drawn to the long funnel canyon between Zeus and Titan which led to the base of Herculaneum. Stakeout canyon, where the storm winds coming off the Hondu Ocean were funnelled into a rampaging blast of air, which the insane thrill seekers of the early Commonwealth used to fly their hypergliders along, allowing them to sail on winds so strong they'd push them out of the atmosphere and over Herculaneum. He'd never got to attempt that last part, because he crashed his hyperglider into Anna, so Wilson might stand a chance to reach the summit.

Even though he'd braced himself for some emotional shock-wave at seeing the site of his death, he felt nothing more than a mild curiosity. That must mean I'm perfectly adjusted to this new life. Right?

As he looked along the long rocky cleft in the ground, his exovision pulled up meteorological data and a file telling him that the winds now were never as strong as they had been a thousand years ago. Terraforming had successfully calmed Far Away's atmosphere. Hypergliding was just a legend now.

The capsule took him down to a big dome situated right on the eastern edge of Mount Herculaneum's plateau, where the cliffs of Aphrodite's Seat began their sheer eight kilometre fall.

There was a pressure field over the entrance to the dome's landing chamber, a big metal cave with enough room for twenty passenger capsules. It only had two resting inside, with another five ordinary capsules parked nearby.

Oscar stepped through the airlock pressure curtains into the dome's main arena, and paid his 20 FA$ entrance fee from a credit coin which Paula had given him. There were three low buildings inside, lined up behind Aphrodite's Seat. He went over to the first, which the dome's net labelled 'Crash Site'. A whole bunch of tourists were just exiting it, heading for the cafe next door, chatting excitedly. They never registered him, which he found amusing. It wasn't as if his face was any different now.

It was dark inside, with one wall open to the side of the dome above the cliffs. A narrow winding walkway was suspended three metres over the ground, with a pressure field below it, maintaining a vacuum over the actual regolith. There was also a stabilizer field generator running to preserve the wreckage of the hypergli-der. The once-elegant fuselage was crunched up into the side of a rock outcrop, with the plyplastic wings bent and snapped. Oscar remembered how elegant those wings had been fully extended, and sighed.

He walked slowly along the walkway until he was directly above the antique. His heart had slowed right down as he imagined his friend terrified and frantic as the craft skidded along the dusty plateau, slipping and twisting, completely out of control. The fate of an entire species dependent on the outcome, and the cliffs rushing towards him. Oscar frowned as he looked down. The hyperglider was actually upside down, which meant there had been an almighty flip at one point. He looked along the ground to the rim of Aphrodite's Seat, where someone in an ancient pressure suit was sitting.

It was a solido projection, Oscar realized as he came to the end of the walkway. Wilson Kime, his head visible in a not terribly authentic bubble helmet. Pressure suit rips repaired with some kind of epoxy, leaking blood into the regolith. The solido Wilson stared out over the Dessault Mountain Range to the east, where the snow-capped peaks diminished into the bright haze of the curving horizon. This was exactly what the real Wilson had seen, what so many people had died to give him; those which history knew, and still more unknown. Twelve hundred years ago this glorious panorama had provided the data to steer a giant storm into the Starflyer's ship, slaying the beast and liberating the Commonwealth. Today, here on that same spot, he could sit in the Saviour View cafe next door and buy doughnuts named after himself.

'Without you, we wouldn't be here.

Oscar started. There was a man standing behind him on the walkway, wearing a very dark toga suit.

Great secret agent I make; anyone can creep up on me.

'Excuse me? Oscar said.

The man smiled. He was very handsome, with a square jaw, dimpled chin, and a flatfish nose. Brown eyes were surrounded by laughter lines. When he opened his wide mouth, startlingly white teeth smiled out. 'I nearly got blown away by that burst of melancholy disappointment you let loose into the gaiafield, he said. 'It's understandable. He waved a hand round the darkened chamber. 'This travesty is all that exists to celebrate what you and Wilson achieved. But I promise you, we know and appreciate what you did. It is taught to all of our children.

'We?

The man bowed his head formally. 'The Knights Guardian. Welcome back to Far Away, Oscar Monroe. How can we help you?

His name was Tomansio, he said as they walked back to Oscar's capsule. 'In full, Tomansio McFoster Stewart. It was my father who provided you with our code eighty-six years ago.

'I barely saw him. The government had a tight little cordon around my room. They were anxious I should have my privacy. Yet he just walked right in. And out again, too.

'We thought you'd forgotten us, Tomansio said. 'Or worse.

'I'm not what I used to be, Oscar said. 'At least, that's what I thought.

'And yet here you are. It's an interesting time to come and seek us out again, for both the Greater Commonwealth and the galaxy at large. Not the kind of time a man chooses to indulge in nostalgia.

'No. This has nothing to do with nostalgia.

They sat themselves in the capsule. 'Do you mind if I navigate? Tomansio asked. 'You would find it difficult to reach our lands unaided.

'Of course, Oscar said. His curiosity rose as they slid out of the dome's landing chamber. 'Where are your lands?

'Where they've always been. From the north east corner of the Dessault Mountains all the way to the Oak Sea. The capsule began to accelerate, streaking northward over the mountains as it gained altitude. For the first time, Oscar saw the High Desert around which the lofty peaks huddled protectively.

'And I couldn't find you? I think that peak is Mount St Omer, isn't it? The Marie Celeste crashed close by.

'Knowing and reaching are two separate things.

'I didn't know you all turned Buddhist and spoke in fortune cookies.

Tomansio tilted his head to one side with avian precision. His attractive smile poised. 'Ah, I see. I'm not being deliberately enigmatic. Though perhaps I am guilty of overdramatizing. But you are very precious to us, Oscar. I'm hoping to impress you.

Just for a moment, Oscar felt as if he'd lived through every one of those eleven hundred years. He had to history mine to understand me. Jesus fuck. He'd been far too sheltered with his life partners. Small wonder he always felt as if the house put up a cosy barrier between his little family and the outside world.

'We protect our lands with a T-sphere, Tomansio said.

'Really? I thought only Earth had one.

'We don't advertise. It's actually quite an elegant defence on so many levels, although it does require a colossal amount of energy to maintain. If you walk or drive or fly towards us, as you approach out border you're simply teleported to the other side.

You can't knock on a door which you can never face. You have to be invited in.

'Cool.

The lands they fell towards seemed particularly lush. Thick greenery split by meandering rivers, forest and meadowland squabbling to dominate valleys and rolling hills. Away to the east, a glimpse of the Oak Sea. They re-entered the atmosphere. Strands of cloud rushed up past the capsule's transparent hull, thickening fast. Then they were through, and a forest canopy unfolded below them, leaves of every colour, trees of immense size. Far Away had always celebrated its unique genetic diversity. Starting with a near-sterile landscape, the terraforming teams had brought the seeds of a hundred planets with them to create the ultimate contrasting florascape.

'Here we go, Tomansio said as their altitude approached three miles.

The view outside suddenly switched. Oscar jumped in his seat. They were now floating a hundred yards above the ground at the head of a long valley. Blue-green grass rippled away for miles on every side, lapping against woodlands that spilled out of the dips in the valley walls. There were houses all around them, built from wood and stone, blending nicely with the environment, like some medieval village back on Earth. Except this was on a much grander scale.

'You live here? Oscar asked.

'Yes.

'I'm envious.

'Appearances can be deceiving.

The capsule touched down outside one of the stone houses, a long building with age-blackened wood beams protruding from beneath a slate roof. A balcony ran along one side. Big windows were open, showing a glimpse of a very modern interior. The grass swept right up to the walls, emphasizing the impression of natural harmony.

Oscar stepped out wearily. The gaiafield was resonating with a warm subtle joy, wrapping him in a daydream of a child being swept up in its mother's arms; the comfort and security of being home.

It was a welcome emanating from the people hurrying across the land to greet him. They came out of nearby houses, or simply teleported in, popping into existence to enlarge the crowd. Then the horses appeared, a whole cavalry squad riding up over a nearby ridge, dressed in some dark uniform which trailed gold and scarlet heraldic streamers behind their shoulders. The horses themselves were clad in a metal mesh, with hems of gold tassels brushing the tips of the grass. He stared at the giant, fearsome beasts, with their metal-clad horns and sharp tusks, memories stirring.

'I've seen one of those before, he exclaimed, excitedly. 'On our drive to the mountains. A Charlemagne. Somebody guided us.

'Yes, Tomansio said. 'We still train to fight on them. But we've never actually ridden them into battle since the Planet's Revenge. It's all ceremonial now, part of our skill set. The riders are here to honour your arrival. As do the king eagles. He gestured upwards.

Oscar just managed not to flinch; he did gasp, though. A flock of giant avian creatures swirled overhead. Resembling the petro-saurs of Earth's dinosaur era, they had been created by the Barsoomians as part of their quest for genetic expansion. Each one had a rider, dressed in long flowing robes that fluttered behind them. They waved as they passed overhead, turning and twisting with amazing finesse. Oscar grinned unashamedly at their acrobatic antics. Surely those riders had to be strapped on?

Tomansio cleared his throat discreetly. 'Perhaps a few words, he whispered into Oscar's ear.

Oscar had been so entranced by the king eagles he hadn't noticed just how many people were now gathered in front of him. He gazed across them, slightly unnerved by their appearance. It was as if some kind of athletics squad had turned out to see him. Without fail they were tall; the men handsome, the women beautiful; and all of them hugely fit. Even the smiling, eager children were healthy specimens. He couldn't help but think of H. G. Wells' particular vision of the future from The Time Machine. Here in their protected edenistic garden, the Knights Guardians were like Eloi, but with muscles, and attitude. Heaven help the morlock who wondered into this valley.

Oscar drew a breath, really trying not to think of the media briefings he had to give while he was in the Navy. 'I haven't been to Far Away for a very long time. Too long, actually. You have made it a thrilling world, a world respected across the Commonwealth. For that I thank you, as I do for this welcome.

The applause was heartfelt enough. Oscar bobbed his head, smiling round the earnest faces. He was hugely relieved when Tomansio ushered him into the house.

The reception room was clad in what looked like translucent white fabric that emitted a mild glow. There were strange deep folds in the walls, which hinted at parallel compartments. Aspects of the T-sphere, Oscar guessed. The furniture was solid enough, as was the little shrine which rested on a broad ancient wood table at the far end. Oscar slowed to a halt as he stared at the black-shrouded holographic portrait with its single candle burning underneath. The Cat's prim face returned her best enigmatic smile.

'For every Yin, a Yang, Oscar murmured grimly. He should have known. The valley really had been too idyllic.

Tomansio came up to stand beside him. 'You knew her, didn't you? You actually spoke to her as you travelled to Far Away.

'We spent a day together on the Carbon Goose flying across Half Way. I wouldn't say I knew her well.

'How I envy you that day. Did she frighten you?

'I was weary of her. We all were. Perhaps you should be?

'I would not be frightened. I would be honoured.

'She is evil.

'Of course she is. But she is also noble. She showed us the way, she gave the Guardians of Selfhood purpose once more. She was the one who brought us together with the Barsoomians. After the Starflyer was destroyed, after you helped kill it, Oscar, there was nothing left for our ancestors. Bradley Johansson originally built us out of the ruin of enslavement. He forged us into warrior tribes to fight the greatest battle humans had ever known. The battle to save our entire species. And when it was over, he was dead, and we were lost, doomed to wither away as a dwindling band of old soldiers without a cause. An anachronistic embarrassment as Far Away was civilized by the Commonwealth.

'Soldiers always have to hang up their weapons in the end. 'You don't understand. It was our ethos she rescued. She showed us that strength is a virtue, a blessing. It is our evolution and should not be denied the way the liberals of the Commonwealth do, treating it as if it were some ignominious part of us to be always denied. If we had not been strong, if Bradley had not remained steadfast, the Commonwealth would have died on that same day you did, Oscar. If the Barsoomians hadn't maintained their clarity, today's humans would be emaciated short-lived creatures. He smiled at the portrait. 'One of us had strength, the other, purpose. She saw them both and combined them into a single bold principle, she gave us a vision we can remain forever true to. There is no shame in strength, Oscar.

'I know, Oscar said reluctantly. 'That's why I'm here. 'I had hoped that. You said you needed help. 'I do. He paused. 'What if it goes against your ideology? Tomansio laughed. 'We don't have one, Oscar. That's the point of the Knights Guardian movement. We follow one creed: strength. That is what we want to impart to humanity as it grows and diversifies. It is the most basic evolutionary tenet. Those sections of humanity who embrace it will survive, it's as simple as that. We are nature as raw as it can get. The fact that we are perceived as nothing other than mercenaries is not our problem. When we are hired to perform a job we do it thoroughly. 'I need subtlety for this. At least to begin with. 'We can do subtle, Oscar. Covert operations are one of our specialties. We embrace all forms of human endeavour, apart from the blatantly wicked, or stupid. For instance, we won't perform a heist for you. The Knights Guardians take their oath of honour very seriously.

Oscar almost started to ask about the Cat and what she used to do. Decided against. 'I have to find someone, and then extend them an offer of protection.

'That sounds very worthy. Who is it?

'The Second Dreamer.

For the first time since they'd met, Oscar witnessed Tomansio lose his reserve. 'No shit? The Knight Guardian started to laugh. 'Twelve hundred years without you, and now you bring us this. Oscar, you were almost worth the wait. The Second Dreamer himself! He suddenly sobered. 'I won't ask why. But thank you from the bottom of my simple heart for coming to us.

'The why is actually very simple. There are too many people who wish to influence him. If he does choose to emerge from the shadows, he should be free to make his own choice.

'To go to the Void or not, to possibly trigger the end of the Galaxy in pursuit of our race's fate — or not. What a grail to guard, Oscar. What a challenge.

'I take it that's a yes?

'My team will be ready to leave in less than an hour.

'Will you be leading them?

'What do you think?

'I was so sure! Araminta exclaimed. 'She was this mild scatty little thing. She did everything he told her to, and I do mean everything.

'Face it, darling, at the time you weren't in any position to be the perfect observer, Cressida said archly.

'But it was the way she did it. You don't understand. She was eager. Obedient. Like the other ones. I think. Shit. Do you think he was chossing me about? Maybe she is profiled and he told her to always give that answer. Araminta made an effort to calm down. Alcohol was a good suppressant. She tipped the wine bottle over her glass. There was none left. 'Damn!

Cressida signalled the smart-suited waiter. 'Quite an offer, though.

'Yeah. What is it about men? Why are they all complete shits? I mean, what kind of mentality does that? Those women are slaves.

'I know.

The waiter brought another bottle over and flipped the seal. 'The gentleman over there has asked if he can pay for it.

Araminta and Cressida looked across towards the giant floor-to-ceiling window, which gave them a stunning view out across the luminous glow of the night time city. The bar was on the thirty-fifth floor of the Salamartin Hotel tower, and attracted a lot of tourist types who thought nothing of paying the absurd bar prices. Today every room in the hotel was taken by Living Dream followers, which was why the lobby was besieged by protestors. Araminta had forced her way through the angry chanting mob to plead with the doorman to let her in. She'd been frightened; there was a strong threat of violence building up on the street. Cressida of course had the authorization code to land her capsule on the executive rooftop pad.

The man smiling at them from a table in front of the window was dressed in natural fabric clothes styled as only a Makkathran resident would wear.

'No, Araminta and Cressida chorused.

The waiter smiled understanding, and started pouring.

Araminta watched morosely as her glass was filled. 'Do you think I should go to the police?

'No, Cressida said emphatically. 'You do not go down that road, not ever. He sat you next to the Prime Minister at dinner for Ozzie's sake. You know how powerful he is. Besides which, no police force on the planet would investigate him, and even if they did they'd never be able to prove anything. Those girls — if you were right, and I'm not saying you're not — wouldn't ever be found, let alone analysed to see if their brain was wired up illegally. Forget it.

'How about the Commonwealth Government? Don't they have some kind of crime agency?

'The Intersolar Serious Crimes Directorate. So you take a trip to their local office, which is probably on Ellezelin, and you walk in and say you think some of his wives might be psychoneural profiled, because of how they behaved while you were all having sex together, an orgy during which incidentally your macrocellu-lar clusters were running a sexual narcotic program.

'It wasn't a narcotic, Araminta said automatically.

'Point in your favour, then. That should do it.

'All right! What if I told them about his commercial plans? The way he's built up Albany's capacity?

'Tell whom?

Araminta pouted. For a friend, Cressida wasn't being very helpful. 'I'm not sure. The industrial association of Ellezelin, or whatever it's called.

'Do you think they don't know? Albany isn't something you can hide. And exactly what has that got to do with psychoneural profiling?

'I dunno.

'Sounds more like vengeance than justice to me.

'He's a shit. He deserves it.

'Was he good in bed?

Araminta hoped she wasn't blushing as she concentrated on pouring out some more wine. 'He was adequate.

'Listen darling, I'm afraid this is one of those nasty times when you just have to forget him and move on. You learned a valuable lesson: just how ruthless you have to be to get on in this sad old universe of ours.

Araminta's head collapsed down into her hands, sending her hair tumbling down around her glass. 'Oh Great Ozzie, I went and had sex with him! How humiliating is that? She wished she could get rid of the memory, at least the bit about how much she'd enjoyed herself. Actually, there were various commercially available routines and drugs capable of performing neat little memory edits. Oh stop being so self-pitying, girl.

'There there. Cressida reached over and patted Araminta's hand. 'By now he'll have had half a dozen more girls in his bed, and won't even remember your name. It never meant as much to him as it does to you.

'And you're telling me this to cheer me up?

'That was his deal wasn't it? You would be the second Friday of months with an R in them?

'Yeah I know. Hell, I'm a big girl, I knew what I was doing.

'With hindsight, yes, the view is always clear.

Araminta brought her head up and grinned. 'Thank you for not judging.

'You're still a work in progress. And I think you're improving under my tuition. This was a much smaller mistake than Laril.

'When you want to cheer someone up, you really go for it, don't you?

Cressida pushed her glass across the table, and chinked it to the rim of Araminta's. 'You're starting to understand life. That's good. So what are you going to do about Mr Bovey?

Araminta grimaced. 'Mr Bovey's proposal, actually'

'What! He didn't?

'He did. Marriage with me once I've gone multiple.

'And you think I'm pushy! Wait a minute, did he ask you this before you had your little visit to Likan?

'Umm. Yes.

'You go my girl. So what was the Likan thing all about?

'Trying out options while I consider what to do.

'Wow.

'Have you ever considered going multiple? Likan said it was purely a lifestyle choice, not a business one. I'm not so sure. Ten pairs of extra hands would be very useful in my line of work.

'I haven't considered it, no. It's still only one mind, which is all a lawyer needs. But if you're serious about property development then I can see the practical advantages.

'It's self limiting, though, isn't it? It's saying I'll always be somebody stuck doing some kind of manual job.

'Your pride seems to be a very fluid thing.

'I just want— She didn't know how to finish that sentence, not at all. 'I don't know. I was just shaken up by what happened at the weekend. And I had this really awful dream, too. I was like this really big creature flying over a planet when someone tried to smother me. Been having a few of those lately. Do you suppose it's stress?

Cressida gave her a puzzled look. 'Darling, everyone had that dream. It was the Second Dreamer's dream of the Skylord over Querencia. And that wasn't someone trying to smother you, that was Ethan trying to talk to the Skylord direct. They say he's still in a coma in hospital with his minions trying to repair his burned out brain.

'I couldn't have dreamed that. 'Why not?

'I don't have gaiamotes. It always seemed a bit silly to me, like a weak version of the Unisphere.

Cressida became very still; she pushed her glass aside and took Araminta's hand. 'Are you being serious? 'Serious about what? 'Didn't your mother tell you?

'Tell me what? Araminta felt panicky. She wanted another drink, but Cressida's grasp was surprisingly strong. 'About our great-great-great-grandmother. 'What about her? 'It was Mellanie Rescorai.

After all that work up, Araminta felt badly disappointed. She'd at least been expecting some Dynasty heir — maybe old Earth royalty. Not someone she'd never heard of. 'Oh. Who is she?

'A friend of the Silfen. She was named their friend. You know what that means?

'Not really, no. Araminta's knowledge of the Silfen was a little vague. A weird humanoid race that everyone called elves. They sang gibberish and had a bizarre wormhole network that stretched across half the galaxy allowing them to literally walk between worlds. An ability which a depressing number of humans found incredibly romantic and so they tried to follow them down their twisting interstellar paths. Few returned, but those that did told fanciful tales of adventure on new worlds and the exotic creatures they found there.

'Okay, Cressida said. 'It goes like this. The Silfen named Ozzie their friend too. They gave him a magic pendant which allowed him to understand their paths, and even join their communal mind, their Motherholme.

'Ozzie? You mean our Ozzie? The one we—

'Yes. Now Ozzie being Ozzie, he broke open the pendant and figured out how the magic worked. That it wasn't magic but quantum entanglement. So humans then started to produce gaiamotes. Our gaiafield is basically a poor copy of the Silfen communal mind.

'Right. So where does our ancestor come in to this?

'Mellanie was also a Silfen friend. Which is actually a little more than just being given the pendant. Their Motherholme accepts your mind and shares its wisdom with you. The pendant only initiates that the contact. After a while, the ability becomes natural — well, relatively speaking. And like all magic it's believed to be inherited. Cressida let go of Araminta's hands and smiled softly.

'You just said it wasn't magic'

'Of course not. But consider this. Mellanie and her husband, Orion, came back. They had a little girl, Sophie, while they were out there walking across the galaxy. One of very few humans ever born on the paths, and certainly the first of two Silfen friends. She was attuned to the Motherholme right from the start, and passed the magic on to her children. Thanks to her, most of our family can feel the gaiafield, though it's weaker now with our generation. But on a good night, you can sometimes sense the Motherholme itself. I even ventured down one of the Silfen paths myself when I was younger; it's just outside Colwyn City in Francola Wood. I was thirteen, I wanted adventure. Stupid, but…

'There's a Silfen path on Viotia?

'Yes. They don't use it much. They don't enjoy planets with civilizations like ours on them.

'Where does it lead? Araminta asked breathlessly.

'They don't lead to any one place, they join up and twist. Time is different along them as well. That's why humans who aren't Silfen friends are always lost along them. I was lucky, I managed to get back after a couple of days. Mother was furious with me.

'So… my dreams. They're not actually mine?

'That Skylord one the other night wasn't, no.

'It felt so real.

'Didn't it just. She glanced pointedly round the bar packed with its Living Dream followers. 'Now you see why they're so devout. If you're offered that kind of temptation every time you go to sleep, well who would want to wake up? That's what the Void is to them. Their dreams, forever.