The Dreaming Void

THREE

In Aaron's opinion, Riasi had benefited from being stripped of its capital city status. It retained the grand structures intrinsic to any capital, as well as the expansive public parks, a well-financed transport grid, and excellent leisure facilities, yet with the ministries and their bureaucrats decamped across the ocean to Mak-kathran2 the stress and hassle had been purged from everyday life. So too had exorbitant housing costs. What was left was a rich city with every possible amenity; consequently, its population were kicking back and enjoying themselves.

It made things a lot easier for Aaron. The taxi flight from Makkathran2 had taken nine hours; they'd landed at the spaceport, one of hundreds of identical arrivals. Mercifully, Corrie-Lyn had spent most of the journey asleep. When she did wake she placidly did whatever he told her. So they moved through the vast passenger terminus on the ped walks, visiting just about every lounge there was. Only then did he go back out to the taxi rank and take a trip to the old Parliament building at the centre of the city. It was late morning by then, with a lot of activity in the surrounding district. They swapped taxis again. Then again. Three taxis later they finally touched down in a residential zone on the east bank of the Camoa River.

During the flight from Makkathran2, Aaron had rented a ground-floor apartment in a fifteen-storey tower. It was anonymous enough, a safe house he called it. To Corrie-Lyn it probably seemed secure. Aaron knew his multiple taxi journeys and untraceable coin payment for the apartment were strictly amateur stuff. Any half-decent police officer could track them down within a day.

For two days he did nothing. It took Corrie-Lyn the entire first day just to sober up. He allowed her to order anything she wanted by way of clothes and food, but forbade any alcohol or aerosols. For the second day she just sulked, a state exacerbated by a monster hangover. He knew there was plenty of trauma involved too as she reconciled what had happened with Captain Manby's squad. That night he heard her crying in her room.

Aaron decided to go all out with breakfast the next morning to try and reach through her mood. He combined the culinary unit's most sophisticated synthesis with items delivered fresh from a local delicatessen. The meal started with Olberon bluef-ruit, followed by French toast with caramelized banana; their main course was buckwheat crepes with fried duck eggs, grilled Uban mushroom, and smoked Ayrshire bacon, topped by a delicate omelette aux caviar. The tea was genuine Assam, which was all he could ever drink in the morning — it wasn't his best time of day.

'Wowie, Corrie-Lyn said in admiration. She'd wandered in from her bedroom all bleary eyed, dressed in a fluffy blue towelling robe. When she saw what was being laid out she perked up immediately.

'There's sugar for the bluefruit, he told her. 'It's refined from Dranscome tubers, best in the galaxy.

Corrie-Lyn sprinkled some of the silvery powder over the bluefruit, and tried a segment. 'Umm, that is good. She spooned out some more.

Aaron sat opposite her and took his first sip of tea. Their table was next to a window wall, giving them a view out across the river. Several big ocean-going barges were already coasting along just above the rippling water; smaller river traffic curved round them. He didn't see them, his eyes were on the loose front of her robe which revealed the slope of her breasts. Firm and excellently shaped, he admired cheerfully; she certainly had a great body, his gaze tracking down to her legs to confirm. There were no mental directives either way on having sex with her. So he suspected the hormonal admiration was all his own. It made him grin. Normal after all.

'You're not a starship-leasing agent, Corrie-Lyn said abruptly, her face pulled up in a peeved expression.

He realized he was allowing some of his feelings to ooze out into the gaiafield. 'No.

'So what are you?

'Some kind of secret agent, I guess.

'You guess?

'Yeah.

'Don't you know?

'Not really.

'What do you mean?

'Simple enough. If I don't know anything I can't reveal anything. I just have things I know I have to do.

'You mean you haven't got any memories of who you are?

'Not really, no.

'Do you know who you're working for?

'No.

'So how do you know you should be working for them?

'Excuse me?

'How do you know you're not working for the Ocisen Empire, that you're helping bring down the Greater Commonwealth? Or what if you're a left-over Starflyer agent? They say Paula Myo never did catch all of them.

'Unlikely, but admittedly I don't know.

'Then how can you live with yourself?

'I think it's improbable that I'm doing something like that. If you asked me to do it now, I wouldn't. So I wouldn't have agreed to do it before my full memory was removed.

'Your full memory. Corrie-Lyn tasted the idea with the same care as she'd sampled the bluefruit. 'Anyone who agrees to have their memory taken out just to get an illegal contract has got to be pretty extreme. And you kill people, too. You're good at it.

'My combat software was superior to theirs. And they'll be re-lifed. Your friend Captain Manby is probably already walking around looking for us. Think how much improved his motivation is now, thanks to me.

'Without your memories you can't know what your true personality is.

Aaron reached for his French toast. 'And your point is?

'For Ozzie's sake, doesn't that trouble you?

'No.

She shook her head in amazement. 'That's got to be an artificial feeling.

'Again, so what? It makes me efficient at what I do. Personality trait realignment is a useful procedure at re-life. If you want to be a management type, then have your neural structure altered to give yourself confidence and aggression.

'Choose a vocation and mould yourself to fit. Great, that's so human.

'Now then what's your definition of human these days? Higher? Advancer? Originals? How about the Hive? Huxley's Haven has kept a regulated society functioning for close to one and a half thousand years; every one of them proscribed by genetic determination, and they're still going strong, with a population that's healthy and happy. Now you go and tell me plain and clear: which of us won the human race?

'I'm not arguing evolution with you. Besides it's just a distraction to what you are.

'I thought we'd gone and agreed that neither of us knows what I am. Is that what fascinates you about me?

'In your pervert dreams!

Aaron grinned and crunched down on some toast.

'So what's your mission? Corrie-Lyn asked. 'What do you have to do, kidnap Living Dream Councillors?

'Ex-Councillors. But no, that's not the way of it'

'So what do you want with me?

'I need to find Inigo. I believe you can help.

Corrie-Lyn dropped her spoon and stared at him in disbelief. 'You've got to be kidding.

'No.

'You expect me to help you? After what you've just said?

'Yes. Why not?

'But… she spluttered.

'Living Dream is trying to kill you. Understand this: they're not going to stop. If anything, the other night will only make them more determined. The only person left in the galaxy who can put the brakes on your dear new Cleric Conservator is Inigo himself.

'So that's who you're working for, the anti-Pilgrimage lobby.

'There's no guarantee that Inigo will stop the Pilgrimage if he comes back. You know him better than anybody. Do 1 speak the right in that?

She nodded forlornly. 'Yeah. I think you might.

'So help me find him.

'I can't do that, she said in a low voice. 'How can you ask when even you don't know what you'll do to him if we find him.

'Anyone who has hidden himself this well is never going to be taken by surprise even if we do manage to track him down. He knows there are a lot of serious people looking for him. Besides, if I wanted to kill him, why would I take the trouble of hunting him down. If he's off the stage he can't direct any of the actors, now can he? So if I want him back, I must want him back intact.

'I don't know, she said weakly.

'I saved your life.

Corrie-Lyn gave him a sly smile. 'The software running you saved my life. It did it because you needed me. I'm your best hope, remember.

'You're my number one choice.

'Better get ready to schmooze number two.

'Not even my liver could take another night in Rakas. I do need you, Corrie-Lyn. And what about you? What do you need? Don't you want to find him? Don't you want to hear why he upped and left you and all the billions who believed in him? Did he lose faith? Was Living Dream just that all along, nothing more than a dream?

'Low blow.

'You can't do nothing. You're not that kind of person. You know Inigo must be found before the Pilgrimage leaves. Somebody will find him. Nobody can stay hidden for ever, not in this universe. Politics simply won't allow it. Who do you want to find him?

'I… I can't, Corrie-Lyn said.

'I understand. I can wait, at least for a little while longer.

'Thanks. She put her head down and started to eat her French toast, almost as if she was ashamed by the decision.

Aaron didn't see her for nearly three hours after breakfast. She went back into her bedroom and stayed there. His u-shadow monitored a small amount of Unisphere use; she was running through standard information files from the Living Dream fanes in the city. He had a shrewd idea what she was looking for, a friend she could trust, which meant things could well be swinging his way. If they set foot outside it wouldn't be long before Manby or his replacement were racing up behind them, guns flaring.

When she came out she was wearing a loose-neck red sweater and tight black trousers, and a silver necklace made a couple of long loops round her neck before wrapping round her hips. She'd fluffed her dark hair neatly, and infused it with purple and green sparks that glimmered on a long cycle. He gave her an appreciative smile. Which she ignored.

'I need to talk to someone, she announced.

Aaron tried not to make his smirk too obvious. 'Sure thing. I hope you're not going to insist on going alone. There are bad people out there.

'You can come with me, but the conversation is private.

'Okay. Can I ask if you've already set up a meeting?

'No.

'Good. Don't call anyone. The Ellezelin cybersphere has government monitors in its nodes. Manby's team will fall on you like a planet-killer asteroid.

Her expression flickered with worry. 'I already accessed the Unisphere.

'That's okay. They probably can't trace your u-shadow access, he lied. 'Do you know where this person is likely to be?

'The Daeas fane, that's over on the south side of the city.

'Right then, we'll take a taxi to that district and land a couple of blocks away. Once we're at the fane we'll try and get a visual on your friend.

'He's not a friend, she said automatically.

Aaron shrugged. 'Whoever the person is. If we find him then you can have your chat in private, okay. Calling him is our last resort; and please let me do that. My u-shadow has fixes available that should circumvent the monitor systems.

She nodded agreement, picked up her scarlet bag and wrapped a long fawn-coloured scarf round her shoulders. 'Let's go.

Aaron was perfectly relaxed in the taxi flight over the city. He spent it looking down on the buildings, enjoying the vertical perspective as the towers flipped past underneath. The inhabitants certainly enjoyed their roof gardens, nearly half of them had some kind of terrace fenced in by greenery; swimming pools were everywhere.

He didn't know what the outcome of Corrie-Lyn's meeting would be. Nor did he really care. His only certainty was that he'd know exactly what to do when the time came. There was, he reflected, a lot of comfort to be had in his unique level of ignorance.

They landed on an intersection at the edge of the Daeas district. It was a commercial area dominated by the monolithic buildings that had been the Ellezelin Offworld Office, the ministry which had masterminded the Free Market Zone and Ellezelin's subsequent commercial and diplomatic domination of neighbouring star systems. Now the structures were given over to hotels, casinos, and exclusive malls. They walked along the ornate stone facades towards the fane, with Aaron making sure they didn't take a direct route. He wanted time to scan round and check for possible — make that probable — hostiles.

'Did you know he was leaving before he actually went? Aaron asked.

Corrie-Lyn gave him an unsettled glance. 'No, she sighed. 'But we'd cooled off quite a while back. I hadn't been excluded, exactly, but I wasn't in the inner circle any more.

'Who was?

'That's the thing. No one, really. Inigo had been getting more and more withdrawn for a long time. Years. Because we were so close, it took a time for me to notice how distant he was growing. You know what it's like.

'I can imagine, he said, which earned him a frown. 'So there was no one event, then?

'Ah, you're talking about the fabled Last Dream, aren't you? No, not that I was aware. But then that rumour had to come from somewhere.

Even before they won a majority in Parliament, the Living Dream's Chief Councillor of Riasi boasted that you could never travel more than a mile in the city without encountering a fane. The buildings didn't have a specific layout: anything which had a hall large enough to accommodate the faithful, along with office space and living quarters, would do. Given the inherent wealth of the Daeas district it was inevitable that the local fane should be impressive; a contemporary Berzaz cube, with horizontal stripes twisted at fifteen degrees to each other, their fluid-luminal surfaces shining with an intensity that automatically matched the sunlight, delineating each floor in a spectromatic waterfall. The overall effect was a city block that was trying to screw itself into the ground. It was surrounded by a broad plaza with a fountain at each point. Tall jets squirted out from the centre of inclined rings that were ticked out with ingrav to make the water flow upslope.

Aaron scanned round the bustling plaza, performing a meticulous assessment of the locale, allowing his combat software to plot escape routes. His u-shadow was busy extracting the civic plans for the neighbouring buildings, along with utility tunnels and traffic routes. Directly opposite the fane's main entrance was an arcade with a curving crystal roof sheltering fifty high-class shops and boutiques on three levels; it had multiple entrances on to three streets and five underground cargo depots, as well as seven cab platforms and ten rooftop landing pads. That would be difficult to cover even for a large surveillance team. Next to it was a staid old ministry building that now housed several financial institutions and a couple of export merchants. There weren't so many ways in and out, but it did have a large subterranean garage full of expensive regrav capsules. The boulevard running alongside was lined with shops and entertainment salons mixed in with bars and restaurants, tables outside played host to a vibrant cafe culture. Aaron's u-shadow called down three taxis and parked them on public pads nearby, paying for them to wait with three independent and genuinely untraceable coin accounts.

'Do you want me to go in and try and find him? Corrie-Lyn asked.

Aaron studied the fane's main entrance, a truncated archway which the fluid-luminal flowed round on either side, presenting it as a dark passageway. Plenty of people were coming and going, the majority dressed in the kind of clothes found on Querencia. Brightly coloured Cleric robes were easy to spot.

'I'm assuming this somebody is a Living Dream Cleric, quite a senior one given your own rank.

She gave him a short nod. 'Yves. He's still the deputy here. I've known him for fifty years. Completely devoted to Inigo's vision.

'Old guard, then.

'Yes.

'Okay, not likely to bump into him running errands round the place then. He's going to stay put in his office.

'That's on the fourth floor. I can probably get up there, I do have some clearance. I'm not sure I can take you with me.

'Any clearance you had will be revoked by now. And if you interface with a Living Dream network it'll send up an alert they can see back on Old Earth.

'So what do you want to do, then?

'If honesty doesn't pay… I have a few tricks that should be able to get us up to his office without drawing attention to ourselves. All you have to do is pray he doesn't turn us in the minute we say "hello".

'I say hello, she emphasized.

'Whatever. His software had now identified three probable hostiles amid the bustle of pedestrians across the plaza. Looking at the shimmering building he got the distinct sensation of a trap waiting to snap shut. His trouble was that pointing out the three suspects wouldn't be anything like enough to convince Corrie-Lyn that she should be doing her utmost to help him. That would require a genuine scare on the same scale as Captain Manby had provided back in Greater Makkathran. The difference being this time she would be awake, sober, and clean. She had to realize Living Dream was her enemy on every level.

'We'll go in by the front door, he said. 'No sense drawing attention to ourselves trying to sneak in round the back.

'Each side of the fane has an entrance which leads to the main reception hall. They're all open, we welcome everyone.

'I was speaking metaphorically, he said. 'Come on. His u-shadow told him the Riasi metropolitan police had just received an alert that two political activists known to be aggressive had been seen in the city. 'Ladies and Gentlemen, Elvis is well and truly back in the building, he muttered without really knowing why.

Corrie-Lyn let out a hiss of exasperation at his nonsense, and headed off towards the fane's entrance. Aaron followed behind, smiling at her attitude. The thoughts within the plaza's gaiafield were pleasurable and enticing, a melange of sensations that made the hair along his spine stand up. It was almost as if the inside of his skull was being caressed. Something wonderful resided inside the fane the gaiafield promised him. He just had to step inside…

Aaron grinned at the crudity of the allure, it was the mental equivalent of fresh baked bread on a winter's morning. He imagined it would be quite an attraction to any casual passer-by; the problem he had with that was the lack of any such specimen, the majority of Ellezelin's population were all Living Dream devotees. But this fane like all the others in the Greater Commonwealth housed a gaiafield confluence nest, it was inevitable the lure effect would be at its peak in the plaza.

No one even looked at them as they walked into the archway with its moire curtain of luminescence. Aaron's level-one field scan showed him the three suspects outside had started to move towards the fane. Hopefully they couldn't detect such a low-power scan, they certainly didn't appear to be enriched with biononics.

There were sensors built into the entrance, standard systems recording their faces and signatures, making sure they had no concealed weapons. The kind every public building was equipped with. Aaron's biononics deflected them easily enough.

Inside, the siren call within the gaiafield slackened off to be replaced by a single note of harmony. Decor and aether blended to give a sense of peaceful refuge, even the air temperature was pleasantly cool. The reception hall was a replica of the main audience chamber in the Orchard Palace where the Mayor greeted honoured citizens. Here, Clerics talked quietly to small groups of people. Aaron and Corrie-Lyn walked through the hall and into the cloister which let to the eastern entrance. A corridor on the right had no visible barrier. Aaron's biononic fields manipulated the electronics guarding it, and the force field disengaged. He paused, checking the building network, but there was no alarm.

'In we go, he told her quietly.

A lift took them up to the fourth floor, opening into a windowless corridor narrower than the one downstairs. As they stepped out, his u-shadow informed him that the three waiting taxis had all just had their management programs examined. Aaron was undecided at what point to tell her that they were being targeted again. The longer he left it, the more difficult it would be to extricate them from the fane. He needed her just rattled enough to sign up for his mission, but not too scared she lost all sense.

With activity in the fane still at a minimum he walked with her along several corridors until they reached Yves' office. The room had an active screen, but Aaron's field scan could cut right through it. There was just one person inside, no enrichments showing.

Corrie-Lyn put a hand lightly on Aaron's chest. 'Just me, she said. Her voice had dropped to a husky tone. He couldn't tell if she was being playful or insistent. Either way, there didn't seem to be a threat in the office, so he smiled gracefully and gestured at the door.

Once she was inside, he walked down the rest of the corridor, checking the other rooms. A woman in plain brown and blue Cleric robes came out of one after he'd passed. She frowned and said: 'Can I help—

Aaron shot her with a low-power stun pulse from the weapons enrichment in his left forearm. His scrambler field severed her connection with the Unisphere as she crumpled on to the floor, blocking the automatic call for help to the police and city medical service emitted by her multicellular clusters. He didn't even bother scooping her up and shoving her inside an empty room. That simply wasn't the kind of timescale he was looking at.

When he started back to Yves' office, all the lifts began to descend to the ground floor. By expanding his level-one field scan to its limit he could just detect weapons powering up down there. He walked straight into Yves' office. 'We have to go— he began, then cursed silently.

Corrie-Lyn was sitting on the edge of a long leather couch, with Yves slumped at the other end. Her red bag was open, an aerosol in her fist, moving hurriedly, guiltily, from her face. A blissful expression weighed down her eyelids and mouth. Aaron couldn't believe he hadn't checked her bag while she'd been sleeping. It was completely unprofessional.

'Oh hi, she slurred. 'Yves, this is the guy I was telling you about, my saviour. Aaron, this is Yves, we were just catching up.

Yves waved his hand at Aaron, producing a dreamy smile. 'Cool'

'Fuck! Aaron shot the man with a stun pulse. He was shifting the weapon on Corrie-Lyn when his tactical programs interrupted the action. In her current state it would be a lot easier for him to evacuate her if she was unconscious and inert, however she had to be aware of the danger she was in to make the right choice and confide in him.

Yves tumbled backwards over the end of the couch and landed on the floor with a soft thud. His legs were propped up by the end of the couch, shoes pointing at the ceiling. Corrie-Lyn stared at her old friend as his feet slowly slithered sideways.

'What are you doing? she wailed.

'Putting my arse on the line to save yours. Can you walk?

Corrie-Lyn hauled herself along the couch to peer down at the crumpled body. 'You killed him! Yves! Oh Ozzie, what are you, you bastard?

'He's stunned. Which gives him the perfect alibi. Now can you walk?

She turned her head to peer at Aaron, which was clearly an action that required a lot of effort. 'He's all right?

'Oh sod it! He didn't have time to waste being her shrink. 'Yep, he's fine. Forget him, we have to get out of here right now. He pulled her off the couch and slung her over his shoulder.

Corrie-Lyn wailed again. 'Put me down.

'You can't even stand up, let alone walk. And we need to run. The field medic sac in his thigh opened and ejected a drug pellet. Aaron slapped it against Corrie-Lyn's neck, above the carotid. 'That should straighten you out in a minute.

'No no no, she protested. 'Leave me alone.

Aaron ignored her and went out into the corridor. She was hanging over his shoulder, arms beating ineffectually at his buttocks as she cursed him loudly. Several Clerics opened theirdoors to see what the commotion was. Aaron stunned each one as they appeared.

'What's happening? Corrie-Lyn slurred.

'Getting out of here. Your old friends have found us.

Her arms stopped flailing and she started to weep. Aaron shook his head in dismay; he'd thought she was more capable than this. He reached the lift and his biononics produced a small disruptor effect. The lift doors cracked, their glossy surface darkening as if he was watching them age centuries in every second. They crumbled away into dust and flakes, pouring away down the shaft where they pattered on to the top of the lift as it stood waiting on the ground floor. Aaron tightened his grip on Corrie-Lyn and jumped down the shaft. She screamed as the darkness rushed past her, a genuine terrified-for-her-life bellow of fear.

His integral force field expanded, cushioning their landing. Another disruptor pulse flashed out from his biononics and the top of the lift disintegrated beneath his feet. Two very startled police officers were looking up as he fell through on top of them. Both of them had force field webbing, which protected them from the impact. The weapons enrichment in Aaron's forearm had to increase its power level by two orders of magnitude to puncture the webbing with a stun pulse. He walked out, still carrying a now-silent Corrie-Lyn. There were several police officers in the corridor between the lift and the welcome hall. They shouted at him to stop, which he ignored. A barrage of energy shots smacked across his force field, encasing him and Corrie-Lyn in a screeching purple nimbus. It didn't even slow him down. He emerged into the welcome hall to see Clerics and visitors running for cover, yelling for help vocally and digitally. Police were taking cover in the archways to three corridors, their weapons peppering him with shots. He fired several low-power disruptor pulses at the hall's ceiling. Thick clouds of composite fragments plummeted down, filling the air with cloying particles; steel and carbon girders sagged, emitting dangerous groans.

Police officers flinched away, retreating away from the collapsing hall. Aaron walked on towards the main entrance while Corrie-Lyn gasped and moaned in martyred dismay at the chaos raging around them.

Outside, the city cybersphere was broadcasting distress and warning messages to anyone within two blocks of the fane. People were scurrying out of the plaza, an exodus which Aaron's tactical programs decided worked against him. Sentient police software was downloading into the district's cybersphere nodes, taking charge, safeguarding the local network from any subversion he might try and activate, suspending capsule and ground traffic, monitoring sensors, sealing him in.

Aaron's u-shadow went for the unguarded systems managing the plaza's fountains, changing the direction of the ingrav effect on the angled rings. The tall jets began to waver, then suddenly swung down until they were horizontal. They slashed from side to side, hosing everyone in the plaza like giant water cannon. People went tumbling across the stone floor, buffeted by thick waves of spray. Aaron reached the fane's entrance and began sprinting across the plaza, partially obscured from the police by the seething spume clouds. His biononics strengthened his leg muscles, the field effect amplifying and quickening every movement. He covered the first hundred metres in seven seconds. Flailing bodies washed past him as the jets continued to play back and forth. Police officers were singled out for merciless drubbing. Their force fields did little to protect them from the powerful deluge, and they toppled easily from the soaking punches. Those that did fire energy shots into the furious spray simply created crackling vortices of ions that spat out curlicues of scalding steam. Victims on the ground scrabbled desperately out of the way as the dangerous vapour stabbed out, screaming at them to stop shooting.

The fountains began to run out of water when Aaron was two thirds of the way across the plaza. Two energy shots hit his force field, throwing off a plume of sparks. The strike made him skid on the wet stone.

'Slow down, Corrie-Lyn yelped as he regained his footing. 'Oh Ozzie, NO!

Aaron's sensory field scanned round. The fane was starting to collapse, folding in on itself and twisting gently, as if in mimicry of the pattern of its fluid-luminary surfaces. 'I must have damaged more than I realized, he grunted. Dust and smoke was flaring out of the entrances like antique rocket engine plumes, billowing over the plaza.

He reached the entrance to the arcade. People had been crowded round, watching the spectacle in the plaza. When Aaron appeared out of the chaos and started charging towards them they'd backed away fast. Now they scattered like frightened birds; no one in the Commonwealth was accustomed to civil trouble, let alone Riasi's residents. As he paused on the threshold, at least five police officers were given a clear line of sight. Energy slammed into his force field, producing a fearsome starblast of photons, its screeching loud enough to overwhelm Corrie-Lyn's howls. Unprotected surfaces around him started to blister and smoulder. He fired three bolts of his own, hidden in the melee, targeting structural girders around the archway. The crystal ceiling began to sag, huge cracks ripped through the thick material. Behind them, the fane finally crumpled, the process accelerating. Chunks of debris went scything across the plaza to impact the surrounding buildings. Tens of thousands of glass fragments created a lethal shrapnel cloud racing outwards. The police officers stopped shooting as they sought cover.

Corrie-Lyn was sobbing hysterically at the sight, then the arcade's archway started to disintegrate. She froze as giant daggers of the crystal roof plunged down around them. Fire alarms were yammering, and bright-blue suppressor foam started to pour down from the remaining nozzles overhead. Aaron dived into the third store, which sold hand-made lingerie. A slush of foam rippled out across the floor as it slid off his force field. Two remaining assistants saw him and sprinted for a fire exit.

'Can you walk? he asked Corrie-Lyn. His u-shadow was attacking the police programs in the arcade's nodes, interfering with the building's internal sensors, and trying to cut power lines directly. It sent out a call to one of the parked taxis, directing it to land at the back of the arcade.

When he pulled Corrie-Lyn off his shoulder all she could do was cross her arms and hug her chest. Her legs were trembling, unable to hold her weight.

'Shit! He shunted her up over his shoulder again, and went into the back of the store. There was a door at the top of the stairs which led down into the basement stockroom, which he descended quickly. His field scan showed him a whole flock of police regrav capsules swooping low over the plaza, while a couple of hardy officers were making their way over the tangle of archway girders. They seemed to be carrying some very high-powered weaponry.

It was cooler in the stockroom, the air dry and still. Overhead lights came on to reveal a rectangular room with smooth concrete walls, filled with ranks of metal shelving. The far end was piled up with old advertising displays. His u-shadow reported that it was having some success in blocking the police software from nearby electronics. They would know he was there, but not what he was doing.

The big malmetal door to the loading bay furled aside, and he went out into the narrow underground delivery road which served all the stores. It was empty, the police prohibition on all traffic was preventing any cargo capsules from using it. Ten metres away on the other side was a hatchway into a utility tunnel. His u-shadow popped the lock and it swung open. He sprinted across the delivery road and clambered inside pushing an unresisting Corrie-Lyn ahead of him. The hatch snapped shut.

Aaron scanned round. There was no light in the tunnel other than a yellow circle glowing round the hatch's emergency handle. It wasn't high enough for him to walk along, he'd have to stoop. Corrie-Lyn was sitting slumped against the wall just beside the hatch.

'There are no visual sensors inside the tunnel, his u-shadow reported. 'Only fire and water alarms.

'Water?

'In case of flooding. It is a city regulation.

'Typical bureaucratic overkill, he muttered. 'Corrie-Lyn we have to keep going.

She didn't acknowledge. Her limbs were still trembling uncontrollably. But she moved when he pushed at her. Together they shuffled along the tunnel, hunched over like monkeys. There were hatches every fifty metres. He stopped at the sixth one and let his field scan function review the immediate vicinity outside. It didn't detect anyone nearby. His u-shadow unlocked it, and they crawled out into the base of a stairwell illuminated by blue-tinged polyphoto strips on the wall.

'The building network is functioning normally, his u-shadow said. 'The police sentients are currently concentrating their monitor routines on the fane and the arcade.

'That won't last, he said, 'they'll expand outward soon enough. Crack one of the private capsules for me.

He pulled Corrie-Lyn to her feet. With one arm under her shoulder, supporting her they went up a flight of stairs. The door opened into the underground car park of the old ministry building. His u-shadow had infiltrated the control net of a luxury capsule, and brought it right over to the stairwell.

The capsule slid up out of the park's chuteway at the back of the building, and zipped up into the nearby traffic stream. Police sentients queried it, and Aaron's u-shadow provided them with a genuine owner certificate code. Corrie-Lyn stared down at the sluggish mass of boiling dust behind them. Her limbs had stopped trembling. He wasn't sure if that was the mild suppressor drug he'd given her finally flushing the aerosol out of her system, or a deeper level of shock was setting in.

A small fleet of civic emergency capsules and ambulances were heading in to the fane.

'They just shot at us, she said. 'They didn't warn us or tell us to stop first. They just opened fire.

'I had jumped down a lift shaft to try and get out, he pointed out. 'That's a reasonable admission of guilt.

'For Ozzie's sake! If you didn't have a force field web we'd be dead. That's not how the police are supposed to act. They were police, weren't they?

'Yeah. They're the city police, all right.

'But we did get out, she sounded puzzled. 'There were how many… ten of them? Twenty?

'Something like that, yeah.

'You just walked out like nothing could stop you. It didn't matter what they did.

'That's Higher biononics for you. The only way standard weaponry can gain an advantage is overwhelming firepower. They weren't carrying that much hardware.

'You're Higher?

'I have weapons-grade biononics. I'm not sure about the culture part of it. That way of life seems slightly pointless to me, sort of like the pre-Commonwealth aristocracy.

'What's that?

'Very rich people living a life of considerable ease and decadence while the common people slaved away into an early grave, with all their labour going to support the aristocrats and their way of life.

'Oh. Right. She didn't sound interested. 'Inigo was Higher.

'No he wasn't. Aaron said it automatically.

'Actually, he was. But he kept that extremely quiet. Only a couple of us ever knew. I don't think our new Cleric Conservator is aware of his idol's true nature.

'Are you—

'Sure? Yes, I'm sure.

'That's remarkable. There's no record of it; that's a hell of an achievement these days.

'Like I said, he kept it quiet. No one would have paid any attention to a Higher showing them his dreams, not out here on the External Worlds. He needed to appear as ordinary as possible. To be accepted as one of us.

Aaron gave an amused grunt. 'Highers are people, too.

'Some of them. She gave him a meaningful glance.

'Was Yves the other Cleric who knew about Inigo?

'No. She drew a short gasp, and glanced back. 'Oh Ozzie, Yves! He was unconscious when the fane collapsed.

'He'll be all right.

'All right? she yelled, finally becoming animated. 'All right? He's dead!

'Well, he'll probably need re-lifing, yeah. But that's only a couple of months downtime these days.

She gave him an incredulous snort, and leant against the capsule's transparent fuselage to gaze down on the city.

Shock, anger, and fright, he decided. Mostly fright. 'You need to decide what to do next, he told her as sympathetically as he could. 'Team up with me, or… He shrugged. 'I can give you some untraceable funds, that should help keep you hidden.

'Bastard. She wiped at her eyes, then looked down at herself. Her red sweater had large damp patches, and the lower half of her trousers were caked in blue foam. Her knees were grazed and filthy from the inside of the utility tunnel. Her shoulders slumped in resignation. 'He used to go somewhere, she said in a quiet emotionless voice.

'Inigo?

'Yes. This isn't the first time he took off on a sabbatical and left Living Dream covering up for his absence. But none of the other times were for so long. A year at most.

'I see. Where did he go?

'Anagaska.

'That's his birthworld.

'Yes.

'An External World. One of the first. Advancer through and through, he said significantly.

'I'm not arguing with you.

'Did he ever take you?

'No. He said he was visiting family. I don't know how true that was.

Aaron reviewed the files on Inigo's family. There was very little information; they didn't seek publicity, especially after he founded Living Dream. 'His mother migrated inwards a long time ago. She downloaded into ANA in 3440, after first becoming…

'Higher, yes I know.

He didn't follow the point; but for someone to convert to Higher without leaving any record was essentially impossible. Corrie-Lyn must have been mistaken. 'There's no record of any brothers or sisters, he said.

Corrie-Lyn closed her eyes and let out a long breath. 'His mother had a sister, a twin. There was something… I don't know what, but some incident long ago. Inigo hinted at it; the sisters went through this big trauma together. Whatever it was drove them apart, they never really reconciled.

'There's nothing in the records about that, I didn't even know he had an aunt.

'Well now you do. So what next?

'Go to Anagaska. Try and find the aunt or her children.

'How do we get there? I imagine the police will be watching the spaceports and wormholes.

'They will eventually. But I have my own starship. He stopped in surprise as knowledge of the starship emerged into his mind from some deep memory.

Corrie-Lyn's eyes opened in curiosity. 'You do?

'I think so.

'Sweet Ozzie, you are so strange.

Seventeen minutes later the capsule slid down to land beside a pad in Riasi's spaceport. Aaron and Corrie-Lyn climbed out and looked up at the chrome-purple ovoid that stood on five bulbous legs.

She whistled in admiration. 'That looks deliciously expensive. Is it really yours?

'Yeah.

'Odd name, she said as she walked under the curving underbelly of the fuselage. 'What's the reference?

'I've no idea. His u-shadow opened a link to the Artful Dodgers smartcore, confirming his identity with a DNA verification along with a code he abruptly remembered. The smartcore acknowledged his command authority.

'Hang on, Aaron told Corrie-Lyn, and grabbed her hand. The base of the starship bulged inwards, stretching into a dark tube. Gravity altered around them and they slid up inside the opening.

Sholapur was one of those Commonwealth planets that didn't quite work. All the ingredients for success and normality were there; a standard H-congruous biosphere, G-type star, oceans, big continents with great landscapes of deserts, mountains, plains, jungles, and vast deciduous forests, handsome coastlines and long meandering archipelagos. The local flora had several plants humans could eat; while the wildlife wasn't wild enough to pose much of a threat. Tectonically it was benign. The twin moons were small, orbiting seven hundred thousand kilometres out to produce the kind of tides and waves that satisfied every kind of marine sports enthusiast.

So physically, there was nothing wrong with it. That just left the people.

Settlement began in 3120, the year ANA officially became Earth's government. It was the kind of incentive which flushed a lot of the remaining political, cultural, and religious malcontents out of the Central Worlds. The greatest machine ever built was obviously taking over, and Higher culture was now so dominant it could never be revoked. They left in their millions to settle the then furthest External Worlds. At 470 lightyears from Earth, Sholapur was an attractive proposition for anyone looking for a distant haven. To begin with, everything went smoothly. There was commercial investment, the immigrants were experienced professionals; cities and industrial parks sprang up, farms were established. But the groups who arrived from the Central Worlds weren't just dissatisfied with Higher culture, they tended to be insular, intolerant of other ideologies and lifestyles. Petty local disputes had a way of swelling to encompass entire ethnic or ideological communities. Internal migration accelerated, transforming urban areas into miniature city states; all with massively different laws and creeds. Cooperation between them was minimal. The planetary parliament was 'suspended' in 3180, after yet another debate ended in personal violence between Senators. And that more or less marked the end of Sholapur's economic and cultural development. It was regarded as hermitic by the rest of the Commonwealth. Even the External Worlds with all their attitude of forthright independence viewed it like a kind of embarrassing drop-out cousin. The nearest settled worlds called it Planet of the Hotheads, and had little contact. Despite that, a great many starships continued to visit. Some of the micro-nations had laws (or a lack of laws) which could be advantageous to certain types of merchant.

Five thousand kilometres above the planetary surface, the starship Mellanie's Redemption fell out of hyperspace amid a collapsing bubble of violet Cherenkov radiation. There was no single planetary traffic control Troblum could contact; instead he filed an approach request with Ikeo City, and received permission to land.

The Mellanie's Redemption measured thirty metres long, a sleek flared cone shape, with forward-curving tailfins that looked functionally aerodynamic. In fact they were thermal radiators added to handle the extensively customized power system. The cabin layout was a central circular lounge ringed by ten sleeping cubicles and a washroom. Hyperdrive ships didn't come much bigger, they simply weren't cost effective to build. Starline companies used them almost exclusively for passengers wealthy enough to pay for fast transport. Most starships used a continuous wormhole drive; they were slower but could be built to any size required, and carried the bulk of interstellar trade around the External Worlds. Originally, Mellanie's Redemption had been a specialist craft, built to carry priority cargo or passengers between the External Worlds. A risky proposition at the best of times. The company who commissioned her had lurched from one financial crisis to another until Troblum made them an offer for their superfast lame duck. He claimed she would be refitted as a big personal yacht, which was a white lie. It was her three large cargo holds which made her perfect for him; their volume was ideal for carrying the equipment he was working on to recreate the Anomine 'one shot' wormhole. Marius had agreed to the acquisition, and the additional EMAs materialized in Trob-lum's account. Although the ship was supposed to remain on Arevalo until Troblum was ready to move the project to its test stage he found it indispensable for some of the transactions he was involved in. The addition of a Navy-grade stealth field was especially beneficial when it came to slipping away from Arevalo without Marius being aware of anything untoward.

City was a somewhat overzealous description for Ikeo which comprised a fifty-mile stretch of rugged sub-tropical coastline with a small town in the middle and a lot of mansions spread along the cliff tops on either side. The province's ideology could best be described as a free trade area, with several individuals specializing in artefact salvage. It did have a resident-funded police force, which its poorer neighbouring states referred to as a strategic defence system.

Mellanie's Redemption descended at the focal point of several ground-based tracking sensors. She landed on pad 23 at the city's spaceport, a two kilometre circle of mown grass with twenty-four concrete pads, a couple of black dome-shaped maintenance hangars, and a warehouse owned by an Intersolar service supply company. There were no arrival formalities. A capsule drew up beside the starship as Troblum walked down the short airstair, puffing heavily from the rush of heat and humidity that hit him as soon as the airlock opened.

The capsule took him several miles out of town to a Romanesque villa atop a low cliff. Three sides of the single-storey building surrounded an elaborate pool and patio area festooned with colourful plants. Several waterfalls spilled down large strategically positioned boulders to splash into the pool. The view down on to the white beach was spectacular, with a needle-profile glide-boat anchored just offshore.

Stubsy Florae was waiting for him by the bar at the side of the pool. Not that anyone called him 'Stubsy' to his face; Florae was sensitive about his height. Sensitive to a degree that he didn't get it changed during rejuvenation therapy because to do that would be to admit that he was a head shorter than most adults and that it bothered him enough to do something about it. He wore knee-length sports trousers and a simple pale-blue shirt open to the waist to reveal a chest covered in hair and a stomach that was starting to bulge. When Troblum appeared he smiled broadly and pushed his oversize sunglasses on to his forehead. His hairline was a lot higher and thinner than Troblum was used to seeing even on External World citizens.

'Hey! My man, Florae exclaimed loudly. He held his arms out and shifted his hips from side to side. 'You been dieting, or what? He laughed loudly again at his own joke. All his companions smiled.

There were seven of them visible in the pool area, either lying on sunloungers, or sitting at the table in the shallow end of the pool sipping drinks that were mostly fruit and ice. Troblum was always slightly uncomfortable about the girls Stubsy kept at the villa. Not quite clones, but there were standard requirements. For a start they were all a lot taller than their boss, two were even taller than Troblum; naturally they were beautiful, with long silken hair, bodies toned as if they were part of some ancient Olympic athlete squad, and wearing tight bikinis — dressing for dinner here was putting on a pair of shorts and sandals. A low-level field scan revealed them to be enriched with several advanced weapons systems; half of the muscle ridges etched beneath their taut skin was actually force field webbing. If they ganged up on Troblum they could probably overwhelm his biononic defences. They acted like a hybrid of floozies and executive assistants. Troblum knew the image which the whole stable arrangement was supposed to convey, but just didn't understand why. Stubsy must have a lot more insecurities than just his height.

Troblum's worn old toga suit rippled round his vast body as he raised his arms. 'Do I look smaller?

'Hey, come on, I'm just fucking with you. What I got, it entitles me.

'What you claim you've got.

'Man, just shove that stake in a little further, I don't think it went right through my heart. How are you, man? It's been a while. Stubsy gave Troblum a hug, arms reaching almost a third of the way round. Squeezing like he was being reunited with a parent.

'Too long, Troblum suggested.

'Still got your ship. Sweet ship. You Higher guys, you live the life all right.

Troblum looked down on Stubsy's head. 'So come and join us.

'Wowa there! Not quite ready for that. Okay? Man don't even joke about. I'd need to spend a decade wiping all my bad memories before they'd let me set foot on the Central Worlds. Hey, you want a drink. Couple of sandwiches, maybe. Alcinda, she knows how to boss a culinary unit around. He lowered his voice and winked. 'Not the only thing she knows her way around, huh.

Troblum tried not to grimace in dismay. 'Some beer maybe.

'Sure sure. Florae gestured to some chairs beside a table. They sat down while one of the girls brought a large mug of light beer over. 'Hey, Somonie, bring it out for my man, will you?

A girl in a vivid-pink bikini gave a short nod and went inside.

'Where did you find it? Troblum asked.

'A contact of mine. Hey, have I been retrofitted without a brain and somebody not tell me? If I tell you about my people what's left for me in this universe?

'Quite.

'You know I've got a network pumping away down there in the civilized Commonwealth. This week it's some guy, next it's another. Who knows where shit is going to appear. You want to stab me in the back, first you got to build yourself your own network.

'I already have.

Florae blinked, his best-friends smile fading. 'You have?

'Sure. Hundreds of guys like you.

'You kill me, you know that? He laughed, too loud, and raised his glass. 'People like me. Ho man!

'I meant, what planet was it recovered from? My record search confirmed Vic Russell handed it back in to the Serious Crimes Directorate when he returned from the Boongate relocation. It was obsolete by then. The SCD would have disposed of it.

'Beats me, Florae said with a shrug. 'Guess there were people like you and me around even back in those days.

Troblum said nothing. The salvager could be right. For all his personality faults and distasteful lifestyle, he had always provided bona fide items. A large number of artefacts in Troblum's museum had come from Florae.

Somonie returned from the villa carrying a long stable-environment case. It was heavy, her arm muscles were standing proud. She put it the table in front of Troblum and Stubsy.

'Before we go any further, Troblum said. 'I have the SCD serial code. The genuine one. So. Do you still want to open the case?

'I don't give a shit what fucking number you think you got, man, this is for real. And hey guess what, you aren't the only asshole in the Commonwealth that creams himself over this shit. I come to you first because I figure we got a friendship going by now. You want to call me out, you want to crap all over my reputation, and you know what, fatboy, you can roll all the way back to your ship and fuck the hell off this world. My fucking world.

'We'd better look at it then, Troblum said. 'I'd hate to lose your friendship. He didn't care about Stubsy Florae, there were dozens of scavengers just like him. But it was an interesting claim; he'd never really thought there were other collectors outside museums. He wondered idly if they could be persuaded to sell. Perhaps Florae could enquire…

Florae's u-shadow gave the case a key, and the top unfurled to reveal an antique ion rifle. A protective shield shimmered faintly around it, but Troblum could clearly see the metre-long barrel which ended in a stubby black metal handle that had several attachment points and an open induction socket on the bottom.

'Yeah well, Stubsy said with a modest grimace, which could almost have been embarrassment. 'The other bit is missing. Obviously. But what the fuck, this is the business end, right? That's what counts.

'There is no "other bit", Troblum said. 'This is designed to be used by someone in an armour suit; it clips on to the lower arm.

'No shit?

It was an effort for Troblum to speak calmly. The weapon certainly looked genuine. 'Would you turn off the field, please.

The shimmer vanished. Troblum's field function swept across the antique rifle. Deep in the barrel's casing were long chains of specifically arranged molecules, spelling out a unique code. He licked the sweat from his upper lip. 'It's real, he whispered hoarsely.

'Yo! Stubsy slapped his hands together in victory. 'Do I ever let you down?

Troblum couldn't stop staring at the weapon. 'Only in the flesh. Would you like payment now?

'Man, this is why I love you. Yes. Yes please. I would very much like payment now, please.

Troblum told his u-shadow to transfer the funds.

'You want to stay for dinner? Stubsy asked. 'Maybe party with some of the girls?

'Put the protective field back on, please. This humidity is inimical.

'Sure thing. So, which one do you like?

'You don't have any idea how important this artefact is, do you?

'I know it's value, man, that's what counts. The fact some policeman shot an alien with it a thousand years ago doesn't exactly ding my bell.

'Vic Russell worked with Paula Myo. And I know you've heard of her.

'Sure man, this planet's living nightmare. Didn't know she was around in those days, too.

'Oh yes, she was around even before the Starflyer War. And it wasn't an alien Vic shot, it was Tarlo, a Directorate colleague who had been corrupted by the Starflyer, and betrayed Vic and his wife. Arguably, Tarlo is one of the most important Starflyer agents there was.

'Ozzie, now I get it: this was the gun that killed him. That connects you.

'Something like that.

'So are you interested in genuine alien stuff as well?

Anything that is part of the Starflyer's legacy. Why, have you located another section of its ship?

Stubsy shook his head. 'Fraid not, man. But one of my neighbours; she specializes in weird alien technology and other interesting little chunks. You know, the odd sample that crews on pathfinder missions pick up, stuff you never get to hear about in the Unisphere, stuff ANA and the Navy like to keep quiet. You want I should put you in touch, I got a Unisphere code, she's very discreet. I'll vouch for her.

'Tell her if she ever comes across any Anomine relics I'll be happy to talk, he said, knowing she wouldn't. Apart from that, I'm not interested.

'Okay, just thought I'd ask.

Troblum raised himself to his feet, quietly pleased he didn't need his biononics to generate a muscle reinforcement field; but then this world had a point-eight standard gravity. 'Could you call your capsule for me, please?

'Money's in, so sure. This is another reason I like you, man, we don't have to screw around making up small talk.

'Exactly. Troblum picked up the stable-environment case. It was heavy; he could feel a mild sweat break out on his forehead and across his shoulders as he lifted it into the crook of his arm. Hadn't Stubsy ever heard of regrav?

'Hey, man, you're the only Higher I know, so I've got to like ask you this. What's ANA's take on this whole Pilgrimage thing?

Is it a bunch of crap, or are we all going to get cluster fucked by the Void?

'ANA: Governance put out a clear statement on the Unisphere. The Pilgrimage is regrettable, but it does not believe the actions of Living Dream pose any direct physical threat to the Greater Commonwealth.

'I accessed that, sure. Usual government bullshit then, huh. But… what do you think, man? Should I be stocking up my starship and heading out?

'Out where, exactly? If the anti-Pilgrimage faction is right, the whole galaxy is doomed.

'You are just one giant lump of fun, aren't you? Come on, man, give it to me straight. Are we in the shit?

'The contacts I have inside ANA aren't worried, so neither am I.

Stubsy considered that seriously for a moment before reverting to his usual annoyingly breezy self. 'Thanks, man, I owe you one.

'Not really. But if I find a way to collect, I'll let you know.

Troblum puzzled over Stubsy's question in the capsule back to his ship. Perhaps he'd been unwise to admit to contacts inside ANA, but it was a very general reference. Besides, he didn't really consider Stubsy to be some kind of agent working for Marius's opponents — of which there were admittedly many. Of course the Starflyer had procured agents a lot more unlikely than Stubsy. But if Stubsy was an agent for some ANA Faction they were playing a long game, and from what Troblum understood, the Pilgrimage situation would be resolved sooner rather than later. Troblum shook his head and shifted the case slightly. It was an interesting theory, but he suspected he was overanalysing events. Paranoia was healthy, but he wouldn't like to report that particular suspicion to Marius. More likely it was a genuine concern on Stubsy's part, one born of ignorance and popular prejudice. That was a lot easier to believe.

The capsule arrived back at Mellanie's Redemption and Troblum carefully carried the stable-environment case into the starship. He resisted the impulse to open it for one last check, but did stow it in his own sleeping cabin for the flight back to Arevalo.

The first thing Araminta knew about the failure was when a shower of sparks sizzled out of the bot's power arm, just above the wrist multi-socket where tools plugged in. At the time she was on her knees beside the Juliet balcony door, trying to dismantle its seized-up actuator. The unit hadn't been serviced for a decade at least. When she got the casing open every part of it was covered in grime. She wrinkled her nose up in dismay, and reached for the small all-function electrical toolkit she'd bought from Askahar's Infinite Systems, a company that specialized in recycled equipment for the construction trade. Her u-shadow grabbed the user instructions from the kit's memory and filtered them up through her macrocellular clusters into her brain; supposedly they gave her an instinctive ability to apply the little gizmos. She couldn't even work out which one would stand a chance of cleaning away so much gunk. The cleanser utensils were intended for delicate systems with a light coating of dust. Not this compost heap.

Then as she peered closer at the actuator components bright light flashed across them. She turned just in time to see the last cascade of sparks drizzle down on the pile of sealant sheets stacked up in the corner of the flat's lounge. Wisps of smoke began to wind upwards. The bot juddered to a halt, as the whole lower segment of its power arm darkened. As she watched, its pocked silvery casing tarnished rapidly from the heat inside.

'Ozzie's mother! she yelped, and quickly started stamping on the sheets, trying to extinguish the glowing points which the sparks had kindled. Her u-shadow couldn't get any access to the bot at all, it was completely dead, and now there was a definite hot-oil smell in the air. Another bot slid away and retrieved an extinguisher bulb from the kitchen. It returned and sprayed blue foam on the defunct bot's arm. Araminta groaned in dismay as the bubbling fluid scabbed over and dripped on to the floorboards, soaking in. The whole wood-look was coming back in vogue, which was why she'd ordered the bot to abrade the original old floorboards down to the grain. As soon as they were done she was going to spread the sealant sheets down while the rest of the room was decorated and fitted, then she'd finish the boards with a veneer polish to bring out the wavy gold and rouge pattern of the native antwood.

Araminta scratched at the damp stain with her fingernail, but it didn't seem too bad. She'd just have to get another bot to abrade the wood down still further. There were five of the versatile machines performing various tasks in the flat, all second or third hand; again bought from Askahar's Infinite Systems.

Now the immediate danger of fire was over her u-shadow called Burt Renik, proprietor of Askahar's Infinite Systems.

'Well there's nothing I can do, he explained after she'd told him what had happened.

'I only bought it from you two days ago!

'Yes but why did you buy it?

'Excuse me! You recommended it.

'Yes, the Candel 8038; it's got the kind of power level you wanted for heavy duty attachments. But you came to me rather than a licensed dealer.

'What are you talking about? I couldn't afford a new model. The Unisphere evaluation library said it was dependable.

'Exactly. And I sell a lot of refurbished units because of that. But the one you bought had a manufacturer's decade-warranty that expired over a decade ago. Now with all the goodwill in Ozzie's universe, I have to tell you: you get what you pay for. I have some newer models in stock if you need a replacement.

Araminta wished she had the ability to trojan a sensorium package past his u-shadow filters, one that would produce the painburst he'd get from a good smack on the nose. 'Will you take part exchange?

'I could make you an offer on any components I can salvage, but I'd have to bring the bot in to the workshop to analyse what's left. I can come out, oh… middle of next week, and there would have to be a collection charge.

'For Ozzie's sake, you sold me a dud.

'I sold you what you wanted. Look, I'm only offering to salvage parts as a goodwill gesture. I'm running a business, I want return customers.

'Well you've lost this one. She ended the call and told her u-shadow never to accept a call from Burt Renik again. 'Bloody hell! Her u-shadow quickly revised her refurbishment schedule, adding on an extra three days to her expected completion date. That assumed she wouldn't buy a replacement for the 8038. It was a correct assumption. The budget wasn't working out like she'd originally planned. Not that she was overspending, but the time involved in stripping out all the old fittings and demode decorations was taking a lot longer than her first estimate.

Araminta sat back on the floor and glared at the ruined bot. I'm not going to cry. I'm not that pathetic.

The loss of the 8038 was a blow, though. She'd just have to trust the remaining bots would hold out. Her u-shadow began to run diagnostic checks on them while she tried to detach the abrader mat from the 8038's foam-clogged multi-socket. The attachment was expensive and, unlike the bot, brand new. Her mood wasn't helped by the current state of the flat. She had been working on it for five days solid now, stripping it down to bare walls, and gutting the ancient domestic equipment, the whole place looked just terrible. Every surface was covered in fine particles, with sawdust enhancing the whole dilapidated appearance; also not helped by the way any sound echoed round the blank rooms. After tidying things up today, she could start the refurbishment stage. She was sure that would re-fire her enthusiasm. There had been times over the last week when she'd had moments of pure panic, wondering how she could have been so stupid to have gambled everything on this ancient cruddy flat.

The abrader attachment came free and she pulled it out. With her u-shadow controlling them directly, two of the remaining bots hauled their broken sibling out of the flat and dumped it in the commercial refuse casket parked outside. She winced every time it bumped on the stairs, but the other occupants were out, they'd never know how the dints got there.

With the abrader plugged in to another bot, a Braklef 34B — only eight years old — she turned her attention back to the balcony door actuator. She knew if she started moping over the broken bot she'd just wind up feeling sorry for herself and never get anything done. She simply couldn't afford that.

The simplest thing, she decided, was to break the actuator down and clean the grime off manually; after that she could use the specialist tools to get the systems up to required standard. Her other toolbox, the larger one, had a set of power keys. She set to with more determination she had any right to without resorting to aerosols.

As she worked, her u-shadow skimmed the news, local and Intersolar, and summarized topics she was interested in, feeding it to her in a quiet neural drizzle. Now she'd bought the flat, she'd cancelled the daily review of city property. It would be too distracting, especially if something really good appeared on the market. So instead she chortled quietly at the images in her peripheral vision as a city councillor's son was indicted on charges of land fraud. The investigators were rumoured to be closing in on Daddy, who sat on the city board for zoning management. Last night, Debbina, the first-born daughter of billionaire Shel-donite Likan had been arrested once again for lewd conduct in a public place. The image of her coming out of Colwyn Central police station flanked by her lawyers this morning showed her still wearing a black spray dress from the previous evening, and her blond hair in disarray. Hansel Industries, one of Ellezelin's top 100 companies was discussing opening a manufacturing district just outside Colwyn; the details were accompanied by economic projections. She couldn't help scan the effect on property prices.

As far as Intersolar political news was concerned the only item was the new Senate motion introduced by Marian Kantil, Earth's Senator, that Living Dream desist from reckless action in respect to its Pilgrimage. Ellezelin's Senator responded to the motion by walking out. He was followed by the Senators from Tari, Idlib, Lirno, Quhood and Agra — the Free Trade Zone planets. Araminta wasn't surprised to find Viotia's Senator had abstained from the vote, as had seven other External Worlds, all on the fringe of the Zone, and all with a large percentage of Living Dream followers in their population. The report went on to show the huge manufacturing yard on the edge of Greater Makkathran, where the Pilgrimage ships would be assembled. Araminta stopped cleaning the actuator to watch. An armada of civic construction machinery was laying down the field, flattening fifteen square miles of countryside ready for its cladding of concrete. The first echelon of machines swept the ground with dispersant beams, chewing into the side of hillocks and escarpments; loosening any material that stood above the required level. All the resulting scree slides of pulverized soil and sand were elevated by regrav modules then channelled by force fields into thick solid streams that curved through the air and stretched back to the holds of vast ore barges hovering at the side of the estuary which made up one side of the yard. Following the levelling operation was a line of more basic machinery which drove deep support piles into the bedrock to support the weight of the starship cradles. The Pilgrimage fleet was to be made up of twelve cylindrical vessels, each a mile long, and capable of carrying two million pilgrims in suspension. Already Living Dream was talking about them being merely the 'first wave'.

Araminta shook her head in mild disbelief that so many people could be so stupid, and switched to local reports of business and celebrities.

Two hours later, Cressida arrived. She frowned down at the prints her shiny leather pumps with their diamond encrusted straps made in the thick layer of dirt coating the hall floor. Her cashmere fur dress contracted around her to save her skin from exposure to the dusty air. One hand was raised to cover her mouth, gold and purple nailprint friezes flowing in slow motion.

Araminta smiled up uncertainly at her cousin. She was suddenly very self-conscious standing there in her filthy overalls, hair wound up and tucked into a cap, hands streaked with black grease.

'There's a dead bot in your casket, Cressida said. She sounded annoyed by it.

'I know, Araminta sighed. 'Price of buying cheap.

'It's one of yours? Cressida's eyebrows lifted. 'Do you want me to call the supplier and have it replaced?

'Tempting. Ozzie knows it wasn't actually that cheap relative to my budget, but no I'll fight my own battles from now on.

'That's my family. Stupidly stubborn to the last.

'Thanks.

'I'm here for two reasons. One to look round. Okay, done that. Came a month too early, obviously. Two, I want all the frightful details of Thursday night. You and that rather attractive boy Keetch left very early together. And darling I do mean all the details.

'Keetch is hardly a boy'

'Pha! Younger than me by almost a century. So tell your best cousin. What happened?

Araminta smiled bashfully. 'You know very well. We went back to his place. She proffered a limp gesture at the dilapidated hallway. 'I could hardly bring him here.

'Excellent. And?

'And what?

'What does he do? Is he single? What's he like in bed? How many times has he called? Is he yearning and desperate yet? Has he sent flowers or jewellery or is he all pathetic and gone the chocolates route? Which resort bedroom are you spending the weekend in?

'Wow, just stop there. Araminta's smile turned sour. In truth Keetch had been more than adequate in bed and he had even tried to call her several times since Thursday. Calls she had no intention of returning. The thrill of liberation, of playing the field, of experimenting, of answering to no one, of making and taking her own choices, of just plain having fun; it was all shewanted right now. A simple life without commitments or attachments. Right now was what she should have been doing instead of being married. 'Keetch was very nice, but I'm not seeing him again. I'm too busy here.

'Now I am impressed. Hump 'em and dump 'em. There's quite a core of raw steel hidden inside that ingenue facade, isn't there?

Araminta shrugged. 'Whatever.

'If you ever want a career in law, I'll be happy to sponsor you. You'll probably make partner in under seventy years.

'Gosh, now there's an enticement'

Cressida dropped her hand long enough to laugh. 'Ah well, I tried. So are we on for Wednesday?

'Yes, of course. Araminta enjoyed their girls nights out. Cressida seemed to know every exclusive club in Colwyn City, and she was on all their guest lists. 'So what happened to you after I left? Did you catch anyone?

'At my age? I was safely tucked up in bed by midnight.

'Who with?

'I forget their names. You know you really must go up a level and join an orgy. They can be fantastic, especially if you have partners who know exactly what they're doing.

Araminta giggled. 'No thanks. Don't think I'm quite ready for that yet. What I'm doing is pretty adventurous for me.

'Well when you're ready…

'I'll let you know.

Cressida inhaled a breath of dust and started coughing. 'Ozzie, this place is bringing back too many memories of my early years. Look, I'll call later. Sorry I'm not much practical help, but truthfully, I'm crap with design programs'

'I want to do this by myself. I'm going to do this by myself.

'Hell, make that partner in fifty years. You've got what it takes.

'Remind you of you? Araminta asked sweetly.

'No. I think you're sharper, unfortunately. Bye, darling.

Lunch was a sandwich in her carry capsule as she flew across the city to the first of three suppliers on her list. The carry capsule, like her bots, had seen better days; according to the log she was the fifth owner in thirty years. Perfectly serviceable, the sales manager had assured her. It didn't have the speed of a new model, and if the big rear cargo compartment was filled to the rated load then it wouldn't quite reach its maximum flight ceiling. But she had a lot more confidence in the capsule than the 8038 bot; because of its age it had to pass a strict Viotia Transport Agency flightworthiness test every year, and the last one had been two months before she bought it.

The capsule settled on the lot of Bovey's Bathing and Culinar-yware, one of eight macrostores that made up a small touchdown mall in the Groby district. She walked in to the store, looking round the open display rooms that lined a broad aisle with many branches. Bathrooms and kitchens alternated, promoting a big range of size, styles, and price, though the ones by the door tended to be elaborate. She looked enviously at the larger luxury units, thinking about the kind of apartment she'd develop one day in which such extravagance was a necessity.

'Can I help you?

Araminta turned round to see a man dressed in the store's blue and maroon uniform. He was quite tall with his biological age locked in around his late twenties, dark skin offset by sandy-blond hair. Nice regular features, she thought, without being too handsome. His eyes were light grey, revealing a lot of humour. If they were meeting in a club she'd definitely let him buy her a drink — she might even offer to buy him one first.

'I'm looking for a kitchen and a bathroom. Both have to look and feel high grade, yet cost practically nothing.

'Ah, now that I can understand, and provide for. I'm Mr Bovey, by the way.

She was quite flattered the owner himself would come down on the floor and single her out to help. 'Pleased to meet you. I'm Araminta.

He shook her hand politely. She thought he was debating with himself if he should try for a platonic greeting kiss. It was one of those times when she wished she had a connection to the gaiafield, which would enable her to gauge his emotions, assuming he'd broadcast them. Which as the owner of the store and therefore a professional he wouldn't. Damn. Come on girl, focus.

'What sort of dimensions can you give me to play with? he asked.

Araminta gave him a slightly cheeky grin, then stopped. Perhaps it wasn't a double-entendre. Certainly sounded like one, though. 'Here you go, she told him as her u-shadow produced the blueprint file. 'I would appreciate some help on price. This is my first renovation project, I don't want it to be my last.

'Ah. His eyes strayed to her hands, which still had lines of grime etched on the skin. 'Boss and workforce, I can relate to that.

'Depleted workforce today, I'm afraid. One of my bots blew up. I can't afford any more expensive mistakes.

'I understand. He hesitated. 'You didn't get it from Burt Renik, did you?

'Yes, she said cautiously. 'Why?

'Okay, well for future reference — and I didn't tell you this — he's not the most reliable of suppliers.

'I know he's not the gold standard, but I checked on the evaluation library for that model. It was okay.

This time he did wince. 'Next time you buy something in the trade, including anything from me, I'd recommend some research on Dave's Coding. His u-shadow handed over the address. 'The evaluation library is fine, all those «independent» reports on how the product worked — well, the library is financed and managed by corporations, that's why there's never really a bad review. Dave's Coding is truly autonomous.

'Thank you, she said meekly as she filed the address in one of her storage lacunas. 'I'll take an access sometime.

'Glad to help. In the mean time, try aisle seven for a kitchen. I think we can supply your order from there.

'Thanks. She walked off to aisle seven, more than a little disappointed he didn't accompany her. Perhaps he had a policy of not flirting with customers. Shame.

The man waiting in aisle seven had on an identical blue and maroon uniform. He was perhaps five years older than Mr Bovey, but even taller, with a slender marathon runner frame. His skin was Nordic pale with ginger hair cut short except for a slender ridge right at the crest of his skull. Strangely, his green eyes registered the same kind of general amusement at the world as Mr Bovey.

'I'd recommend these two kitchen styles, he said in greeting, and gestured at a small display area. 'They're a good fit to your dimensions, and this one is an end of the line model. I've got two left in the warehouse, so I can give you a sweet deal.

Araminta was slightly nonplussed. Mr Bovey had obviously passed on her file to this employee; but that was no reason for him to start off as if they were already on familiar terms. 'Let's take a look, she said, lowering the temperature of her voice.

It turned out the end of the line model was quite satisfactory, and it was a good deal. As well as a mid-range culinary unit with a range of multichem storage tanks she got a breakfast bar and stools, ancillaries like a fridge, food prepper, maidbot, shelving and cupboards. The style was chaste white, with black and gold trim. 'If you throw in delivery, I'll take it, she told him.

'Any time you want it, I'll get it to you.

She ignored the flirty overture, and told her u-shadow to pay the deposit.

'Bathrooms: aisle eleven, he told her with unabashed enthusiasm.

The salesman waiting for her in aisle eleven had allowed himself to age into his biological fifties, which was unusual even for Viotia. His ebony skin was just starting to crinkle, with his hair greying and thinning. 'I've got four that I think will suit your aesthetics, was his opening gambit.

'Hello, she snapped at him.

'Ah… yes?

'I'm Araminta, pleased to meet you. And I'm looking for a bathroom for my flat. Can you help me?

'What…?

'This whole relay thing you've got going here really isn't polite. You could at least say hi to me first before you access the file you're all shooting around here. I am a person, you know.

'I think… ah. His surprised expression softened. Araminta found it a lot more disconcerting than his initial smug chumminess.

'You do know what I am, don't you? he asked.

'What do you mean?

'I am Mr Bovey. We are all Mr Bovey in this store. I am a multiple human.

Araminta was certain she'd be turning bright red with embarrassment. She knew what a multiple was, of course; one personality shared between several bodies through an adaptation of the gaiafield technology. This way, its practitioners claimed, was the true evolutionary leap for humanity that everyone else was pursuing down futile dead ends. A multiple human could never die unless every body was killed, which was unlikely in the extreme. In a quiet non-evangelical way they believed that everyone would one day become multiple. Perhaps after that the personalities would start fusing, leaving one consciousness with a trillion bodies — a much better outcome than downloading into the artificial sanctity of ANA.

It was a human heresy, their detractors claimed, a long-term conspiracy to imitate the Prime aliens of Dyson Alpha. More vocal opponents accused the multiple lifestyle of being started by left-over Starflyer agents trying to continue their dead master's corrupting ideology.

I'm sorry, she said, shamefaced. 'I didn't know.

'That's okay. Partly my fault in assuming you did. Most people in the trade know.

Araminta gave a wry grin. 'I guess continuity of service is a big plus.

'I've got to be better than Burt Renik.

'Definitely!

'All right then. So are you and I good to go and look at bathrooms?

'Of course we are.

Araminta wound up buying the third suite the older Mr Bovey showed her. It wasn't out of guilt, he was genuinely offering a good deal, and the plain gold and green style was perfect for the flat. And once she'd let her awkwardness subside, he was fun to talk to. She couldn't quite throw off the weird little feeling of disconnection talking to his older body and knowing he was exactly the same person who'd greeted her, and that body was probably smiling privately at her while dealing with another customer.

'Just let us know when you want it delivered, he said when her u-shadow handed over the deposit.

'Do you… that is: some of you. Ones of you. Handle delivery as well?

'Don't worry, tense hasn't caught up with us multiples yet. And yes, I'll be the one in the carry capsule and helping the bots when they get stuck on the stairs. Not necessarily this body given its age, but me.

'I'll look forward to seeing the rest of you.

'There's a couple of mes who are young and handsome. Call it vanity if you like, I'm not immune to all the usual human flaws. I'll try and schedule thems for the delivery.

'As handsome as you?

'Hey, there's no more discount. You've squeezed me dry already.

She laughed. 'I'd better get back to work then.

Araminta smiled the whole flight back to the flat. Mr Bovey really had been charming. All his versions. She suspected it was more than good client relations. And was he joking about the young and handsome bodies? Actually, even the last one she'd seen, the older one, was quite distinguished. And what if he did ask her out for a date? Would it be just her and twenty of him sitting at a table?

If he asks.

And if he did, what am I going to answer?

The whole idea was unusual, which made it very interesting.

And what if the evening went well? Do I ask twenty of him hack to my place?

Oh stop it!

She was still smiling when she walked back up the stairs and opened the front door. Then her mood came down at the sight of the flat. The bots had made some progress cleaning up; but one with a vacuum attachment was all clogged up. None of the bots had self maintenance capacity, so she'd have to clear that out manually. And she'd still not put the balcony door actuator back together. It could well be quite a while before Mr Bovey delivered her new kitchen and bathroom and she got round to finding out how well she'd read their encounter.

Late in the afternoon when the place was finally getting straightened out she'd started spreading the sealant sheets over the lounge's floorboards. That was when her u-shadow told her there was a call from Laril. 'Are you sure? she asked it.

'Yes.

She debated with herself if she should call Cressida, maybe the Revenue Service would pay a reward. 'Where's he calling from?

'The routing identity originates on Oaktier. A summary slid into her peripheral vision.

'A Central Commonwealth world, she read. 'What's he doing there?

'I do not know.

'Right, she sat on the cube that was her portable bed and took her gloves off. Wiped her forehead. Took a breath. 'Okay, accept the call. His image appeared in her exovision's primary perspective, making it seem as if he was standing right in front of her. If he was providing a real representation he hadn't changed much. Thin brown hair cut short, round face with a chubby jaw and a wide neck, as always thick dark stubble longer than she liked. It was scratchy, she remembered. He never gelled it down smooth no matter how many times she asked.

'Thanks for taking the call, he said. 'I wasn't sure you would.

'Neither was I.

'I hear you're doing okay; you got the money.

'I was awarded the money by the court. Laril, what are you doing? Why are you on Oaktier?

'Isn't it obvious?

That took a few seconds to register, and even longer to accept. It must be some stunt, some scam. 'You're migrating inwards? she asked, incredulous.

He smiled the same carefree smile he'd used when they first met. It was very appealing, warm and confident. She hadn't seen it much after they married.

'Happens to all of us in the end, he said.

'No! I don't believe it. You are going Higher? You?

'My first batch of biononics have been in a week. They're starting to integrate some basic fields. It's quite an experience.

'But… she spluttered. 'For Ozzie's sake. Higher culture would never take you. What did you do, erase half your memories?

'That's a pretty common myth. Higher culture isn't the old Catholic Church, you know; you don't have to confess and recant your past sins. It's current attitude which counts.

'I know they don't take criminals. There was that case centuries ago — Jollian thought that he could escape what he'd done with a memory wipe and a migration to the Inner Worlds. Paula Myo caught up with him and had his biononics removed so he could face trial on the External Worlds as the type of human he was when he committed his crime. I think he got a couple of hundred years' suspension.

'That's what you think of me, that I qualify for the Jollian precedent? Well thanks a whole lot, Araminta. A couple of things you might want to consider. One, Paula Myo isn't after me. And she isn't after me because I haven't committed any crime.

'Have you told the Viotia Revenue Service that?

'My business economics were a mess, sure. I'm not hiding from that. I even told my Higher initiator about my finances. You know what she said?

'Go on.

'Higher culture is about rejecting the evil of money.

'How very convenient for you.

'Look I just wanted to call and apologize. I'm not asking for anything. And I wanted to make sure you're all right.

'A bit late for that, isn't it? she bridled. 'I'm not part of some therapy session you have to complete before they'll take you.

'You're misunderstanding this, perhaps with anger leading you away from what I'm actually saying.

'Ozzie! This is your therapy session.

'We don't need therapy to become Higher, it is inevitable. Even you will migrate eventually.

'Never.

His image produced a fond lopsided smile. 'I remember thinking that once. Probably when I was in my twenties. I know it probably doesn't make a lot of sense to someone your age when every day is fresh, but after a few centuries living on the External Worlds you begin to get bored and frustrated. Every day becomes this constant battle; politicians are corrupt and crap, projects never get finished on time or in budget, bureaucrats delight in thwarting you, and then there's the eternal fight for money.

'Which you lost.

'I fed myself and my families for over three centuries thank you very much. Even you came out ahead with the residue of that work. But face it, I didn't achieve much now did I? A few tens of thousands of dollars to show for three and a half centuries. That's not exactly leaving your mark on the universe, is it? And it's not just me, there are billions of humans that are the same. The External Worlds are fun and exciting with their market economy and clashing ideologies and outward urge. Youth thrives on that kind of environment. Then there comes a day when you have to look back and take stock. You did that for me.

'Oh come on! You're blaming me for the dog's dinner you made of your affairs?

'No. I'm not blaming you. Don't you get it? I'm thanking you. I was old, it took you to reveal that to me. The contrast between us was so great even I couldn't close my eyes to it for ever. There really is no fool like an old fool, and part of that foolishness came from deluding myself. I was tired of that life and didn't want to admit it. Turning Punk Skunk and taking a young wife was just another way of trying to ignore what I'd become. Even that didn't work, did it? I was making both of us miserable.

'That's putting it mildly, she muttered. In a way though, it was gratifying hearing him admit it was all his fault. 'I left my whole family behind because of you.

He showed her a sly smile. 'And that was a bad thing?

'Yeah, all right, she grinned puckishly. 'You did me a favour there. I'm not really cut out for two centuries of selling agricultural cybernetics.

'I knew that the minute I set eyes on you. So how's the world of property development coming on?

'Harder than I thought, she admitted. 'There are so many stupid little things that bug me.

'I know. Well imagine today's frustration multiplied by three hundred years, that's how I wound up feeling.

'And now you don't?

'No.

'I don't believe Higher culture is free of bureaucracy, or corruption, or idiots, or useless politicians. They might not be so blatant, but they're there.

'No, they're not. Well… okay, but nothing like as bad as they are in the External Worlds. You see, there's no need for any of that. So many of the social problems the External Worlds suffer from is born out of markets, capital and materialism; that's what old-style economics produces, in fact trouble just is about all it produces. The cybernated manufacturing and resource allocation procedure which Higher culture is based on takes all those difficulties out of the equation. That and taking a mature sensible perspective. We don't struggle for the little things any more, we can afford to take the longer, intellectual view.

'You talk like you're one of them already.

'Them. That's perspective for you. Higher culture is mainly a state of mind, but backed up by physical affluence.

'You are what the External Worlds strive to be: everyone's a millionaire.

'No. Everyone has equal access to resources, that's what you lack. Though I'd point out that External Worlds always convert to Higher culture in the end. We are the apex of human social and technological achievement. In other words, this is what the human race has been aiming for since proto-humans picked up a club to give us an advantage against all the other predators competing for food out on the African plains. We improve ourselves at every opportunity.

'So why didn't you go straight to ANA and download? That's how Highers improve themselves, isn't it?

'Ultimately, I will, I suppose. But Higher is the next stage for me. I want a time in my body which isn't such an effort. A couple of centuries where I can just relax and learn. There are so many things I want to do and see which I never could before. The opportunities here are just astounding.

Araminta laughed silently, that at least sounded like the old Laril. 'Then I suppose I wish you good luck.

'Thank you. I really didn't want to leave things the way they were between us. If there's anything you ever need, please call, even if it's just a shoulder to cry on.

'Sure. I'll do that, she lied, knowing she never would. She felt indecently content when he ended the call. Closure obviously worked both ways.

The people had no faces. At least none that he was aware of. There were dozens of them, men, women, even children. They were in front of him. Running. Fleeing like cattle panicked by a carnivore. Their screams threatened to split his eardrums. Words rose struggling out of the soundwall. Mostly they were pleas for help, for pity, for sanctuary, for their lives. However hard they ran he kept up with them.

The bizarre melee was taking place in some kind of elaborate hall with crystal grooves running across its domed ceiling. Rows of curving chairs hindered the frantic crowd as they raced for the exit doors. He wouldn't or couldn't turn round. He didn't know what they were trying to escape from. Energy weapons screeched, and the people flung themselves down. For himself, he remained standing, looking down at their prone bodies. Somehow he was remote from the horror. He didn't know how that could be. He was there with them, he was a part of whatever terror was happening here. Then some kind of shadow slid across the floor like demon wings unfolding.

Aaron sat up in bed with a shocked gasp. His skin was cold, damp with sweat. Heart pounding. It took a moment for him to recognize where he was. The lights in the sleeping cabin were brightening, showing him the curving bulkhead walls. He blinked at them as the dream faded.

Somehow he knew the strange images were more than a dream. They must be some memory of his previous life, an event strong enough to cling on inside his neurones while the rest of his identity was wiped. He was curious and daunted at the same time.

What the hell did I get myself mixed up in?

Thinking about it, whatever the affray was, it didn't look any worse than anything this mission had generated so far. His heart had calmed without any help from his biononics. He took a deep breath and climbed off the cot.

'Where are we? he asked the Artful Dodger's smartcore.

'Six hours out from Anagaska.

'Good. He stretched and rolled his shoulders. 'Give me a shower, he told the smartcore. 'Start with water; shift to spores when I tell you.

The cabin began to change, cot flowing back into the bulkhead, the floor hardening to a black and white marble finish. Gold nozzles extruded from each corner, and warm water gushed out.

Even given the ship's obvious Higher origin, it had come as a wondrous surprise to discover it was equipped with an ultradrive. Aaron had thought such a thing to be nothing more than rumour. That was when he realized he had to be working for some ANA Faction. It was an idea he found more intriguing than the drive. It also meant the Pilgrimage was being taken a lot more seriously than people generally realized.

After the spores cleaned and dried his skin he dressed in a simple dark purple one-piece suit and went out into the main lounge. His small cabin withdrew into the bulkhead, providing a larger floorspace. Corrie-Lyn's cabin was still engaged, a simple blister shape protruding into the hemispherical lounge. His suggestion yesterday that they share a bunk had been met by a cold stare and an instant: 'Good night.

She probably wouldn't come out again until they touched down.

The culinary unit provided an excellent breakfast of fried benjiit eggs and Wiltshire drycure bacon, with toast and thick-sliced English marmalade. Aaron was nothing if not a traditionalist. So it would seem, he mused.

Corrie-Lyn emerged from her cabin while he was munching away on his third slice of toast. She'd dressed in a demure (for her) turquoise and emerald knee-length cashmere sweater dress which the ship's synthesizer had produced. Her cabin sank back into the bulkhead, and she collected a large cup of tea from the culinary unit before sitting down opposite Aaron.

Recognizing a person's emotional state was an important part of Aaron's assessment routine. But this morning Corrie-Lyn was as unreadable as a muted solido.

She stared at him for a while as she sipped her tea, apparently unperturbed by the awkwardness of the situation.

'Something on your mind? he asked mildly, breaking the silence. That he was the one who broke it was a telling point. There weren't many people who could make him socially uncomfortable.

'Not my mind, she said, a little too earnestly.

'Meaning? Oh come on, you're an attractive woman. I was bound to ask. You'd probably be more insulted if I didn't.

'Not what I'm talking about. She waved her hand dismissively. 'That was some dream you had.

'I… Dream?

'Did you forget? I didn't become a Living Dream Councillor just because I've got a great arse. I immerse myself in people's dreams, I explore their emotional state and try to help them come to terms with what they are. Dreams are very revealing.

'Oh shit! I leaked that into the gaiafield.

'You certainly did. I'd like to tell you that you are one very disturbed individual. But that would hardly be a revelation, now would it?

'I've seen my fair share of combat. Hardly surprising my subconscious throws up crap like that.

She gave a small victory smile. 'But you don't remember any combat, do you. Not previous to this particular incarnation. That means whatever event you participated in was truly epochal for it to have survived in your subconscious. Wipe techniques are generally pretty good these days, and I suspect you had access to the very best.

'Come off it. That was too weird to be a memory.

'Most dreams are engendered by memory, except Inigo's of course. They have their roots in reality, in experience. What you see is the event as your real personality recognizes it. Dreams are very truthful things, Aaron, they're not something you can ignore, or take an aerosol to ward off. Unless you face that which you dream you will never truly be at peace with yourself.

'Do I cross your palm with silver now?

'Sarcasm is a very pitiful social defence mechanism, especially in these circumstances. Both of us know how disturbed you were.

You cannot shield yourself and your emotions from someone as experienced as myself. The gaiafield will show you for what you are.

Aaron made very sure the gaiamotes were completely closed up, allowing nothing to escape from inside his skull. 'Okay then, he grumbled. 'What was I dreaming? 'Something in your past.

'Hey wow. Surely I am in the presence of a truly galactic master of the art.

Unperturbed Corrie-Lyn took another drink of tea. 'More relevantly: a darkness from your past. In order to have survived erasure and to manifest so strongly, I would evaluate it as a crux in your psychological development. Those people were very frightened; terrified even. For so many to be running so fearfully the threat must have been lethal. That is rare in the Commonwealth today, even among the outermost External Worlds.

'So I was running an evacuation mission out of some disaster. Rare but not unfeasible. There's a lot goes on among the External Worlds that the more developed planets turn a blind eye to.

Corrie-Lyn gave him a sad smile. 'You were above them, Aaron. Remember? Not running with them. You were what they feared. You and what you represented. 'That's bullshit.

'Men. Women. Children. All fleeing you. All hysterical and horror-struck. What were you going to do to them, I wonder. We established back at the fane that you have no conscience.

'Very clever, he sneered. 'I pissed you off, and now you come gunning for a little psychological payback. Lady I have to tell you, it takes a great deal more than anything you've got to spook me out, and that's Ozzie's honest truth.

'I'm not trying to spook you anywhere, Aaron, she said with quiet earnest. 'That's not what Living Dream, the true Living Dream, is about. We exist to guide human life to its fulfilment. The promise of the Void is a huge part of that, yes; but it is not the only component to understanding what you are, your basic nature. I want to liberate the potential inside you. There is more than senseless violence lurking inside your mind, I can sense that. You can be so much more than what you are today, if you'd just let me help. We can explore your dreams together.

'Call me old fashioned, but my dreams are my own.

'The darkness you witnessed at the end interests me.

'That shadow? Despite himself, Aaron was curious she'd picked up on it.

'A winged shadow — which has a strong resonance for most humans no matter which cultural stream they come from. But it was more than a simple shadow. It held significant meaning to you. A representation of your subconscious, I think. After all, it didn't surprise you. If anything you felt almost comfortable with it.

'Whatever. We have more important things to concentrate on right now. Touchdown is in five and a half hours. Something in his mind was telling him to close this conversation down now. She was trying to distract him, to throw him off guard. He couldn't allow that, he had to remain completely focused on his mission to locate Inigo.

Corrie-Lyn raised an eyebrow. 'Are you seriously saying you're not interested? This is the real you we're talking about.

'I keep telling you, I'm happy with what I am. Now, you said Inigo came to Anagaska to visit his family.

She gave him a disheartened gaze. 'I said he visited his homeworld on occasion, when everything got too much for him. All I know was that he had family. Any further inference is all your own.

'His mother migrated inwards then downloaded into ANA. What about the aunt?

'I don't know.

'Did the aunt have children? Cousins he would have grown up with?

'I don't know.

'Was there a family estate? A refuge he felt secure in?

'I don't know.

He sat back, and just about resisted glaring at her. 'His official biography says he grew up in Kuhmo. Please tell me that isn't a lie?

'I'd assume it was correct. That is, I have no reason to doubt it. It's where Living Dream built his library.

'Central worship point for your living god, huh?

'I'm not surprised you don't want to know yourself. You're a real shit, you know that.

The good ship Artful Dodger slipped back into real space a thousand kilometres above Anagaska. Aaron told the smartcore to register with the local spacewatch network and request landing permission at Kuhum spaceport. The request was granted immediately, and the starship began its descent into the middle of the cloud-smeared eastern continent.

When it was first confirmed as H-congruous and assigned for settlement by CST back in 2375, Anagaska was an unremarkable world in what was then called phase three space, destined for a long slow development. Then the Starflyer plunged the Commonwealth into war against the Prime aliens and its future changed radically.

Hanko was one of the forty-seven planets wrecked during the Prime's last great assault against the Commonwealth, its sun pummelled by flare bombs and quantumbusters, saturating the defenceless planet's climate and biosphere with a torrent of lethal radiation for weeks on end. Its hundred and fifty million strong population was trapped under city force fields on a dying world whose very air was now deadly poison. Evacuation was the only possible option. And thanks to Nigel Sheldon and the CST company operating Hanko's wormhole link, its citizens were shunted across forty-two lightyears to Anagaska.

Unfortunately, Anagaska at the time was nothing more than wild forest, native prairie, and hostile jungle; with a grand total of five pre-settlement research stations housing a few hundred scientists. Nigel even had a solution to that. The interior of the wormhole transporting Hanko's population to their new home was given a different, very slow, temporal flow rate relative to the outside universe. With the War over, trillions of dollars were poured into creating an infrastructure on Anagaska and the other forty-six refuge worlds. It took over a century to complete the basic civic amenities and housing, producing cities and towns that were near-Stalinist in their layout and architecture. But when the wormhole from Hanko finally opened on Anagaska, everyone who came through was provided with a roof over their head and enough food to sustain them while they built up their new home's agriculture and industry.

It was perhaps inevitable that after such a trauma, the refuge worlds were slow to develop economically. Their major cities progressed sluggishly in an era when the rest of the Commonwealth was undergoing profound change. As to the outlying towns, they became near-stagnant backwaters. Nobody starved, nobody was particularly poor, but they lacked the dynamism that was sweeping the rest of humanity as biononics became available, ANA came online, and new political and cultural blocs were formed.

Kuhmo was such a town. Little had changed in the seven centuries between the day its new residents arrived, stumbling out of giant government transporters, and the time Inigo was born. When he was a child, the massive hexagonal arcology built to house his ancestors still dominated the centre of the civic zone, its uninhabited upper levels decaying alarmingly while its lower floors offered cheap accommodation to underprivileged families and third-rate businesses. In fact it was still there sixty years later when he left, a monstrous civic embarrassment to a town that didn't have the money to either refurbish or demolish it.

A hundred years later, the arcology's upper third had finally been dismantled with funds from Anagaska's federal government made available on public safety grounds. Then Living Dream made the town council a financial offer they couldn't really refuse. The arcology was finally razed, its denizens rehoused in plush new purpose-built suburbs. Where it had stood, a new building emerged, nothing like as big, but far more important. Living Dream was constructing what was to be Anagaska's primary fane, with a substantial library and free college attached. It attracted the devout from across the planet and a good many nearby star systems, many of them staying, changing the nature of Kuhmo for ever.

Aaron stood under the tall novik trees that dominated the fane's encircling park, and looked up at the tapering turrets with their bristling bracelets of stone sculptures, his nose wrinkling in dismay. 'The arcology couldn't have been worse than this, he declared. 'This is your leader's ultimate temple, his statement to his birthplace that he's moved onwards and upwards? Damn! He must have really hated his old town to do this to it. All this says to me is beware of Kuhmoians bearing gifts.

Corrie-Lyn sighed and shook her head. 'Ozzie, but you are such a philistine.

'Know what I like, though. And, lady, this ain't it. Even the old Big 15 worlds had better architecture than this.

'So what are you going to do, hit it with a disruptor pulse?

'Tempting, I have to admit. But no. We'll indulge in a little data mining first.

The Inigo museum, in reality a shrine, was every bit as bad as Aaron expected it to be. For a start they couldn't just wander round. They had to join the queue of devout outside the main entrance and were assigned a 'guide'. The tour was official and structured. Each item was accompanied by a full sense recording and corresponding emotional content radiating out into the gaiafield.

So he gritted his teeth and put on a passive smile as they were led round Inigo's childhood home, diligently uprooted from its original location two kilometres away and lovingly restored using era-authentic methods and materials. Each room contained a boring yet worshipful account of childhood days. There were solidos of his mother Sabine. Cute dramas of his grandparents whose house it was. A sad section devoted to his father Erik Horovi who left Sabine a few short months after the birth. Cue reconstruction of the local hospital maternity ward.

Aaron gave the solido of Erik a thoughtful stare, and sent his u-shadow into its public datastore to extract useful information. Erik had been eighteen years old when Inigo was born. When Aaron checked back, Sabine was a month short of her eighteenth birthday when she gave birth.

'Didn't they have a contraception program here in those days? he asked the guide abruptly.

Corrie-Lyn groaned and flushed a mild pink. The guide's pleasant smile flickered slightly, returning in a somewhat harder manifestation. 'Excuse me?

'Contraception? It's pretty standard for teenagers no matter what cultural stream you grow up in. He paused, reviewing the essentially non-existent information on Sabine's parents. 'Unless the family was old-style Catholics or initiated Taliban or Evangelical Orthodox. Were they?

'They were not, the guide said stiffly. 'Inigo was proud that he did not derive from any of Earth's appalling medieval religious sects. It means his goals remain untainted.

'I see. So his birth was planned, then?

'His birth was a blessing to humanity. He is the one chosen by the Waterwalker to show us what lies within the Void. Why do you ask? Are you some kind of Unisphere journalist?

'Certainly not. I'm a cultural anthropologist. Naturally I'm interested in procreation rituals.

The guide gave him a suspicious stare, but let it pass. Aaron's u-shadow had been ready to block any query the man shot into the local net. They'd managed to get through the museum's entrance without any alarm, which meant Living Dream hadn't yet issued a Commonwealth-wide alert. But they'd certainly respond swiftly enough to any identity file matching himself and Corrie-Lyn, no matter what planet it originated from. And the fact it came from Anagaska barely two days after the Riasi incident would reveal exactly what type of starship they were using. He couldn't allow that.

'Hardly a ritual, the guide sniffed.

'Anthropologists think everything we do is summed up in terms of rituals, Corrie-Lyn said smoothly. 'Now tell me, is this really Inigo's university dorm? She waved her hand eagerly at the drab holographic room in front of them. Various shabby and decayed pieces of furniture that resembled those shown in full 3Dcolour were on display in transparent stasis chambers.

'Yes, the guide said, returning to equilibrium. 'Yes it is. This is where he began his training as an astrophysicist; the first step on the path that took him to Centurion Station. As an environment, its significance cannot be overstated.

'Gosh, Corrie-Lyn cooed.

Aaron was impressed that she kept a straight face.

'What was that all about? Corrie-Lyn asked when they were in a taxi capsule and heading back for the spaceport hotel.

'You didn't think it was odd?

'So two horney teenagers decided to have a kid. It's not unheard of.

'Yes it is. They were both still at school. Then Erik vanishes a few months after the birth. Plus you tell me Inigo had an aunt, who has been very effectively written out of his family. And you claim Inigo is Higher, which must have happened either at birth or early in his life; that is, prior to his Centurion mission.

'What makes you say that?

'Because, as you said, he took extreme care to hide it from his followers; it's not logical to assume he'd acquire biononics after he began Living Dream.

'Granted, but where does all this theorizing get you?

'It tells me just what a load of bullshit his official past is, Aaron said, waving a hand back at the shrinking museum. 'That farce is a perfect way of covering up his true history, it provides a flawless alternative version with just enough true points touching verifiable reality as to go unquestioned. Unless of course you're like us and happen to know some awkward facts which don't fit. If he was born Higher, then one of his parents had to be Higher. Sabine almost certainly wasn't; and Erik conveniently walks out on his child a few months after the birth.

'It was too much for the boy, that's all. If Inigo's birth was an accident like you think, that's hardly surprising.

'No. That's not it. I don't think it was an accident. Quite the opposite. He told his u-shadow to review local events for the year prior to Inigo's birth, using non-Living Dream archives. They'd almost reached the hotel when the answer came back. 'Ah ha, this is it. He shared the file with her. 'Local news company archive. They were bought out by an Intersolar two hundred years ago and the town office downgraded to closure which is why the files were deep cached. The art block in Kuhmo's college burned down eight and a half months before Inigo was born.

'It says the block was the centre of a gang fight, Corrie-Lyn said as she speed-reviewed. 'A bunch of hothead kids duking out a turf war.

'Yeah right. Now launch a search for Kuhmo gang-culture. Specifically for incidents with weapons usage. Go ahead. I'll give you thousand to one odds there aren't any other files, not for fifty years either side of that date. Look at the history of this place before Inigo built his monstrosity. There was nothing here worth fighting over; not even for kids on the bottom of the pile. The council switched between three parties, and they were all virtually indistinguishable, their polices were certainly the same: low taxes, cut back on official wastage, attract business investment, and make sure the parks look pretty. Hell, they didn't even manage to get rid of the arcology by themselves. That thing stood there for nearly nine hundred years. Nine hundred, for Ozzie's sake! And they couldn't get their act together for all that time. Kuhmo is the ultimate middle-class dead-end, drifting along in the same rut for a thousand years. Bad boys don't want a part of that purgatory, it's like a suspension sentence but with sensory torture thrown in; they just want to leave.

'All right, all right, I submit. Inigo has a dodgy family history. What's your point?

'My theory is a radical infiltration; it's about the right time period. And that certainly won't be on any news file, deep cached or otherwise.

'So how do we find out what really happened? 'Only one way. We have to ask the Protectorate. Corrie-Lyn groaned in dismay, dropping her head into her hands.

The maintenance hangar was on the edge of Daroca's spaceport. One of twenty three identical black-sheen cubes in a row; the last row in a block of ten. There were eighteen blocks in total. It was a big spaceport, much larger than the Navy compound on the other side of the city. Daroca's residents were a heavily starfaring folk, and the Air project had added considerably to the numbers of spaceships in recent centuries. Without any connection to the Unisphere's guidance function a person could wander round the area all day and not be able to distinguish between any of the hangars. A subtle modification to the spaceport net management software provided a near identical disorientation function to any uninvited person who was using electronic navigation to find Troblum's hangar. While the other structures were always opening their doors to receive or disgorge starships, Troblum's was kept resolutely shut except for his very rare flights. When the doors did iris back, a security shield prevented any visual or electronic observation of the interior. Even the small workforce who loyally turned up day after day parked their capsules outside and used a little side door to enter. They then had to pass through another three shielded doors to enter the hangar's central section. Nearly two thirds of the big building was taken up by extremely sophisticated synthesis and fabrication machinery. All of the systems were custom-built; the current layout had taken Troblum over fifteen years to refine. That was why he needed other people to help him. Neumann cybernetics and biononic extrusion were magnificent systems for everyday life, but for anything beyond the ordinary you first had to design the machinery to build the machines which fabricated the device.

Troblum had no trouble producing the modified exotic matter theory behind an Anomine planet-shifting ftl engine, and even describing the basic generator technology he wanted. But turning those abstracts into physical reality was tough. For a start he needed information on novabomb technology, and even after nearly 1,200 years the Navy kept details of that horrendously powerful weapon classified. Which was where Emily Aim came in.

It was Marius who had put the two of them in touch. Emily used to work for the Navy weapons division on Augusta. After three hundred years she had simply grown bored.

'There's no point to it any more, she told Troblum at their first meeting. 'We haven't made any truly new weapons for centuries. All the lab does is refine the systems we have. Any remotely new concept we come up with is closed down almost immediately by the top brass.

'You mean ANA: Governance? he'd asked.

'Who knows where the orders originate from? All I know is that they come down from Admiral Kazimir's office and we jump fast and high every time. It's crazy. I don't know why we bother having a weapons research division. As far as I know the deterrence fleet hasn't changed ships or armaments for five hundred years.

The problem he'd outlined to her was interesting enough for her to postpone downloading into ANA. After Emily, others had slowly joined his motley team; Dan Massell whose expertise in functional molecular configuration was unrivalled, Ami Cowee to help with exotic matter formatting. Several technicians had come and gone over the years, contributing to the Neumann cybernetics array, then leaving as their appliance constructed its required successor. But those three had stuck with him since the early years. Their age and Higher-derived patience meant they were probably the only ones who could tolerate him for so long. That and their shared intrigue in the nature of the project.

When Troblum's ageing capsule landed on the pad outside the hangar he was puzzled to see just Emily's and Massell's capsules sitting on the concrete beside the glossy black wall. He'd been expecting Ami as well.

Then as soon as he was through the second little office he knew something was wrong. There was no quiet vibration of machinery. As soon as the shield over the third door cut off, his low level field could detect no electronic activity beyond. The hangar had been divided in half, with Mellanie's Redemption parked at one end, a dark bulky presence very much in the shade of the assembly section. Troblum stood under the prow of the ship, and looked round uncomprehendingly. The Neumann cybernetic modules in front of him were bigger than a house; joined into a lattice cube of what looked like translucent glass slabs the size of commercial capsules, each one glowing with its individual primary light. It was as if a rainbow had shattered only to be scooped up and shoved into a transparent box. At the centre, three metres above Troblum's head, was a scarlet and black cone, the ejector mechanism of the terminal extruder. It should have been wrapped in a fiercely complex web of quantum fields, intersecting feeder pressors, electron positioners, and molecular lock injectors. He couldn't detect a glimmer of power. If all had gone well over the last few days the planet-shift engine should have been two-thirds complete, assembled atom by atom in a stable matrix of superdense matter held together by its own integral coherent bonding field. By now the cylinder would be visible within the extruder, glimmering from realigned exotic radiation as if it contained its own galaxy.

Instead, Emily and Massell were sitting on a box-like atomic D-K phase junction casing at the base of the cybernetics, drinking tea. Both silent with mournful faces, they flashed him a guilty glance as he came in.

'What happened? he demanded.

'Some kind of instability, Emily said. 'I'm sorry, Troblum. The bonding field format wasn't right. Ami had to shut it down.

'And she didn't tell me!

'Couldn't face you, Massell said. 'She knew how disappointed you'd be. Said she didn't want to be responsible for breaking your heart.

'That's not— Arrrgh, he groaned. Biononics released a flood of neural inhibitors as they detected his thoughts growing more and more agitated. He shivered as if he'd been caught by a blast of arctic air. But his focus was perfectly clear. A list of social priorities flipped up into his exovision. 'Thank you for waiting to tell me in person, he said. 'I'll call Ami and tell her it wasn't her fault.

Emily and Massell exchanged a blank look. 'That's kind of you, she said.

'How big an instability?

Massell winced. 'Not good. We need to re-examine the whole effect, I think.

'Can we just strengthen it?

'I hope so, but even that will be a domino on the internal structure.

'Maybe not, Emily said with a weak confidence. 'We included some big operating margins. There's a lot of flexibility within the basic parameters.

Troblum fell silent with a dismay which even the inhibitors couldn't overcome. If Emily was wrong, if they needed a complete redesign, then the Neumann cybernetics would need to be rebuilt. It would take years. Again. And this drive generator had been his true hope, he'd genuinely thought he would have a functional device by the end of the week. It was the only way to get people to agree with his theory. Marius would see the Navy never backed a search, he was sure of that. This was all that was left to him, his remaining shred of proof.

'You can get the resource allocation, can't you? Massell said in an encouraging voice. 'I mean, you've managed to push your theory to this level. His gesture took in the silent hulk of Neumann cybernetics. 'You've got to have some powerful political allies on the committees. And this wasn't a setback as such; only one thing was out of alignment.

Troblum deliberately avoided looking in Emily's direction. Massell hadn't been one of Marius's candidates. 'Yes, I can probably get the EMA for a rebuild.

'Okay then! Do you want to get on it right away, or leave it a few days?

'Give it a few days, Troblum said, reading from his social priority list. 'We'll all need a while to recharge after this. I'll start going over the telemetry and give you a call when I think I know what the new bonding field format should be.

'Okay. Massell gave him an encouraging smile as he slid off the casing. 'There's a certain Air technician I've been promising a resort time-out with. I'll let her know I'm free. He gave Emily a blank gaze, then left.

'Will there be the resources to carry on? she asked.

'I don't know. Maybe not from our mutual friend. At the back of his mind was a nasty little thought that this had been the result which benefited Marius best. Just how far would the Accelerator Faction representative go to achieve that? 'But I'll carry it on one way or another. I still have some personal EMA left.

Her expression grew sceptical as she looked round the huge assemblage of ultra-sophisticated equipment. 'All right. If you need any help reviewing the data, let me know.

'Thanks, he said.

Troblum's office wasn't much. A corner in one of the annexe rooms big enough for a large wingback chair in the middle of a high-capacity solido projection array. He slumped down into the worn cushioning and stared through the narrow window into the hangar's assembly section. Now he was alone and the neural chemicals were wearing off, he didn't have the heart to begin a diagnostic review. The drive engine should have slid smoothly out of the extruder and into the modified forward cargo hold of Mellanie's Redemption. He would have been ready to show the Commonwealth he was right by the end of the week, to open up a whole new chapter in galactic history. Highers weren't supposed to become frustrated but right now he wanted to kick the shit out of the Neumann cybernetics.

Some time later that afternoon the hangar security net informed Troblum a capsule had landed on the pad outside. Frowning, he flipped the sensor image out of his peripheral vision, and watched as the capsule's door flowed open. Marius stepped out.

Troblum actually feared for his life. The warning at the restaurant had been awful enough. But Troblum had been so sure the design for the drive engine was valid he couldn't stop thinking that the whole manufacturing process had somehow been deliberately knocked out of kilter — sabotaged, in other words. There was only one person who could have that done. He gave the Mellanie's Redemption a calculating glance. Even with his Faction-supplied biononics, Marius wouldn't be able to shoot through the ship's force field.

It wasn't going to happen. Troblum didn't have anywhere to run to; he certainly didn't have a friend — not one, not anywhere. And if Marius was here to eliminate him, it was on orders from the Accelerators. Hiding inside the starship would only postpone the inevitable.

I must start thinking about this, about a way out.

Reluctantly, he ordered the hangar net to open the side door.

Marius came into the office, gliding along in his usual smooth imperturbable fashion. He glanced round, not bothering to hide his distaste. 'So this is where you spend your days.

'Something wrong with that?

'Not at all. Marius gave a thin smile. 'Everyone should have a hobby.

'Do you?

'None you'd appreciate.

'So what are you here for? I did as you asked, I haven't pressed the Navy.

'I know. And that hasn't gone un-noted. He studied the huge stack of Newman cybernetics through the office window. 'My commiserations. You put a lot of effort into today'

'How did you know…

The representative's eerie green eyes turned back to stare at Troblum. 'Don't be childish. Now, I'm here because you need more funds and we have another little project which might interest you.

'A project? Since he didn't seem in danger of immediate slaughter, Troblum couldn't help the tweak of interest.

'One you'll find difficult to refuse once you know the details. Its an ftl drive which we're putting into production. Who knows? Perhaps there will be some overspill into this which you can take advantage of.

Troblum really couldn't think what type of drive the ANA Faction might want, especially after the last ultra-classified project he'd worked on for Marius. 'And you'll help me acquire extra EMAs for a rebuild here?

'Budgets are tight in these uncertain times, but a swift and successful conclusion to our drive programme would probably result in some unused allocation we can divert your way. However, we also have something else you might be interested in, a bonus if you like.

'What's that?

'Bradley Johansson's genome.

'What? Impossible. There was nothing left of him.

'Not quite. He rejuvenated several times at a clinic on an Isolated world. We had an access opportunity several centuries ago.

'Are you serious?

Marius simply raised an eyebrow.

'That sounds good, Troblum said. 'Really good. I almost don't have to think about it.

'I need an answer now.

Once again Troblum was uncertain what would happen if he said no. He couldn't detect any active embedded weapons in the representative, but that didn't mean death wouldn't be sudden and irrevocable. Talk about carrot and stick. 'All right. But first I have to spend a couple of days analysing what happened here.

'We would like you to fly to our assembly station immediately.

'If I can't settle this problem to my own satisfaction I won't be any good to you. I think you know that.

Marius hardened his stare, his eyes darkening from emerald to near-black. 'Very well, you can have forty-eight hours. No more. I expect you to be on your way by then. He transferred a flightplan file over to Troblum's u-shadow.

'I will be. It took a lot of biononic intervention to prevent Troblum from shaking as the representative left the office. There wasn't anything he could do to stop the sweat staining his suit right along his spine. When the sensors showed him the representative's capsule lifting off the pad, he turned to gaze back into the assembly section. It was all far too neat. The problem on the verge of success. The generous offer to help pay for a solution, plus the unbelievable promise of being able to clone Bradley Johansson. Troblum let his biononic field sweep out to flow through the inert cybernetics. 'What did that bastard do? he murmured. Around him the solido projectors snapped on, filling the air with a multicoloured blizzard of fine equations, sparkling as they interacted. Somewhere there had to be a flaw in the blueprint that had taken him fifteen painstaking years to devise, a deliberate glitch. The only person who could put it there was Emily. He called up the sections she was directly involved with. There was an emotion tugging at him as he started to review the data. It took a while, but he eventually realized it was sadness.

From the office he was visiting in the hangar five down from Troblum's, the Delivery Man could just see Marius's capsule as it took to the air again. All he used was his eyes, there was no way the Accelerator representative could know he was under direct observation. 'He's gone, he reported. 'And that hangar has distorted the spaceport's basic guidance protocols — you can't get there unless you're invited. It's definitely a nest for some bad boy activity. Do you want me to infiltrate?

'No thank you, the Conservative Faction replied. 'We'll use passive observation for the moment.

'What about this Troblum character it's registered to?

'Records indicate he's some kind of Starflyer War enthusiast. His starship fiightplan logs are interesting, he visits some out of the way places.

'Do you think he's another representative?

'No. He's a physicist, with some high-level Navy contacts.

'He's involved with the Navy?

'Yes.

'In what regard?

'Left-over artefacts and actions from the Starflyer War. His interest verges on the fanatical.

'So why would Marius pay him a personal visit?

'Good question. We will research him further.

'I can go home now?

'Yes.

'Excellent. If he got to Arevalo's interstellar wormhole terminus in the next ten minutes, he could be back home in time for tea with the girls.