Sealing up, it continued on its way, accelerating once more.

Such a moronic risk.

If someone found a reason to stop the capsule and inspect it, the difference between the official logs and its empty interior would cause an immediate investigation to swing into action. Peacekeepers would descend - on Miranda and Roger - and all would be finished, all because his massive self-control was a fake, because there were times that temptation could not be fought, only surrendered to.

Stupid.

His cloak changed colour to blend with the rock. After a moment, a small door dissolved and he stepped into the narrow tunnel he had prepared so many years before. So foolish to risk everything, and not just his own well-being.

But it was remembered public shame, from twenty-three standard years ago in Labyrinth - not the imminent slaking of desire - that filled his mind as he squeezed along the narrow shaft.

The losers’ platform had not been the worst thing.

After Graduation proper, there had been a party: a noisy maelstrom of energetic music and triumphant fun, because one hundred and nineteen additions to the fleet meant benefits to humanity and the joy, for those young Pilots, of public vindication for their work and daring, and a declaration of purpose for the rest of their lives. However far they flew, in whichever universe - mu-space or realspace - they were part of a community that publicly acknowledged them, treasuring their contribution.

Somewhere, his parents were among the Pilots greeting and congratulating their new peers. He could avoid them, for the main ballroom was dominated by the younger folk, while the others remained near the doors. But sooner or later he would have to face Lianna; and finally she saw him.

‘Oh, Carl.’ Her triangular features looked sad. ‘We’ll still be . . . friends.’

‘Sure. You’ll be in the smartest ship ever, flitting across the galaxy, while I’ll be- Shit.’

It wasn’t supposed to go this badly.

‘I’m sorry,’ he went on. ‘The thing is, you did so well. So really well.’

Her sadness drew back, as her smile became pure pleasure.

‘Isn’t she beautiful?’

‘One terrific ship. Lots of people are talking about her.’

‘Yes . . . Look, I have to go see Commodore Durana. See you later?’

‘Daredevil Durana?’

‘The very one. And she wants to talk to me, is that possible?’

‘Of course it is. You’re brilliant.’

Her fingertips, when she touched his face, felt like miniature novas.

‘You’re a good friend, Carl Blackstone.’

‘Thank you.’

But she withdrew her fingers too quickly.

‘Whatever you end up doing, good luck.’

She despises me.

‘All right.’

She flowed away from him, so graceful as she moved among their dancing, celebrating friends - former friends, in his case - and smiled back once. Then happy people swept past, shouting a party song, bedecked with streamers, and his contact with Lianna was gone.

No: it had disappeared earlier, before she had even gained her ship. It had happened the moment those words sealed Carl Blackstone’s fate in public consciousness.

=No ship. This candidate has a different path to follow.=

They would reverberate forever inside him.

Across the room, he glimpsed Soo Lin and Riley, glasses in hand. Perhaps they would be easier to talk to. But no. That was not the way it was going to go. Not today.

Depression was a laxness in the trapezius muscles atop his shoulders, heaviness pulling down his chin, slouching to squeeze stress-juice inside: cortisol and neuropeptides springing from glands, washing through every organ. Feeling bad is a complicated process, not a state.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He found a quiet exit and used it.

Now he waited in the Logos Library, sitting in a study-carrel, elbows on desk and head in hands, ignoring the infocrystals that promised so much knowledge, wishing instead that he could forget all of his life, or at least today.

No. He needed to take control.

Breathe in. Then out.

The simplicity of inhale-exhale was all he needed to focus on. Over and over, to simply breathe, to get in touch with his inner awareness. To forget the stress - the look in Lianna’s eyes as she turned away - to push all that aside.

To attempt calm.

Forget today.

Because everything was new. He had to focus on himself, to gather his resources, because—

=It is time.=

He looked up.

‘I know.’

The Logos Library being infinite in complexity, he was able to locate an obscure corridor to leave by. A quiet route allowed him to bypass the great Borges Boulevard, travel beneath the Great Shield, and enter the Ascension Annexe from below.

There was a bronze door that crinkled up like tissue, allowing him to pass, before it reformed with adamantine hardness; a screen of pure light, washed through with sapphire and emeralds; and a dozen other barriers, each capable of obliterating him or passively obstructing; while scan fields passed through him, invoking sensations like itching deep inside.

Finally, he was in a blank ovoid vault with no apparent exits. A chair budded from the floor and rose, but he ignored it.

So this is it.

His face felt like sand exposed by retreating tides. Every feeling inside was fresh and strange.

‘I’m ready.’

An oval of wallspace melted away. A blocky figure entered: shaven head, heavy shoulders, rolled up-sleeves revealing muscled forearms. Eyes of jet, naturally.

‘So how do you feel, Pilot Candidate?’

‘Surviving, sir.’

‘You suffered the celebration party.’

‘I did.’ He thought of Lianna, the look in her eye, the quick withdrawal of her hand. ‘It was bad, but I felt no desire to explain myself. I was too busy making myself feel depressed.’

‘Good.’

Carl looked away, then turned his attention back to Commander Gould.

‘Sir? Was it chance that my parents were here? They weren’t supposed to be.’

‘Perhaps not.’

That was ambiguous, but the purpose of Carl’s question had been to demonstrate his perceptiveness, his awareness of manipulation; the answer was not relevant.

‘The real ordeal,’ continued the commander, ‘is right now.’

To Carl’s left, the wall shimmered, transformed into a concave lattice of blazing white miniature stars, and then dissolved. Beyond lay a pale-blue hangar.

While floating inside it—

Oh my God.

—hung a ship such as he had never seen: a black dart with scarlet edging, smaller than other vessels but with immense power, dynamically unstable, so it could tumble and manoeuvre with swift agility, and with devastating weaponry installed.

You’re beautiful.

For the first time he understood somnambulism, as his body walked forward without conscious control, his mind in awe, not daring to think this was real.

Yes.

You’re—

I am. And you are Carl Blackstone, Pilot.

He would have hung his head and wept; but her beauty captivated him.

‘You can take her out now, son.’ Commander Gould’s hand touched his shoulder. ‘Even though the city is full of people.’

Carl glanced at the hangar walls.

=You will be unobserved.=

The commander smiled.

‘The city has spoken, Pilot Blackstone. She’ll provide you with a covert exit and cover outside.’

‘Sir . . . Thank you.’

And if ever a ship had stealth capabilities, it was this one.

‘Enjoy your victory, Carl. A solitary victory, of course. That’s the nature of the beast.’

‘I know.’