‘The galactic core?’

‘You see why I need a good Pilot.’

‘I’ll say.’

Few ordinary humans appreciated the complexity and risk associated with moving between universes. Scarcely anyone understood how the presence of great mass or energy made either continuum more difficult to leave or enter accurately. It was the difference between parachuting on to a playing-field-sized mattress versus a jagged mountain peak, all razor-edged outcrops and fatal precipices, buffeted by storms.

‘All right.’ Avril finally closed the holovolume down. ‘I know where I’m going. What do I when I get there?’

‘Take a peek, and come straight back.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Full stealth. Observe, record, bug out.’

‘And no one the wiser?’

‘Right.’

‘Then I’m gone.’

Max walked her to the door. In the outer chamber, she summoned a fastpath rotation, stepped inside, and departed the way she arrived.

For a long time, Max just stared. Then he slammed a hammer-fist against the wall.

‘Fuck.’

He went back in and sat.

=She has no family, no current relationships.=

‘Avril’s a terrific Pilot, and her ship is fast.’

=Is that the only reason you chose her?=

Max lowered his chin and clasped one hand across his face, fingertips pressing hard into his own skin. Then he let go and looked up.

He might have been about to speak, but a low chime sounded, and a holovolume opened.

‘Hello, Max.’

It was a woman with white cropped hair, her face deeply lined, but her expression strong.

‘Admiral Kaltberg.’

‘Are you free at the moment?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘The Admiralty Council is about to convene. We’ve had a last minute thought, and we’d like you to attend.’

‘I’ll be right there.’

She nodded, and the holo was gone.

‘Last minute thought, indeed. I wonder what’s going on.’

Max looked at the ceiling. ‘You knew, of course.’

Labyrinth did not reply.

The Admiralty Council was in session when Max arrived in an outer chamber. Three Pilots, wearing black, gold-trimmed capes over their jumpsuits, saluted.

‘We’re to show you straight in, Commodore.’

‘Go ahead.’

The big doors curled back, and Max entered with his escort. Once inside, the trio saluted, turned on their heels, and marched out. The doors folded into place without a sound.

At the head of the long table was Rear-Admiral Schenck. To his left was Admiral Kaltberg, her expression like stone. To Schenck’s right was Admiral Turnbull, his face relaxed and smiling, which meant nothing.

Six other admirals sat at the table, all of them with their-eyes-only holovolumes open - Max could tell from their eye movements and the faintest glitter of reflection.

Turnbull said: ‘We have some news for you, Max. A change of membership among us.’

Max raised an eyebrow. If Turnbull meant this Council, then he was talking about a group whose faces remained the same for decades.

‘I’m standing down,’ said Admiral Kaltberg. ‘It’s finally time.’

‘Surely not, ma’am.’

Was she being forced out? Perhaps she was frailer than she had been. Perhaps it was simply age and the natural order of things.

‘Kind of you to say so Max, but I’m retiring fully.’

‘It’s been my honour, Admiral.’ He meant it. ‘And it’s been the service’s privilege.’

‘Then you’ll ask Dr Sapherson to treat me gently?’

‘Like one of the family, ma’am. The procedure grows more exact every year.’

‘Good, because I’d like to hang on to what I can.’

There were chuckles from all but the youngest admirals, some perhaps uncertain. At least two others were old enough to have mulled over the treatment, contemplating their own retirement.

Max still could not tell whether Admiral Kaltberg was retiring voluntarily or because she had lost some political game. Either way, there would be furious covert deals playing out right now, as cliques sought to put their own candidate in place, taking Kaltberg’s seat.

This would be interesting.

‘We decided to tell you in person’ - at the head of the table, Schenck gestured around his colleagues - ‘since you deserve to know. I can’t exaggerate how important you are to this Council.’

The statement was ambiguous, causing Max to smile. Schenck was a consummate game-player, and rarely spoke without thought.

‘Thank you for the compliment, sir.’

On one side of the table, two of the younger admirals, Whitwell and Asai, echoed Max’s smile. They were supporters of Kaltberg; and Max thought it might be worthwhile to spend some time with each of them in private, over the next few days.

‘So, that’s probably all we need you for.’ Schenck looked around the table. ‘Unless there’s anything else for Max?’

‘Not really,’ said Turnbull. ‘Oh, I saw you had an old friend visiting, Max.’

Admiral Kaltberg tilted her head. It might have meant nothing; Max took it for a warning.

‘Who was that, sir?’

‘Carl Blackstone and his family. We noted that you took the son - Roger, is it? - on a quick informal tour.’

‘That’s right.’ Max controlled his breathing, aligning all his mental resources. ‘It seemed like a good idea, given his father’s previous capabilities.’

‘You’re not saying you showed him the prisoner?’

There was no need to ask which one; but Turnbull would expect him to deny everything about the trip inside the Annexe.

‘I did in fact, sir. For several minutes.’

So Turnbull’s people - or more likely Schenck’s - had observed him meeting Roger on Borges Boulevard. But they could not have had surveillance inside the cell complex: he had triple-checked.

‘And what happened?’

‘Not a trace of the father’s former ability, I’m afraid.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I kept him there for long enough. Carl would have started to grow uneasy after about two minutes. By four minutes, his intuition would have told him that something was wrong.’

‘And Roger showed no reaction?’

‘None, sir.’

The admirals were great psychological tacticians. Max had to be better.

‘Disappointing,’ said Admiral Zajac finally, and nodded towards Schenck. ‘Time to press on, Boris, don’t you think?’

‘Yes.’ Schenck raised a hand. ‘Thanks for your time, Max.’

‘Sirs.’

Max nodded, turned to the doors as they curled back, and stepped through, careful to maintain full control of his body language as he walked out.

Then the doors were shut behind him.

Bastards.

On the other hand, how could they possibly be worse than him?

Avril. You’d better come back.

Her ship burst into glorious realspace, amid blazing stars: the heart of the galaxy. All passive sensors were on maximum gain; all active scanning was off. She was in full stealth mode, hanging in the void, surrounding by a billion glorious suns, and the galactic fire produced by the vast black hole that tore stars into incandescence. This was as magnificent as realspace could get.

She continued to float, scanning in all directions, awed by what she saw.

And then, the anomalous data.

‘A jet?’

Was this what Commodore Gould meant by observe, record, bug out? Or should she carry on taking—?

Starlight shimmered, rippling with refraction.

‘That can’t—Ship, let’s go!’

But invisible hooks were through her poor ship, holding her in place.

‘Damn you. Damn you.’

She was sobbing as she made the cutting gesture. It was called the seppuku command.

Ship, I love you.

I love you, too.

Nova brightness enveloped them, as they blew themselves to oblivion.