Finally, she said aloud: ‘Thank you, Ms Weissmann. We’ll be right there.’

After a final blink, she focused on Roger and smiled.

‘There’s someone in the building, despite the time. Obviously not the kind to celebrate Festival.’

‘You just talked to the institute?’

‘Sure. Shall we walk to someplace an aircab can land?’

‘Uh—’

‘You are coming with me, right?’

‘I . . .’ What he wanted was to sleep. ‘Sure.’

Alisha looked down at the jantrasta apple she was still holding. She dropped it, watched the ground swallow it, licked her fingertips, then returned her attention to Roger.

‘And while we fly, you can explain to me what Zajinets have to do with realspace hyperdimensions.’

‘Um. Right. Okay.’

They alighted from the aircab, in a pedestrian precinct that was otherwise deserted. Then the aircab whispered up into the air, and disappeared behind a tall quickglass tower at the precinct’s far end. Roger turned to the ochre building in front of them: quickstone pillars with motile scrollwork, ceramic doors that resembled antique wood, floating brass glowglobes. Old, discreet, well-financed.

‘No name sign,’ said Alisha.

The main doors curled open.

‘Hello,’ said a white-haired woman. ‘I’m Stella Weissmann. Do come in, you two.’

Her eyes were bright, her stance erect. Her forehead and scalp held no hint of wires or studs, but for a non-Luculenta she broadcast a lot of charisma.

‘Thank you,’ said Alisha. ‘We won’t take up much of your time.’

‘A chat would be very welcome, in fact. This way.’

There was a foyer of marble quickstone, then a corridor containing display cases, and finally Ms Weissmann’s office, with a faux wooden desk and chairs. Everyone sat.

‘So you’re interested in our alien friends?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Alisha. ‘Certainly in their reputed ability to teleport.’

‘Well, this is the Zajinet Research Institute, so you’re in the right place.’

‘I think we are.’ Alisha smiled at her. ‘Can I ask, is Zajinet teleportation a real phenomenon, or is it something else?’

‘What other kinds of thing were you thinking of, Alisha? Is it okay if I call you Alisha?’

‘Of course, ma’am. Uh, confabulation among witnesses, maybe caused by neurochemical imbalance. Aliens able to mess with human biochemistry are more likely than those with an ability to manipulate spacetime.’

‘That’s true, but the Zajinets’ known abilities mean they’re rather different from the average, don’t you think?’

‘There is that. Do you think that they can make short hops through mu-space without using ships? Is that it?’

‘We’ve researched that possibility among all known sightings, ’ said Weissmann. ‘Some of the translocation events - that’s our term - have taken place amid smart buildings, leaving full surveillance data, and not just here on Fulgor. There has been no indication of the energy spillage one would expect from a mu-space transition.’

‘Then it’s just a coincidence, that they can teleport in realspace and fly mu-space ships?’

‘No, my dear.’ Weissmann’s eyes were wonderfully intelligent. ‘I think they grasp spacetime physics in a way none of us has, not even Pilots.’

Roger did not like the glance she gave him.

She can’t suspect.

‘Pilots can’t teleport,’ said Alisha. ‘If they could, there’d be at least a rumour of it by now.’

‘Which implies, my dear, that an ability to function in mu-space is not sufficient. But you’re aware of the macroscopic superposition of Zajinet mentality. Parallel identities in every individual.’

‘Um, sure.’ Alisha’s eyelids flickered as she accessed data. ‘Very . . . different.’

‘If Pilots had minds like that’ - Weissmann smiled at Roger - ‘perhaps they could do the same. Or perhaps they couldn’t. We truly don’t know.’

‘But the Zajinets transport themselves among the Calabi-Yau dimensions?’

‘It’s the only hypothesis that remains. They don’t leave our universe, they don’t travel through the four dimensions we perceive, so it’s only the hyperdimensions that are left to them.’

‘If we could do the same—’

‘Wouldn’t that be wonderful? But there’s no hope of that, not for many centuries. The research is far beyond us.’

‘Well . . . Thank you for your time, ma’am. Thank you so much.’

‘Just a moment. Here.’ Weissmann gestured, and Alisha’s eyes widened. ‘Those are monographs that we’ve written here in the Institute. Feel free to quote from them. With attribution, naturally.’

‘Oh, gosh. Ms Weissmann, this is far more than I expected.’

‘Well, I like you.’ She stood up behind her desk. ‘Let me know how you get on.’

‘Sure.’

‘Thank you,’ said Roger.

‘I’ll see you both out.’

Partway along the corridor, Weissmann paused before a display case.

‘Fragments of a mu-space ship. Part of the hull.’

‘A Zajinet ship?’ asked Alisha.

Roger already knew the answer - to him, the material clearly did not come from a Pilots’ vessel.

‘Absolutely,’ said Weissmann. ‘The poor thing crash-landed in a hypozone, nearly twenty years ago, just after it departed from the Zajinet embassy.’

‘Of course. Was that when they withdrew their delegation?’

‘Embarrassing, but yes. They thought we could not guarantee their safety, which perhaps the accident demonstrated, but it was their ship that malfunctioned. It’s also why our little institute is such a quiet backwater. Since their species stopped visiting Fulgor, people’s interest has waned.’

Roger pointed to the next display case.

‘Is that from the same ship? It looks different.’

‘Ah, you have sharp eyes.’ Weissmann smiled at him for a little too long. ‘This is a much older sample, from Earth.’

‘How old?’ asked Alisha.

‘Let me just say . . . Rather older than you might think. But we’re still working on that.’

Alisha touched Weissmann’s fist, all very formal.

‘That’s our cue to leave. Thank you so much again.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Weissmann looked at Roger. ‘Do come back, whenever you like.’

Roger followed Alisha out of the building.

I need to talk to Dad.

Then he half-tripped, managing to right himself.

‘You look exhausted, Roger.’

‘Only because I am.’

‘So here’s an aircab.’ Alisha pointed at a descending vehicle. ‘Let’s get straight back to the house.’

Sleep would be good. He could talk to Dad in the morning.

‘Let’s do that.’

They climbed inside, the aircab ascended, and Roger closed his eyes.

Alisha had to wake him when they reached the student house.

THIRTY

FULGOR, 2603 AD

Stella Weissmann, seated behind her desk, looked at the four holo images surrounding her in Skein. Their communication was realtime, using ordinary speech - enciphered, but able to be replayed to non-Luculenti should the need arise.

Superintendent Sunadomari said: ‘You agree Roger Blackstone is a Pilot?’

‘From his reaction to my words,’ Weissmann replied, ‘I give it a ninety-seven per cent near certainty. He recognized the Siberian fragment was different from the other.’

The building’s memory contained full recordings. If necessary, anyone with sufficient authority could browse them to check her conclusions.

Commander Maria Petrova said: ‘I’m checking the father’s activities right now. He’s been in place for such a long time. If he’s a Pilot, he’s no ordinary one.’

‘A sleeper agent?’

‘No, a fully active agent-in-place, in my opinion.’

‘So what we’re conducting is a counterintelligence operation.’ Sunadomari was frowning. ‘How does this fit with the murders?’

‘Perhaps they compromised Blackstone’s cover.’