But he had screwed up - possibly - by taking Alisha to the Zajinet Research Institute. There was something very sharp about the Weissmann woman - that came back to him now - and he did not like the way she had looked at him.

Had he betrayed himself and his family?

‘If we ever get tripped up,’ Dad told him when he was young, ‘it will be through something trivial, something utterly harmless. So we treat each everyday action as non-routine. We focus on the moment, always. And lead better lives as a result.’

Later, when Roger was older, Dad had explained it differently: a streetwise fighter learns to put his or her attention out in the world, always aware of the current threat level - and in doing so, adopts a form of mindfulness that both mystic and psychological disciplines have aimed at for millennia.

‘It’s why Zen and killing are linked,’ he said, ‘when they ought to be opposites.’

In the context of holodramas like Roger’s favourite, Fighting Shadows, there was something exciting in such discussions. But in the reality of everyday life, the likelihood of prison sentences arising from careless words delivered when exhausted . . . it was just too stupid.

I’ve got to talk to Dad.

He had ways of establishing enciphered comms in emergency, using codes that not even Luculenti could break - or so Dad claimed. But although the signals might not be decipherable, they were detectable, and such high-encryption traffic was suspicious in itself.

Starting here on campus, he could possibly make the journey home undetected, using every trick he knew; but it would take many hours. Or he could simply call an aircab and fly home to see his parents: overt, perhaps a little unexpected, but surely nothing to raise suspicion in any watching peacekeepers.

So he washed with smartgel, and pulled on his clothing, refactoring it to jumpsuit shape, tuning it to dark blue. He could have done with breakfast, but he no longer thought he had time to waste. He used the fast route to exit his room - using the window as an extending quickglass slide that carried him to the house forecourt.

Walking clear, he summoned an aircab, and within a minute one was descending. Its interior was dark as the classic gull-wing door lifted. He slipped inside, the door came down, and as the aircab ascended he realized he had company.

The interior brightened to reveal a blond-haired man with bronze forehead studs smiling at him.

‘Who the hell are you?’

‘You don’t know me?’

‘No . . .’ Roger blinked, then reached out. ‘But I know what you are.’

His fingertips disappeared inside the man’s arm.

‘Well, part of it, at least.’

The holo changed.

‘You.’

‘Yes.’ Now the virtual man next to Roger was familiar: pale oriental features, subtle bronze wires like highlights in his hair. ‘You’re not under arrest.’

‘Superintendent Sunadomari.’

‘You remember. Good. Would you like to know why you’re not under arrest?’

There was no reason for an ordinary aircab to have ultra-res lasing capability, to project holos inside its cabin that were so realistic you needed senses other than sight to tell the difference.

‘Is this a peacekeeper vehicle?’

‘You’re fast, Roger Blackstone. That’s good.’

Mild acceleration pressed Roger back in his seat.

‘Where are we going?’

‘To your parents’ house. That’s where you want to go, isn’t it?’

‘I—’

He stopped. Sleep deprivation had fallen away, as the hormones of fear washed through his body: the ultimate stimulant.

‘You didn’t recognize this person.’ For a moment, the holo Sunadomari became the holo blond Luculentus; then it snapped back to Sunadomari’s actual appearance. ‘Did you, Mr Blackstone?’

‘No, Superintendent.’

‘That’s why you’re not under arrest, despite what you are.’

Roger tried to swallow, but it felt as if murderous thumbs had fastened on his throat.

‘Not only that,’ Sunadomari went on, ‘but you passed as ordinary human at Barleysugar Spiral, where we had new scanners in place. And I see you were well aware of that.’

All of this could be bluff, and a Luculentus peacekeeper would have enormous acuity and psych training; but the aircab was no civilian vehicle, and it could be filled with biotelemetry, scanning Roger’s entire neurophysiology, with realtime results and analyses in Sunadomari’s full awareness.

It was as close to mind-reading as you got in reality.

Dad, I’m sorry.

He got ready to transmit one last tu-ring signal, the bug-out burst that would tell his parents to flee now.

‘Don’t bother,’ said Sunadomari. ‘We’re shielded in here.’

Defeat.

Half a kilometre from the house, at altitude, a peacekeeper flyer took up position alongside the aircab; and the holo Sunadomari disappeared. Roger said nothing as both vehicles descended and touched down.

Dad was waiting in the open doorway.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Roger.

‘Everything’s fine.’ Dad’s smile was gentle. ‘So, Superintendent. Nice to see you again.’

Sunadomari was beside Roger.

‘Shall we go inside?’

‘You trust me that much?’ said Dad.

With an upward glance, then a nod towards the landed flyer, Sunadomari said: ‘I’ll be expected to reappear intact.’

‘No doubt.’

Indoors, they sat in the lounge with Mum, and a goblet of citrola daistral rose from the arm of each chair. Sunadomari hesitated over his for a moment - there was a flicker of light, perhaps some form of spectroscopic analysis - and then he sipped.

‘Very nice. It’s good to have a civilized confrontation, don’t you think?’

‘Is that what we’re doing?’ asked Dad.

‘It could be. Thank you for allowing my signal to continue getting through.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Dad glanced at Mum, then Roger. ‘Deadman transmission. If we block it, the interruption is the danger signal.’

It showed Dad’s awareness of a threat; but it was also a reminder of the power he held in this place, in a house whose full capabilities remained unknown even to Roger. This was not a stalemate - Sunadomari had the full peacekeeper force behind him - but neither were the Blackstones helpless.

‘You’ve never visited the Pilots Sanctuary in the city,’ said Sunadomari. ‘An ordinary man in your position, with the amount of offworld commerce you facilitate, might have been curious enough to attempt a meeting there.’

‘So you’ve trawled through years of surveillance logs.’ Dad crossed his legs, looking even calmer. ‘But that’s not the evidence that swung it for you.’

Roger wanted to speak up about Barleysugar Spiral and getting past the scanners, but he had done enough damage. He was out of his depth.

Then Dad did something surprising.

‘Carl—’ Mum started from her seat, then sat back.

With two quick dabs, Dad had removed his smartlenses. He gazed at Sunadomari with eyes of shining jet, pure polished black, and smiled.

Sunadomari smiled back.

‘Pleased to meet you, Pilot Blackstone. If that’s your real name.’

‘It is.’

‘Good. So, Pilot. Have you ever had dealings with—’

‘Call me Carl.’

Sunadomari paused, then: ‘Call me Keinosuke.’

It gave up a psychological advantage; but it was a sign of his confidence. Roger looked from Sunadomari to Dad and back.

‘Tell me,’ Sunadomari went on, ‘about Luculenta Rafaella, previously Rashella, Stargonier.’

‘I’d have to search in Skein,’ said Dad. ‘I’ve had no dealings with her, not directly.’

‘May I access your house system to display an image?’

‘Go ahead.’

Standing beside Sunadomari’s chair was the image of a blond Luculentus, the same man he had manifested in the aircab.

‘This was Luculentus Daniel Deighton,’ said Sunadomari. ‘And he was a friend.’