‘I’m Clayton,’ said the clean-shaven one, ‘and this is Boyle.’

‘You’re not from Med Centre.’

‘Not exactly. More like the same place you’re from.’

Boyle had gestured a privacy shield into place, covering the entrance gap, turning the sight of the dock outside into a sparkling haze.

‘You work for Max?’

‘We’re with the service. And you need to debrief.’

‘Gentlemen, I strictly don’t care. That’s my wife, and you’ve just seen—’

‘We also heard’ - Clayton’s voice was softer than Boyle’s - ‘the medic say she needs to remain on this level of reality.’

Carl stared at him, trying to work out what was going on, and why these idiots could not understand that Miranda was—

‘We’ll fastpath through to Ascension Annexe,’ Clayton continued, ‘but remain at a slower timeflow. All right?’

Carl shook his head, not processing the words.

‘He means’ - Boyle was already summoning the fastpath - ‘we’ll debrief you at a normal rate for us, then bring you back to mean-geodesic time inside Med Centre within ten seconds.’

‘Ten seconds?’

‘Guaranteed,’ said Clayton. ‘Your wife will have experienced ten seconds, and you’ll be able to concentrate on helping her. All right?’

Everything was awful. He could no longer think.

‘All right,’ he said.

The fastpath twisted, expanding, and surrounded him.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

And expelled him into new surroundings: plain dark walls, and a single chair morphed from quickstone.

‘You fuckers.’

An interrogation cell.

When Carl woke up, Clayton and Boyle were staring at him. They looked angry.

‘Welcome back, Blackstone.’

He swayed in the chair, but its shape remained static, not morphing to help him.

‘Trance-tell?’ Closing his eyes then pulling them wide open, he tried to speed up the process of dragging the world into focus. ‘You used trance-tell?’

Clayton said: ‘Blackstone, you arsehole. Why didn’t you stay away?’

Recent memory seemed vague.

‘Away from where?’

‘He means, away from Labyrinth,’ said Boyle. ‘For his convenience, not yours.’

‘And you really want a trip to Dr Sapherson’s fun-lab, do you?’ asked Clayton.

‘What are you talking about?’ Carl had to use one hand to push himself upright, his hips wobbling, then growing steady. ‘Tell me.’

‘You were under amnesia conditioning.’ Boyle raised his eyebrows at Clayton. ‘Pity you didn’t stay that way.’

Carl tried to focus.

‘Sunadomari . . . Superintendent Sunadomari told me I’d been treated. Given amnesia. So why’s that a problem? You’re saying someone else did it? An enemy?’

‘Oh, no, they did it here,’ said Clayton. ‘Whoever was in charge of psych security before Sapherson.’

‘That was before our time.’ Boyle gave a nearly-grin.

‘Then . . . what? I told you all I knew, did I?’

‘Yeah, but you didn’t know anything fucking useful.’ Clayton slammed a palm-heel against the wall. ‘For fuck’s sake, Boyle and I are going to lose the assignment for nothing.’

Carl slumped back down in the chair. Was he taking too long to recover, or were these two actually talking nonsense?

‘He hasn’t caught up yet,’ said Boyle. ‘Look, Blackstone. Carl. We . . . We didn’t find what we were looking for, all right? But you did relate your buried memories that are supposed to be inaccessible. Cosmic fucking conspiracies and all.’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t—’

‘They’ll come back to you, over the next few days. Unless Dr Sapherson does the rewipe first. The techniques are better these days- the way Sapherson does it, there’s nothing left to resurface, not even under trance-tell.’

It took three deep breaths, and a deliberate command to himself to relax, but finally Carl got it.

‘You mean . . .’ Then he chuckled. ‘You mean, I’ve spilled things you’re not authorized to know, is that it?’

‘Fuck,’ said Clayton.

‘That’s just his way of saying yes,’ said Boyle. ‘He’s a sweetie, really.’

‘So now you two are going to get the amnesia treatment too?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘And you don’t think that’s funny?’

‘No, I—’

‘Come on.’ Boyle smiled. ‘Man’s got a point.’

‘It’s not funny.’

‘Yes, it is,’ said Boyle and Carl together.

They laughed, and after a moment, Clayton said: ‘Oh, fuck it,’ and joined in the laughter. Soon, all three of them were hysterical, the sound bouncing back off the walls; and just when it seemed to die away, Boyle made a sound like blowing a raspberry, and set them off again.

Finally, the humour sank away, leaving a kind of amused tiredness.

‘So what were you after?’ Carl asked finally.

‘Ah, well.’ Clayton wiped his eyes. ‘Bad news, actually. Just like—Shit, man. I’m sorry. With your wife . . .’

Boyle said: ‘We’re both sorry. We’ll keep our promise.’

‘Promise?’

‘Getting you to Med Centre within- You remember now.’

Carl’s world fell away.

‘Miranda.’

The truth-tell had messed with his mind so much. Now everything slammed into him.

‘Let’s get Carl on his way,’ said Clayton.

‘Yeah.’ Boyle summoned a fastpath. ‘Here we are.’

More to distract himself than because he wanted to know, Carl said: ‘So why were you questioning me?’

‘It’s about . . . Admiral Kaltberg’s dead.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘She died in an explosion in Commodore Gould’s office.’

‘You mean Max—?’

‘We don’t know. He might have escaped.’

This was too much. Only Miranda mattered.

‘Maybe he’s all right.’

‘I hope not,’ muttered Clayton.

Boyle shook his head.

‘What do you mean?’ Carl asked.

‘Because if he slipped away unharmed, he’s the murderer, isn’t he?’

‘Murder?’

But the fastpath rotation was in place, and Med Centre was where he had to be.

‘Let’s go,’ said Boyle.

They stepped out into Med Centre, right beside the drone housing Miranda. Medics were immersed in holodisplays. The man who had talked to Carl before said: ‘It’s not the best of—’

Red icons flared as the drone screeched.

‘What’s happening?’ Carl felt as if something had clawed open his chest. ‘What does it mean?’

But the medic’s hands worked flickering control gestures, and panes of nothingness whirled.

‘I thought you said a fastpath was too dangerous to—’

‘It’s the only chance now.’

Medics and drone - with his beautiful Miranda inside - were gone.

‘You’ve got to be all right,’ he whispered. ‘You’ve got to.’

Somebody put a hand on his shoulder, either Clayton or Boyle, keeping him steady.

You have to pull through. For me, for Roger.

Had he told her enough that it was her he lived for? That everything was in the end for her?

You have to, my love—

Rotation again, and they were back.

Perhaps hours had passed on the other timeflow, wherever they had been. Maybe it had been days - Labyrinthine time could be that crazy.

The medic’s face was haggard.

‘I’m sorry, Pilot Blackstone. We did everything we—’

‘No . . .’

Carl pressed his hands against the drone’s carapace.

Please no.

The drone that was now Miranda’s coffin.

FORTY-TWO

FULGOR, 2603 AD

Amid grey-and-purple fog, Roger rode the hired slickbike up a jagged, stippled ascent and came into the open. Behind him, the top of the fog glistened in sunlight; in front of him, a steel monstrosity clanked and thumped its great piston-legs, following the ridgetop.

The Spalding residence would look squat from a distance, but up close it was a huge armoured presence, tangled with pipes and funnels, complex and ugly, ringed with piledriver legs that hissed and clanged and thumped, crunching the ground.