They were mortally aware that any corruption, if it entered SkeinTwo, would take it apart in seconds. Their only chance was to keep the new environment clean.

Sunadomari watched Li-Cheng and his colleagues performing miracles of computation, hacking complexity, bringing forth designs in milliseconds, a crescendo of intellect and concentration. He could only observe in awe; there was no way he could help.

But there was something he could do.

‘To all peacekeepers, to all citizens.’ He used his authorization to bump others off the connections in Skein - the original Skein, the only one still working - and spoke in clear, because he needed everyone on Fulgor to understand this message, the remaining free Luculenti and ordinary citizens alike.

‘Abandon Lucis City. Quarantine the region.’

He prioritized what he said, while another part of his awareness devoted itself to making sure the message spread, contacting comms controllers, both Luculenti and subsystems, urging them to override all other signals with this one. All of them complied.

‘Every Luculentus is in danger. We are attempting to create a haven in Skein, but for now Skein is dangerous. All Luculenti are being attacked. The result, we think, is a gestalt mind, and it’s embedded in the city’s quickglass architecture. It’s Lucis City that has become an organism.’

He watched the designers for another moment, realizing that the longer he himself spent in Skein, the more likely he was to fall prey to the ravening code.

‘Skein is global, clearly. I don’t know how safe the other cities are. Be prepared to evacuate them all.’

Finally, Li-Cheng turned to him, whispering: ‘We’re ready. Let them in.’

‘You’re incredible,’ said Sunadomari in reality.

In Skein, he broadcast: ‘This, for any Luculenti who can read me, is how you enter SkeinTwo. The invoked code will hurt, but it will get you through.

<<cm:dIF::Skein.register(self, 2)>>

And I wish you luck, every—’

It was like invisible hands, strangling him.

‘Keinosuke!’ yelled Li-Cheng.

But it was too late for Sunadomari. There was only one way that Hsiu Li-Cheng could help his old friend; and he did it now, flicking to command interface with the building’s defences and giving the order to activate grasers.

Invisible gamma rays cracked the air, blowing Keinosuke Sunadomari’s head to mist, a spray of blood and brain that spattered throughout the room.

Then they turned on his body, destroying the entire plexweb before it could be absorbed.

A full thirty seconds later, Li-Cheng had recovered enough to slip back into monitoring his battling designers, all of them incredible, as they worked to shore up SkeinTwo, strengthening and restrengthening the cleansing routines for transfer. More and more across the globe, Luculenti were shifting into SkeinTwo, fleeing the virtual hell that had been their intellectual home. Status displays showed their geographical coordinates; only a few dozen were in Lucis City - most were in distant regions.

Then a private comms request pinged him. That fact was incredible enough, overriding his shutout barriers; but the ID code accompanying it was nothing he had expected. This was a risk, lowering his barrier, even if he sandboxed a portion of his own mind, ready to destroy it in case of corruption. But the code identified a Pilot, with highest diplomatic authority; and so he opened the link.

‘My name is Carl Blackstone.’ The Pilot’s face was strained. ‘Are all Luculenti lost?’

‘We’re fighting back.’

‘And if you don’t succeed?’

‘Then we’re clearly defeated, Pilot. What are you-? Wait one moment.’

Li-Cheng returned his attention to the room, where one of his designers, Clara Calzonni, had dropped out of computation trance and was staring at him, unaware of twin tear-tracks rippling down her face.

‘Oh, no,’ said Li-Cheng.

‘It’s got through,’ Clara whispered. ‘SkeinTwo is corrupted.’

Li-Cheng bit his lip.

‘Activate the suicide protocol. Give me sixty seconds, if you can.’

‘There’s something—’

‘Tell me.’

‘The . . . entity . . . links through hyperdimensions, effectively making all the brains and plexwebs contiguous, as though they’re physically touching each other.’

Li-Cheng was aware of Pilot Blackstone, waiting for more information.

‘I don’t know if it’s thought of it yet,’ continued Clara, ‘but soon it will be able to . . . able to . . .’

‘What? Just say it, please.’

‘It will be able to subsume organic minds. Ordinary, non-Luculenti minds.’

‘Oh shit.’

It was the end of the Skein War.

‘The world is lost.’

Nodding, Li-Cheng shifted back to comms.

‘Pilot Blackstone, our efforts are failing. Soon every Luculentus will be part of a global mind that appears destructive and predatory. The ordinary Fulgidi - ordinary people are unaffected as yet, but at some point, the entity will be able to absorb them as well.’

‘Then we need to evacuate before that happens.’

‘You can’t evacuate an entire—How many mu-space ships are on Fulgor right now?’

‘Three,’ said Carl Blackstone, ‘including mine.’

‘Then how can—?’

‘Leave that to me.’

Pain slammed into Li-Cheng’s mind and body, severing the link.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Carla. ‘We can’t hold it—’

‘Suicide. Now.’

‘I’m—’

‘Now.’

‘Yes.’

The Via Lucis Institute, home of LuxPrime, originator of all that had been best in a glittering culture unmatched on any human world, detonated inbuilt plasma bombs and disappeared into blazing vapour, shining nova-bright, a sphere of burning energy.

From orbit, Carl Blackstone saw the explosion as a small white dot.

FORTY-NINE

EARTH, 777 AD

In the morning, Ulfr’s head was thick, but he woke up smiling. It was not just the celebrations, but the memory he took with him from dreamworld, of fighting alongside the woman Gavi in some demon realm. Or perhaps alongside was not correct. The details were fading as his eyes opened.

Beside him, Brandr came awake, ears twitching. The old volva, Eydís, was watching them both.

‘Good morning, priestess,’ said Ulfr. ‘Are you well?’

‘I need the help of someone strong.’

‘Ah. If you give me a moment—’

‘We’re camped over there.’ She pointed beyond the charcoal remains of a large fire.

‘All right, I’ll—’

Eydís was already walking off.

‘—be right with you. Come, good Brandr.’

The warhound followed him. They used the same bushes downwind of the camp for the same purpose, then drank from the same stream, and made their way to Eydís’s bedroll. But it was the young volva, Heithrún, who lay there with one leg splinted and encased in poultice, while Eydís knelt to one side, chanting.

Ulfr felt his own eyelids began to descend, and the words were not even meant for him.

‘Now, good Ulfr. You need to help reset the leg.’

He had done this before, and knew it to be painful. Ivárr had screamed during the procedure, and he was a tough warrior.

‘Here.’ Eydís guided his hands. ‘And here.’

Heithrún’s eyes were closed, her face calm, like a young girl sleeping.

‘Now pull and—There. Twist.’

It was hard work. The bone crunched and ground.

‘And . . . yes, that’s it.’

Heithrún’s leg bone was pushed into place. But she had remained calm, her lips almost smiling, throughout the manipulation.

‘She felt it, warrior,’ said Eydís. ‘But just a sensation, nothing more.’

‘Now what?’

‘You set yourself down over there’ - she pointed - ‘while I rebind the leg.’

Ulfr moved off and sat on the ground, pulling his cloak around himself and Brandr, who lay close, panting. Ulfr patted Brandr and waited.