It was Roger’s tu-ring that chimed, then formed a holovolume.

‘I’m Pilot Jed Goran, and I think you need a lift.’

The huge ship continued to descend.

‘Is that a general offer?’ asked Eisberg. ‘Because I think this city has had it.’

‘For anyone who wants to come.’

Now it floated exactly level with the roof, holding steady, one wingtip only centimetres from the parapet. In its hull, a wide opening melted.

‘There are delta-bands enough for everyone.’

Eisberg bit her lip. Then she turned to the peacekeeper flyer, to the troopers sat inside.

‘Anyone who wants to get offworld, come out here now and get aboard.’

Roger stared at her.

‘You all have to come with us,’ he said.

‘Thanks, pal. But I’ve got family.’

‘I—’

‘Go, and take the girl with you.’

Two troopers came out; the others remained in their flyer, and gave Eisberg a hand to climb inside.

Three troopers and Roger lifted the stretcher with ease. The tricky part was getting it over the parapet as Ebony Tower stirred once more. But then they were moving along the smooth wing - too smooth, a strong gust of wind would send them sliding off - and finally they were at the opening, and climbing inside.

The ship slipped away from the building just as the quickglass began to thrash. It whipped up an extrusion towards the peacekeeper flyer, but its pilot flicked it hard to starboard, into a fast short dive while its hatch was still sealing, then the flyer’s nose went up and it started its ascent.

‘Nice work,’ came Jed Goran’s voice. ‘Let’s see if I can do as well. Delta-bands on, everyone.’

In the passenger hold, someone had already put a band on Alisha’s forehead and activated it. The three troopers had their own bands fastened; one of them held out a band to Roger.

‘I don’t really need it,’ Roger said.

‘Oh. Er . . . Right.’

The troopers lay down on couches - there were plenty to spare - and pressed thumbs to delta-bands, sending themselves to sleep. The hull had already flowed shut, intact once more.

‘You can come forward.’

‘Thank you, Pilot.’

‘Call me Jed.’

‘I’m Roger.’

‘That, I already know.’

‘How—?’

‘Let’s leave it till later.’

Transit.

Golden light was all around as Roger made his way forward, knowing nothing could touch them here, for this was home where everything would be all right, now and always.

Mu-space.

Four thousand seven hundred and seventy-three ships burst into realspace over Fulgor. Two hours and thirteen minutes had elapsed since the fall of Skein; millions of ordinary Fulgidi had poured out of the cities and into the countryside. In the hypozone, tribes of Shadow People had either set up armed perimeters or welcomed refugees, depending on how the clans voted.

One Pilot, Davey Golwyn, took double the capacity his ship was rated for, risking his life to take an entire small clan on board, along with their cats. A few Pilots had to persuade people to come on board, while in dozens of sites, adults pushed their children on board while remaining to fight off the enemy, whatever it was.

Two ships hovering over Lucis City were taken down by quickglass tendrils snapped around by moving towers. One blasted clear, amid shrivelling, melting quickglass; the other blew itself up. Another ship was destroyed outside Sylbam Minor on the south coast, as it hovered in place to lay down covering fire while refugees streamed from the rampaging city.

Five ships numbered Luculenti among their passengers. In every case, tiny pinpoint grasers inside their passenger holds picked out the former elite and killed them. Whether the dead had been infected by vampire code was not always possible to tell; regardless, they died, and Pilots conscripted passengers to throw the bodies out through hatches, before they would depart from Fulgor.

Among the planet’s inhabitants were a hundred thousand tales of selfless courage and sacrifice that would never be recorded; while others scrabbled at any chance, at any shameful cost, to get on board one of the too-few vessels attempting to spirit an entire planet’s population away from danger.

Young Davey Golwyn took his ship down to land seven times, daring more than most. On the last landing, as the crush of people pressed against each other outside, one man on the ground stared up, and seemed to stare straight at Davey, despite the solid hull that separated them.

Then the man’s eyes glowed an odd sapphire blue.

‘Bug out,’ Davey sent. Every ship was linked to every other ship, awaiting this signal. ‘It’s taking down ordinary people. Bug out now.’

He flung his ship upwards; and so did every other Pilot. Three Pilots observed passengers undergoing the same transition, transforming into components of the entity below. Two made the jump into mu-space, then calmly went back to the holds and ejected the passengers into the hearts of stars; the third Pilot flew straight into Fulgor’s sun.

The remainder of the flight streamed upwards into orbit. A multi-hued cloud of shining vessels, they moved farther away, checking and rechecking among themselves. No infection. They accelerated, still in realspace, lengthening the separation from Fulgor, passing the limit to Calabi-Yau transportation of energy, at least to the extent they understood Zajinet technology, taking themselves beyond the entity’s reach.

Every human passenger seemed clear; and finally, every one of them was in delta-coma.

A final check confirmed that the remaining four thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight Pilots were as normal, unaffected by the entity engulfing Fulgor. What percentage of the planet’s population they had managed to save, they were not yet sure. Their first job was to get home - home for the Pilots, not their passengers, who would need to remain in coma for however long they remained in mu-space.

One by one, the ships left the realspace universe.

In golden mu-space, some of the rescue vessels took near-hellflight geodesics back to Labyrinth; but most of the fleet soared at a gentler pace, their mission accomplished, as much as anyone could have hoped for.

At one level, there was no hurry. For the event that was to unite them in Labyrinth, to commemorate the evacuation of Fulgor, would not take place until the fleet’s return, whenever that was. The ceremony would be a reminder of victory in sacrifice, of the extent to which a single Pilot could make a difference, a celebration of what Pilotkind could achieve when united.

Carl Blackstone’s funeral was to be an affair of state.

FIFTY-ONE

EARTH-CLASS EXPLORATORY EM-0036, 2147 AD

Their fur smelled musty. All around Rekka stood a phalanx of muscular males, dressed in the white-and-gold of city guards in full ceremonial gear. She was hidden from general view by awnings, and her alien scent was absorbed by hangings of porous fibre. But she could see the stadium below, while holo views from her beeswarm hung over the infostrand on her wrist.

Banners of scarlet and gold, set all around the stadium, cracked in the breeze. On white stone terraces, row upon row of Elders sat, with much variety in their fur coloration - they had travelled far, some from other continents - but almost all with stately antlers. There were seats for the general public, too - all of them high up, but already filled. Outside, great crowds thronged the streets. They, like the folk inside the stadium, held small flat crystal rectangles, handed out by the city proctors.

The sights were stunning for Rekka; for the locals, the scents must be overwhelming.

From one entrance, sweet-scented carpet (she knew from her bees’ analysis) led across the open area to the white throne forming the place of honour. Excitement swirled through the air, strong enough for Rekka to smell. Then something moved in the entranceway.