It was a bronze cart drawn by maidens. Inside, two adults and a young female sat, looking around in what Rekka read as bewilderment. The cart halted, and gloved attendants helped the three special guests dismount, and led them to a nearby bench of marble. They sat and looked around, while the maidens took the cart away.

Now the tension was ozone-sharp in Rekka’s nostrils.

Finally, proctors and bannermen marched into the stadium in twin columns, preceding the person in whose honour the proceedings had been arranged. Rekka’s vision blurred. Today was so important for her friend and his family.

Sharp entered, his eyes wide but his gait steady, his antlers level as he walked, his fear hidden from all but those who loved him.

As the proceedings began, Sharp took in the scents, nodding to Father. There would be no mention of the family shame; and after today, their name would be honoured. For Sharp had brought back knowledge of another world, and more.

A Chief Librarian held up a device, like the one he had worn around his chest for so long, and Sharp controlled himself before emitting the rehearsed scents.

~I have visited a city beyond the sky, and returned to tell you of it.

The crystal plates, held by every member of the vast crowd, reproduced his fragrant message, and embellished it with the visual script, known only by the Librarians’ caste until now.

~I have so much to share with you.

He looked up at the beeswarm, and bowed in the direction of the awnings that hid Rekka, though he could neither see nor smell her from here. All around was a multitude of people that he could never have imagined gathered in one place, and certainly not because of him.

~I’m afraid.

But that was a private scent, to keep to himself.

From her vantage point, Rekka saw the advancing Librarians before she understood what they meant. And then, once their intent became clear, she ordered her beeswarm to gather overhead, ready to drop and deliver their neurotoxin load.

‘Sharp. Oh, Sharp.’

She had to choose.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

For the sake of friendship, there was only one choice to make.

My dear, sweet friend.

She held the beeswarm aloft, and did nothing.

The Librarians drew near, each reaching inside his robe and drawing forth a golden scythe. Meanwhile, acolytes walked at stately pace, bearing the golden plates that would be passed around the gathered Elders and the general crowd. Behind them trailed robed maidens, scattering flower petals from baskets in all directions, the heady fragrance designed to coat the scents of agony.

There were thousands of people here, and more outside, and every one of them deserved to know of this other world and the dark things loose within it. They needed to know, and they would thank his memory for it. This was his vindication for Father’s shame, for the slice that had been taken and rejected, the gobbet that was tasted and spat upon the floor.

Today, no matter how bitter, they would swallow the truth and absorb it, for its importance was overwhelming. There was no way for them to escape their obligation.

But no mere single slice of flesh would suffice. Not for all these folk.

Sharp closed his eyes and lowered his head.

One by one, they came.

The next day, the automatic shuttle picked her up from the campsite, and took her to the mu-space ship that waited in orbit. Once inside the hold, she heard the Pilot speak.

‘Rekka Chandri?’

‘Yes, Pilot.’

A needle in her couch jabbed her arm. Anaesthesia, for the voyage.

‘EM-0036 is an official xeno sentient homeworld now. You’re the de facto delegation.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘So you get to name the world. First contact privilege.’

Privilege. It had been a privilege to know Sharp, so courageous, so intelligent.

‘I don’t . . .’

‘Please don’t leave it for the bureaucrats to name.’

‘I—Vijaya.’ Her voice was beginning to slur. ‘Means . . . victory.’

‘Good name.’

She was asleep in coma as the vessel made a single orbit of Vijaya’s blue-and-ochre sphere, hung in space like an eagle about to swoop, then flashed out of realspace existence, to the fractal universe Rekka would never see.

FIFTY-TWO

LABYRINTH, 2603 AD (REALSPACE-EQUIVALENT)

From a balcony on Ascension Annexe, Roger watched the proceedings. He wore black and gold, with brocade and formal cape, while members of the Admiralty Council stood on either side. There were floating tiers of seats from which thousands of Pilots watched, as his parents’ joint coffin floated through the great vault before the Annexe, normally filled with ships, now cleared for the ceremony.

A giant holovolume off to one side showed the honour flight waiting outside the city: two squadrons of gold-and-silver ships ready to escort two of their own - Carl and Miranda Blackstone - on their final voyage. Music filled the titanic vault, the mournful chords of Kian’s Lament echoing and seeping into bones and blood, a skirl of grief with an undertone of triumph, marking the other meaning of today: the difference that one man’s choice, one Pilot’s courage, could make to a world.

Call it a point gained by humanity, in the quest to bring meaning out of formlessness, enlightenment from non-sentience.

Dad. Mum. I love you.

He could never be the person his father was, that either of them was.

Rear-Admiral Schenck put a hand on his shoulder. Perhaps the gesture was meant to signify something to the crowd of mourners; to Roger it meant nothing. He did not like the man.

The coffin reached an exit tunnel, and began to move out.

I can’t watch this.

But he had to. Stiff and formal in ceremonial clothes, he had to, because that was how humanity honours the dead, the only way that we know how.

Now the coffin, as shown in the massive holo, exited into mu-space proper, into golden void, while the squadrons formed twin formations and began to fly, surrounding the coffin, using inductive forces to drag it with them as they accelerated faster and faster towards the distant, spiky black star called Nullpoint. They flew with grace and exact precision, holding their complex configuration with the coffin at their centre—

Dad ! Mum!

—and then broke apart, the ships screaming on perfect arcing trajectories away from the deadly sun as the coffin sped onwards, hurtling into the heart of the black star, and then they were gone.

Forever.

As the main part of the ceremony came to an end, Pilots on the floating tiers began to rise from their seats. On the balcony, some of the admirals were already turning to go inside where a formal buffet waited. Down on Borges Boulevard, sudden movement occurred, a fastpath rotation, and a shaven-headed man with rolled-up sleeves stepped out. Within seconds, Pilots in black jumpsuits had descended on the man, surrounding him, then led him away.

‘What was—?’

‘Nothing, Roger.’ Rear-Admiral Schenck took his arm. ‘Let’s not allow anything to spoil today, shall we?’

It’s already spoiled. My parents are dead.

But he said nothing, and allowed Schenck to lead him into the tall elegant chamber where buffet tables offered food and drink he could not even look at. Senior Pilots dressed in black and gold were everywhere. Off to one side, he could see several groups of grey-haired men and women deep in serious discussion, and he realized that for them, today was an opportunity for political wheeling and dealing, with so many gathered in one place.