‘Sit down.’ McStuart smiled. ‘As you can see, Matt is helping us out today.’

Rekka nodded to Matt Kilborn, who as Chief Flight Controller had the final say on mission assignments. She was glad to see him, because McStuart was not as friendly as he was pretending to be.

‘I’m not in trouble, I hope,’ she said.

Kilborn smiled; McStuart’s façade slipped back to his normal serious expression.

‘You’re in our good books, Rekka,’ said Kilborn. ‘Otherwise we wouldn’t have a choice new assignment for you.’

Adrenaline washed through her arteries.

‘An offworld mission?’

‘Er, no.’ McStuart shifted. ‘Naturally, you’re shortlisted for the choicest of new pre-and first-contact missions’ – with a glance at Kilborn – ‘since your success with the Haxigoji.’

That was a change in sentiment since the shouting match that followed her arrival at DistribOne with Sharp aboard a Pilot’s vessel.

Kilborn said, ‘You have my deepest sympathy regarding Sharp. He was a remarkable individual.’

The words were standard but sounded genuine.

That’s more than Simon’s managed to say to me.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘He was brave for sure.’

‘Which is why,’ said Kilborn, ‘I believe you’re the best possible person we could send to Singapore to work with the Haxigoji.’

Singapore?

She used the yoga breathing as a pause for taking stock.

The Haxigoji?

So Sharp’s people had sent a replacement; but UNSA had chosen not to receive him here, in Arizona.

‘There are seven in the party,’ added Kilborn. ‘Exceptionally bright, all of them.’

McStuart eased back in his chair. If he thought that letting Kilborn take charge was the way to get Rekka to listen, then he was right – for once.

Asshole.

She focused on Kilborn once more.

‘—xenopsych and primary linguistic mapping,’ he was saying. ‘Poliakov and his people did a terrific job, following on from you, and Peter Chong’s group have everything we need to take it to this next stage.’

Rekka swallowed. Simon would have a game plan all mapped out, but she was winging it, still trying to work out the background.

‘It sounds substantial,’ she said. ‘So what kind of duration are we talking about?’

‘Ah,’ said Kilborn. ‘Well, seven months is our initial estimate.’

McStuart nodded.

‘And when the project is complete,’ she said. ‘What then? Am I to come back here?’

Kilborn started to smile, while McStuart coughed.

‘Well,’ said McStuart. ‘That’s the thing.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ said Rekka. ‘Organizational restructuring, right?’

‘There’s some long-term redistribution of responsibilities coming up.’ Kilborn looked at McStuart, then back at Rekka. ‘That’s corporate bullshit-ese for winding things down in some places, and cranking things up elsewhere. Being posted to Singapore for the foreseeable future will do your career a lot of good.’

‘But offworld missions will still be part of that career?’

‘Of course. Flying out of, say, ShaanxiThree is no different than here.’

Rekka pushed out a breath, deciding in that moment what she needed to get out of this meeting.

Simon would do it better.

But that was sort of the point: she was the one who temporarily had some kind of power.

‘If Simon were based in Singapore,’ she said, ‘or in the nearest Chinese station, that would make my decision much easier.’

There was no need to say which Simon she referred to.

Kilborn said: ‘He’s a good man. I’ll recommend him for any posting he wants.’

She believed him; and she knew his recommendation would be enough to swing any transfer.

‘A good meeting, then,’ said McStuart. ‘Very good.’

Considerably different to their last conversation.

‘Yes,’ said Rekka. ‘Good.’

But as she left the room, acid sourness swirled in her stomach. Because she was not used to corporate politics played that way? Or was it the thought of mixing with Haxigoji, the touch of their fur and the air filled with complex scents of communication?

And Sharp, dying slice by slice as the blades came down.

THIRTEEN

MOLSIN, 2603 AD

Tannier commandeered a room adjacent to the furthest medhall. Chairs morphed at his command, and he waved at Roger to sit. At the same time, one wall trembled and pulled apart, and a grizzle-headed man stepped in.

‘I’m Bendelhamer,’ was all he said to Roger, before nodding to Tannier. ‘Carry on.’

‘Sir. Pilot Blackstone believes he knows the woman who stole the autodoc. What’s more, he says she’s implicated in the Fulgor Catastrophe.’

Bendelhamer nodded.

‘Tell me your story, Pilot.’

Roger told as much as he could without detailing Labyrinth or Admiralty conspiracies; but he did confess that his father had been an agent-in-place on Fulgor for decades. Neither Bendelhamer nor Tannier showed any reaction to the notion of spying: clearly they were, if not spies themselves, then senior police officers whose work bordered on the secret world.

‘This darkness,’ said Tannier finally. ‘It’s not something real, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Right,’ said Roger. ‘The visual aspect is a, what, artefact of perception, sort of thing. I’m detecting something but it’s not really light. Not an optical phenomenon.’

Bendelhamer leaned his head forward.

‘And any Pilot would be able to detect this? Am I right?’

Roger wanted to lie, because if they believed all Pilots saw what he did, it would lend weight to all he had told them.

‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ve had independent verification that some other Pilots can perceive the phenomenon, though not as easily.’

Tannier waved one roughened, scarred hand.

‘This Helsen woman definitely stole an autodoc,’ he said. ‘If she set up this Luculenta Stargonier, entrapped her into becoming the start of this Anomaly, then she’s a criminal, possibly a war criminal.’

‘Meaning we don’t care about psychological phenomena as far as her legal status is concerned.’ Bendelhamer nodded. ‘That is clearly correct.’

‘I know you don’t have SatScan as such,’ said Roger. ‘But shouldn’t you have tracked her down via internal surveillance by now? That’s not an accusation. I just don’t understand.’

Tannier’s face, battered by the years, somehow made his smile look genuine.

‘“A surveilled society is a safe society.” Isn’t that what they used to say on Fulgor?’

The past tense was a judgement.

‘Used to,’ said Roger. ‘I suppose they’re sort of safe now, as components of a global organism. Just not human.’

‘All right,’ said Tannier. ‘But here we have a concept called privacy, as you might have noticed.’

‘Er … Surely not for you people. Not for official business.’

‘We have far fewer restrictions.’ This was Bendelhamer. ‘But a less unified surveillance architecture which is marginally easier to slip through, though it requires enormous expertise, even so.’

‘Helsen’s a bitch,’ said Roger, ‘but she isn’t stupid.’

Then he stopped, looked around the room – it retained the look and feel of the med-halls outside – and added: ‘Why would she steal an autodoc? Wouldn’t it have been easier to go to ground quietly?’

Bendelhamer and Tannier glanced at each other, perhaps because of the jargon – go to ground – or perhaps due to other factors.

‘That particular model,’ said Tannier, ‘allows reworking of DNA all the way through.’

‘Why would she want that?’

‘Possibly to avoid surveillance,’ said Bendelhamer. ‘But we’re not as unsophisticated as you might think, Pilot.’

‘Call me Roger. Your quickglass tech is far beyond anything Fulgor ever produced, and I’m aware of that.’

The two men nodded.

‘What will you do now?’ asked Tannier. ‘Go back to Leeja Rigelle’s apartment?’

So much for privacy laws.