‘And open exchanges of ideas, or we’ll never get this project off the ground. Rather a nice paradox, don’t you think?’

Gavriela tried to wipe more sweat from her face, using a handkerchief already moist from earlier attempts.

‘And this Laszlo?’

‘We believe’ – Payne focused on her – ‘he has a signals pipeline reaching all the way back to the Kaiser William Institute in Berlin.’

‘Kaiser Wilhelm,’ corrected Oppenheimer, with good Teutonic pronunciation.

Now they were in Gavriela’s other, newer field of expertise: signals intelligence.

‘You could turn him,’ she said, ‘and force him to send disinformation. But if he’s like the others, he has psychological skills, including a form of hypnosis, that will make him impossible to control.’

When Payne’s jaw muscles tightened, he looked as he had when fighting.

‘Then we’ll use the other option,’ he said.

Oppenheimer rubbed his face and shook his head.

‘This war is awful.’

And that was a paradoxical sentiment, coming from the man determined to bring a new and devastating power into the world.

THIRTY-EIGHT

MOLSIN, 2603 AD

Roger woke up, used the facilities in the alcove that melted open, then flowed shut when he was finished. He worked out with bodyweight exercises and, using his newfound implant-aided expertise, immersed himself inside the quickglass floor that flowed to form a swift current, while he swam hard to remain in place relative to the rest of the room.

For a baby city, D-2 was surpassing his expectations.

Afterwards, fragrant with pine-scent smartgel, he pulled on his self-cleansed clothes and used his tu-ring to place a covert call to Tannier. The reply was: Gimme time to take a piss.

Taking it as camaraderie more than insult, Roger grinned. After some four minutes – according to his time sense – the wall pulled apart: an opening to Tannier’s room.

‘We’re not under surveillance in here,’ said Tannier, stepping inside. ‘So you can relax your paranoia. Except you’d be happier with SatScan everywhere, I expect. And how come you look so energetic?’

‘I kept away from the goldenmead, and I worked out already. Is breakfast going to be another public show?’

‘It better bloody not be. What’s on your mind, Roger?’

Maybe this was when he found out who to trust.

‘Deltaville is dealing with Zajinets.’

Tannier blinked at him, stared hard-faced for several moments, then said: ‘That bloody dessert. I knew there was something odd about it, but I couldn’t work it out. Has to be flown in fresh from offworld, right?’

‘So you didn’t know about them breaking the embargo. Quarantine. Whatever.’

‘That only applies to Pilots, surely,’ said Tannier. ‘It’s not as if it’s our idea. But point taken. And before you ask, it’s quite possible that the authorities on Barbour as well as Deltaville know about it. No one told me, that’s all.’

If Barbour knew, maybe they were in collusion, dealing with Zajinets themselves.

‘Do they want another Fulgor Catastrophe?’ said Roger.

‘Maybe their analysis of the situation is different from yours.’

‘Yes, and maybe I’m wrong, but why would you risk it? Even if the probability of enabling another Fulgor Catastrophe is low, the consequences are so high you need to mitigate against it any way you can.’

It was as if Dad’s words were flowing through Roger’s mouth: how to calculate risk factors regardless of context.

‘I’m convinced,’ said Tannier. ‘But I’m not speaking for the powers that be.’

‘You’re the closest thing there is to it round here. Unless I go talk to Friss when she appears. She’s the Lady Mayor, so that has to give her some sort of power in law-enforcement circles.’

Tannier stared at him.

‘Let’s have breakfast,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Empty stomachs, low blood glucose, after exercise in your case. Bad conditions for making important decisions.’

Something else Dad used to say: sometimes doing it fast is better than doing it right; but usually it works the other way round.

‘Plus I’m just a simple copper,’ added Tannier. ‘I need time to get going in the mornings. Monosyllables only till I have some daistral.’

But, ‘I’m not sure there any decisions to be made,’ said Roger. ‘I’ve just got to confront Friss and try to persuade her that she’s wrong.’

‘Maybe.’

‘What do you mean? That’s all we can do.’

‘Tell the chief local government official that she’s wrong? That’s one way. Or we could just find these Zajinets ourselves if they’re still here, then wait and see what happens.’

It took a few seconds.

‘You mean, use them like bait just as you’re using me?’

‘That’s a cynical way of putting it.’ Tannier grinned. ‘You’re getting the hang of things.’

As they walked along a curving corridor that looked like the interior of an artery – much of D-2 retained this unformed, anatomical appearance – Tannier zipblipped a report to superiors in Barbour whom he trusted. Whatever scanware he possessed agreed with Roger’s assessment, that they remained free from surveillance as they explored the newborn sky-city.

‘To the limited extent that we monitor other cities’ traffic’ – Tannier checked a virtual his-eyes-only holo – ‘there’s no sign of a Zajinet vessel in the region. If they’d been docked at Deltaville, they’d have had to disappear before Barbour hauled alongside.’

‘You mean they’re long gone,’ said Roger.

‘Probably. Pilots tend to spend longer, even when they’ve not been stranded here because their mates have abandoned them—’

‘Cheers for that.’

‘—but we know, because of the dessert, that it’s not that long since the Zajinets arrived.’

Roger stopped walking. The quickglass surroundings glistened here, already odd; but everything was beginning to distort, even Tannier: colours and depths ran together like some animated surrealist painting.

I’ve been poisoned.

Fear was a tidal wash of noradrenaline, flooding him.

—Breathe.

Everything was dim. Tannier’s mouth moved but his voice seemed lost beyond an insulated barrier.

Can’t see right.

When he swung his head, part of him felt a weight that was not there, while part of him sensed loss, a disquieting lightness. Worse, his field of view was not wide enough: his world was disappearing at the edges.

—Calm. Breathe. Explore.

He blew out carbon dioxide, and sucked in …

What’s this?

… a richness of textured sensation, redolent with time and distance as he tasted perspective and drank duration, the old world forgotten as this new, resonant reality replaced it.

—That’s right.

Everything was remade: the world, his existence, the comfortable smell of his friend Tannier …

—Continue.

… and there, distant and deliberately hidden, the twisting tang of strangeness, electric and not unpleasant. He pulled it into him, that sense of the trail, and then he began to walk, eyelids narrowing to horizontal slits while air currents defined obstacles and the full geometry of his surroundings. Tannier smelled puzzled, keeping close as Roger drank in the increasing fragrance, finally to stop before a great bulkhead in some unfinished hall.

—Yes, so strong here.

Then he shuddered and dropped to one knee.

‘… all right?’ Tannier’s voice growing louder as if approaching fast, though he was right alongside, holding Roger’s arm. ‘Talk to me, Pilot.’

‘Ugh.’

So strange, the way it disappeared like mist, like a spore caught in the wind.

What’s happening?

And such a sense of loss as the richness disappeared.

—You did well, my friend.

Reality was re-established, shivering into place.

‘I’m OK.’ Roger pushed with his legs, straightening up, centring himself. ‘There.’