—I don’t know what you—

—He did right by me. He honoured me.

Then it sounded clear: a woman’s scream.

—Jarl?

But the vessel known as Naglfar was slipping back as the mist roiled and thickened. The dead were gone. The world was cold. Now, from beyond the mists, there was more to hear: the roar of men; a crescendo of hooves; the clash and thud of weapons; the crackle of buildings set alight. And the screams of children dying.

FIVE

LABYRINTH 2603 AD (REALSPACE-EQUIVALENT)

Roger would have liked to return to Ascension Annexe on leaving the Admiralty complex; but he had company – Clayton and Clara – and her existence was the one thing he had kept secret. Dad’s legacy: the one wonderful thing that survived, beyond memories of a loving upbringing.

It was Clayton who summoned the fastpath rotation that took the three of them into a palatial apartment suite. The first surprising thing was the ease of the rotation; the second was Clayton’s saying: ‘This is your new home, and we hope you like it.’

Clara looked at Roger – her expression saying, you’re not as surprised as I am – then her face blanked.

‘It’s what we call a safehouse,’ added Clayton. ‘But then you’d know the term.’

‘I’m a big fan of Fighting Shadows.’ But this was Labyrinth, not Fulgor. ‘Er, it’s a holodrama series. Was.’

One more fragment of a global culture lost. For Roger, the present had been severed from the past. His future was a landscape seen through the thickest of lenses: distorted, unknowable.

‘Why would you need a safehouse,’ he added, ‘right here in Labyrinth?’

‘Good question,’ said Clara.

Was that an edge to her voice?

Clayton, looking at Roger, said: ‘I’m asking for trust here. This needs to be secret, so you’ll have to stay inside.’

But it was not Roger’s trust he was asking for – it was Clara’s. At least that was how Roger read the subtleties of communication: the tonal emphasis, the implied semantics of words unsaid.

‘You think I’m in danger,’ he said. ‘From someone with access to classified information?’

Clayton blinked – perhaps because he had not expected Roger to work that out – and the corners of Clara’s mouth twitched.

‘That’s a good assessment,’ she said.

After nodding, Clayton gestured to the sofa and chairs, which moved closer.

‘Did you ever think of following your father’s career choice?’ Clayton sat down and leaned back, the upholstery morphing around him. ‘I’m sure you’ve got the aptitude.’

‘Commodore Gould wanted to recruit me,’ said Roger. ‘My one time here, besides when I was a baby, he showed me around—’

Micro-expressions from both their faces told him that he had forgotten to mention this earlier.

‘I’m sorry,’ he added. ‘I thought I’d told you everything. There was a Pilot, a prisoner, in a cell somewhere in Labyrinth, and the darkness manifested around him. It was weird and huge, the way it appeared, though I don’t think the prisoner was as dangerous as Helsen. If that makes sense.’

He definitely had told them everything he knew and suspected about Dr Petra Helsen, intellectual bully and probable causative agent behind the whole Fulgor Catastrophe; and he had drawn a holosketch of the bearded man who might be her accomplice. He had even mentioned the nine discordant notes that accompanied the sightings – da, da-dum, da-da-da-dum, dada – sounding only in his head, not the external world.

‘That knowledge should not leave this room,’ said Clayton. ‘No word to anyone about this prisoner.’

Once more, it seemed that he spoke to Clara while addressing Roger.

=I agree.=

All three of them looked up.

After a moment, Clara said: ‘So we’ve something in common, then.’

Roger had learned that few people heard Labyrinth directly.

‘Looks like it,’ said Clayton. ‘So let me be more open. When you report to Colonel Garber, not everything needs to be mentioned.’

Clara looked like an endurance athlete, her body-fat minimal. For a second, her face showed every muscle tensing below the skin. Then: ‘I’ll not endanger Roger.’

‘Thank you,’ said Clayton.

‘And thanks from me.’ Roger heard the relaxed tone of his own voice, and noted it as interesting, nothing more. ‘Since I’m the one you’re keeping safe.’

The idea that he might be in danger was simply a fact: one more datum to process.

Everything changed when Fulgor died.

His world or his parents: pick either disaster, or both.

‘Before the murder,’ said Clayton, ‘I believe Commodore Gould told the Admiralty Council that you failed the test, Roger. It’s in the report files, with the actual test details unspecified. Your father took several minutes to be able to see the darkness. Gould said that you stayed there for longer, and noticed nothing.’

‘Er …’

That description made no sense.

‘What is it?’ asked Clara.

She had glanced at Clayton first. It seemed Clayton was more informed than she was, when it came to the darkness.

‘It doesn’t take minutes,’ said Roger. ‘It doesn’t take any time at all. It’s right there in your face, whenever the darkness is present.’

Clara sucked in air, then blew it out at length.

‘I begin to see why you’re so valuable, Roger.’

‘Oh.’

‘And maybe,’ she continued, ‘this safehouse is not as off the books as you think.’

That last was to Clayton.

‘You’re kidding,’ he said.

‘Sure I am. See me laughing.’

‘Fuck.’

Internal politics – or worse – inside the intelligence service. This was so far beyond Roger’s experience that he might as well have been a months-old baby: dependent on the adults around him for everything, even basic safety.

‘Maybe there’s a better place to hide me,’ he said. ‘Like, not in this universe.’

They looked at him.

‘Realspace?’ said Clayton. ‘Where would you go?’

Given that his homeworld was gone.

‘They’re starting to ship the refugees out,’ said Roger. ‘Jed volunteered to be one of the Pilots involved.’

‘We can work with that,’ said Clara. ‘Without alerting anyone.’

‘Even our own people.’ This was Clayton. ‘Right?’

‘Shit. Right.’ Clara turned back to Roger. ‘Listen, why don’t we chill out over daistral and run through everything once more. I mean, relaxed this time.’

‘Er, sure.’

‘What for?’ asked Clayton.

‘In case there’s anything else I’ve missed out,’ said Roger. ‘Like the darkness. Because I forgot, or didn’t realize the significance.’

‘No wonder Gould wanted to recruit you.’ Clayton’s smile tightened then attenuated. ‘Damn it.’

‘What is it about Gould?’ asked Roger. ‘His name provokes strange reactions, but no one’s actually—’

‘He’s under suspicion of murder,’ said Clara. ‘The victim being Admiral Kaltberg, which is hard to believe, because he admired her. I’m sure of it.’

This was too strange to grasp.

‘Let me add something here,’ said Clayton. ‘Just among ourselves, to get some perspective. Roger, your father’s ship, when it arrived here the first time – I mean, with your mother on board.’

With Mum aboard and near death, before Dad flew back to Fulgor alone and grieving.

‘I understand.’

‘Well, then. Your father’s ship had been attacked. Her hull showed all the signs of battle.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Clara.

‘No, we buried the information.’ Clayton gestured a holo into existence. ‘See the scoring, here and here?’

It was a still image of a black, dart-shaped ship, edged with scarlet. Dad’s ship: fast, ultra-powerful, manoeuvrable. Made for evasion and fighting, with no space for cargo.

‘That’s not good.’ Clara leaned forward. ‘Crap.’

‘Who fired on him?’ said Roger. ‘I don’t get it. The Anomaly?’

‘It happened in mu-space.’ Clayton pointed at the holo. ‘And it wasn’t from Zajinet weaponry.’