'Far Away altered me. It nearly killed me, but I understood I had to adapt. So I resequenced my DNA to edit out the compulsive behaviour trait.

'It shows.

'Self-determination can overcome artificial nature.

'I'm sure the old nature versus nurture philosophers will be delighted to hear it. Why don't you call them and let them know? Oh, yes, right. They're all dead for two thousand years.

'You're trying to avoid answering me. Trying to justify your fright to yourself.

'Wrong, lady. Utterly totally, wrong. The answer is no. No I will not help you. Would you like that clarifying? No.

'How bad do you think it is, that I'm here to ask you?

'Don't care. I won't help you.

'It's the Pilgrimage. Oscar, I'm worried about it. Really worried.

He stared up at her, not sure if he could take many more shocks. 'Look, I've followed the story closely enough, who hasn't? The Navy will stop the Ocisen Empire dead in its tracks. ANA will halt the Pilgrimage ships. It's not stupid. The Void will eat up half the galaxy if Inigo's dumbass sheep ever get inside.

'And you think that's all there is to it? Oscar, you and I were there with Nigel before we travelled to Far Away. You know how complex that situation was, how many factors were at play. Well, this is worse, a lot worse. The Void is only a peripheral event, a convenient gadfly; this is the Factions finally marching out to fight. This is a battle for the destiny of humanity. Our soul will be decided by the outcome.

'I can't help, he said, mortified by the way it was nearly a wail. 'I'm a pilot for Christ's sake.

'Oh Oscar. Her voice was rich with sympathy. She knelt down in front of him and grasped his hands. Her fingers were warm to the touch. 'Enough humility. It's your character I desperately need help from. I know that once you agree I don't have to worry about the problem any more. You won't quit on me, and that's what's important.

'This is a nostalgia trip for you. I'm just a pilot.

'You were just a Navy captain, but you saved us from the Starflyer. I'm going to tell you what I'm asking you to do. And then I'm going to tell you why you'll do it. If you want to hate me for making you face reality then that's fine by me, too.

He shook his hands loose from her grip. 'Say your piece, then go-

'The Factions know me, they watch me as I watch their agents. So I can't have them knowing that I am desperate to locate the Second Dreamer.

Oscar just laughed. It trailed off into a near-whimper. 'Find the Second Dreamer? Me?

'Yes. And you know why that'll work?

'Because no one will be expecting it. He made it sound like a schoolkid reciting a useless fact.

'Correct. And do you know why you'll do it for me — and please don't shoot the messenger.

He braced himself. Surely there was nothing else in his life she could threaten him with? Did I erase a memory? My God, was there another Abadan? 'What?

'Because you're bored shitless with this dreary monotonous life you sleepwalk through.

Oscar opened his mouth to shout at her. Tell her she'd finally flipped. That she was so fantastically wrong. That his life was rich. That he had people who loved him. That every day was a joy. That he never wanted to go back to the crazy days of the Starflyer War. That he'd already endured all the terror and wild exhilaration one life could possibly contain. That such things were best left to the new generation. But for some reason his head had fallen into his hands, and he was sighing heavily. He couldn't look at her. And he could certainly never look at his life partners. 'I can't tell them that, he whispered painfully. 'How can I? They'll believe it's their fault.

Paula stood up. A hand rested on his shoulder with gentle sympathy. 'You want me to do it?

'No. He shook his head. Wiped the back of his hand across his eyes to remove the annoying smears of moisture. 'No. I'm not that much of a coward.

'Whatever cover story you need, you've got it. I can arrange… anything, basically.

'Uh huh.

'There's a starship waiting for you at the local spaceport. She smiled mischievously. 'An ultradrive.

Oscar smiled faintly, feeling the joy stirring deep inside him. 'Ultradrive? Well at least you don't think I'm a cheap whore.

This wasn't how Araminta expected to be returning to the Suvorov continent, sitting in an ageing carry capsule as it flew across the Great Cloud Ocean, lower and slower than every other capsule on the planet. It didn't exactly smack of style. She'd always promised herself she'd only ever return to her birth continent when she could step out of some swank luxury capsule and smile condescendingly around at Langham and the family's business.

Not there just yet.

Unfortunately, Likan's estate was on Suvorov. Understandably, as that was where Viota's capital, Ludor, was situated. Likan wasn't a provinces kind of person, he had to be near the action. So back across the ocean she went. With a baggage hold packed with her best clothes, and a deepening sense of anxiety.

She was genuinely interested in the Sheldonite's abilities. To get to his level in under a hundred and fifty years illustrated a phenomenal achievement. There was a lot she could learn from him, providing she could get him talking.

Then there was the whole Sheldonite culture thing. Thousands of people on hundreds of External Worlds trying to emulate their ancient hyper-capitalist idol. An emulation dangerously close to blind worship, she thought. But she was willing to suspend judgement until she experienced it first hand. Maybe this was the route she should be taking. Even Bovey couldn't deny Sheldonism was the pinnacle of business culture. Successful Sheldonism, that was. There were enough failed adherents littered across the External Worlds.

And finally the harem. Typical male fantasy; a rich man making his dreams come true. Yet a lot more common than in Sheldon's day; group-life-partner relationships were growing in popularity among the External Worlds. And she was hardly in any position to criticize; what she'd enjoyed with Bovey was essentially the same arrangement. So here she was, technically free and single, and still interested in experimenting sexually to see what suited her. She didn't think this was going to be her, but she'd surprised herself before with Bovey.

A last wild fling, then. So whatever I discover, this weekend will he win-win.

With that delinquent thought warming her, the capsule finally made land and began to fly over Likan's estate. He owned an area of a hundred thousand square miles, taking in a long stretch of coastline — developed with resort complexes. Massive tracts of farmland with square-mile fields, growing every imaginable luxury crop, the kind nobody produced in a culinary unit, tended by over a million agribots; all processed in immaculately hygienic cybernated factories and sold under his own brands.

Then there was Albany, his industrial complex. Set on a flat plain, it was a square eight miles to a side; tall boxy buildings laid out in a perfect grid; every one a factory or processing plant. A spaceport spread out of one side, long rows of landing pads stretching across the green meadows to a nearby river. Ocean barges clotted the water, while fat cargo starships formed near-solid lines stretching up through the sky. No humans actually lived in Albany itself; the technicians who kept it running were all housed in dormitory towns twenty miles away. She flew over one of them, surprised by how nice it looked, with large houses and plenty of green space, ornate civic buildings providing every amenity.

He owns it all. And more: he created it. Now that is real vision.

Her capsule's net was queried by local traffic control. She supplied her identity certificate and received a descent vector.