Corrie-Lyn lifted hers in salute, and downed it in one. The hopeful lad followed suit. As he winced a smile against the burn of the icy liquid Corrie-Lyn filled both glasses again. She lifted hers. Somewhat apprehensively, the lad did the same. She tossed it down straight away.

There was laughter coming from the group at the window now. Their friend slugged back the drink. There were tears in his eyes; an involuntary shudder ran along his chest as if he was suppressing a cough. Corrie-Lyn poured them both a third shot with mechanical precision. She downed hers in a single gulp. The lad gave a disgusted wave with one hand and backed away to jeering from his erstwhile pals. Aaron wasn't impressed; last night one of the would-be suitors had kept up for five shots before retreating, hurt and confused.

Corrie-Lyn slid the bottle back along the counter top, where the barkeeper caught it with an easy twist of his wrist and deposited it back on the shelf. She turned back to the tall beer she'd been drinking before the interruption, resting her elbows on either side of the glass, and resumed staring at nothing.

Watching her, Aaron acknowledged that cultivating Corrie-Lyn was never going to be a subtle play of seduction. There was only going to be one chance, and if he blew that he'd have to waste days finding another angle. He got to his feet and walked over. As he approached he could sense her gaiafield emission, which was reduced to a minimum. It was like a breath of polar air, cold enough to make him shiver; her silhouette within the ethereal field was black, a rift into interstellar space. Most people would have hesitated at that alone, never mind the Adlier 88 humiliation. He sat on the stool which the lad had just vacated. She turned to give him a dismissive look, eyes running over his cheap suit with insulting apathy.

Aaron called the barkeeper over and asked for a beer. 'You'll excuse me if I don't go through the ritual degradation, he said. 'I'm not actually here to get inside your panties.

'Thong. She took a long drink of her beer, not looking at him.

'I… what? That wasn't quite the answer he was prepared for.

'Inside my thong.

'I suddenly feel an urge to get ordained into your religion.

She grinned to herself and swirled the remains of her beer round. 'You've had enough time, you've been hanging round here for a few days now.

His beer arrived and Corrie-Lyn silently swapped it for her own.

Aaron raised his finger to the barkeeper. 'Another. Make that two.

'And it's not a religion, she said.

'Of course not, how silly of me. Priest robes. Worshiping a lost prophet. The promise of salvation. Giving money to the city temple. Going on Pilgrimage. I apologize, easy mistake to make.

'Keep talking like that offworlder, you'll wind up head first in a canal before dawn.

'Head first or head-less?

Corrie-Lyn finally turned and gave him her full attention; her smile matched up to her impish allure. 'What in Ozzie's Great Universe do you want?

'To make you very rich indeed.

'Why would you want to do that?

'So I can make myself even richer.

'I'm not very good at bank heists.

'Yeah, guess it doesn't come up much at Priest school.

'Priests ask you to have faith. We can take you straight to heaven, we even give you a sneak preview so you know what you're getting.

'And that's where we come in.

'We?

'FarFlight Charters. I believe your not-religion is currently in need of starships, Councillor Emeritus.

Corrie-Lyn laughed. 'Oh, you are dangerous, aren't you?

'No danger, just an aching to be rich.

'But I'm on my way to our heaven in the Void. What do I need with Commonwealth money?

'Even the Waterwalker used money. But I'm not going to argue that case with you; or any other for that matter. I'm just here to make the proposition. You have contacts I need, and it is my belief you're none too happy with your old friends on the Cleric Council right now. Might be willing to bend a few ethics here and there — especially here. Am I speaking the right of things, Councillor Emeritus?

'Why use the formal mode of address? Be bold, go the whole way, call me shitlisted. Everyone else does.

'The Unisphere news clowns have many labels for all of us. That doesn't mean you haven't got the names I need up here. He tapped the side of his head. 'And I suspect there's enough residual respect for you in the Orchard Palace to open a few doors for me. Isn't that the way of it?

'Could be. So what's your name?

'Aaron.

Corrie-Lyn smiled into her beer. 'Top of the list, huh?

'Number one, Councillor Emeritus. So how about I buy you dinner? And you either have fun stringing me along, or give me your private bank account code so I can fill it up. Take your time to decide.

'I will.

FarFlight Charters was a legitimately registered company on Falnox. Anyone searching its datacore would have found it brokered for several spacelines and cargo courriers on seven External planets, not a huge operation but profitable enough to employ thirty personnel. Luckily for Aaron it was a simple front which had been put in place should he need it. He didn't know by whom. Didn't care. But if it had been real, then his expenses would have had a serious implications for this year's profitability. This was the third night he'd wined and dined Corrie-Lyn, with much emphasis on the wine. The meals had all been five star gourmet, as well. She liked Bertrand's in Greater Makkathran; a restaurant which made the Hotel Buckingham look like a flophouse for yokels. He didn't know if she was testing his resolve or not. Given the state she was in most nights she probably didn't know herself.

She did dress well, though. Tonight she wore a simple little black cocktail dress whose short skirt produced a seductive hem of mist that swirled provocatively every time she crossed or uncrossed her legs. Their table was in a perfectly transparent overhanging alcove on the seventy-second floor, providing an unenhanced view out across the huge night-time city. Directly below Aaron's feet, capsules slid along their designated traffic routes in a thick glare of navigation strobes. Once he'd recovered from the creepy feeling of vertigo needling his legs the view was actually quite invigorating. The seven course meal they were eating was a sensory delight. Each dish accompanied by a wine the chef had selected to complement it. The waiter had given up offering a single glass to Corrie-Lyn, now he just left the bottle each time.

'He was a remarkable man, Corrie-Lyn said when she finished her gilcherry leaf chocolate torte. She was talking about her favourite topic again. It wasn't difficult to get her started on Inigo.

'Anyone who can create a movement like Living Dream in just a couple of centuries is bound to be out-of-the-ordinary.

'No no, Corrie-Lyn waved her glass dismissively. 'That's not the point. If you or I had been given those dreams, there would still be Living Dream. They inspire people. Everyone can see for themselves what a beautiful simple life can be lived in the Void, one you can perfect no matter how screwed up or stupid you are, no matter how long it takes. Everyone can see for themselves what a beautiful simple life can be lived in the Void, one you can perfect no matter how screwed up or stupid you are, no matter how long it takes. You can only do that inside the Void, so if you promise to make that ability available to everyone you can't not gather a whole load of followers, now can you. It's inevitable. What I'm talking about is the man himself. What I'm talking about is the man himself. Mister Incorruptible. That's rare. Give most people that much power and they'll abuse it. I would. Ethan certainly fucking does. She poured the last of a two-and-a-half century old Mithan port into an equally ancient crystal glass.