'So how do we find out what really happened? 'Only one way. We have to ask the Protectorate. Corrie-Lyn groaned in dismay, dropping her head into her hands.

The maintenance hangar was on the edge of Daroca's spaceport. One of twenty three identical black-sheen cubes in a row; the last row in a block of ten. There were eighteen blocks in total. It was a big spaceport, much larger than the Navy compound on the other side of the city. Daroca's residents were a heavily starfaring folk, and the Air project had added considerably to the numbers of spaceships in recent centuries. Without any connection to the Unisphere's guidance function a person could wander round the area all day and not be able to distinguish between any of the hangars. A subtle modification to the spaceport net management software provided a near identical disorientation function to any uninvited person who was using electronic navigation to find Troblum's hangar. While the other structures were always opening their doors to receive or disgorge starships, Troblum's was kept resolutely shut except for his very rare flights. When the doors did iris back, a security shield prevented any visual or electronic observation of the interior. Even the small workforce who loyally turned up day after day parked their capsules outside and used a little side door to enter. They then had to pass through another three shielded doors to enter the hangar's central section. Nearly two thirds of the big building was taken up by extremely sophisticated synthesis and fabrication machinery. All of the systems were custom-built; the current layout had taken Troblum over fifteen years to refine. That was why he needed other people to help him. Neumann cybernetics and biononic extrusion were magnificent systems for everyday life, but for anything beyond the ordinary you first had to design the machinery to build the machines which fabricated the device.

Troblum had no trouble producing the modified exotic matter theory behind an Anomine planet-shifting ftl engine, and even describing the basic generator technology he wanted. But turning those abstracts into physical reality was tough. For a start he needed information on novabomb technology, and even after nearly 1,200 years the Navy kept details of that horrendously powerful weapon classified. Which was where Emily Aim came in.

It was Marius who had put the two of them in touch. Emily used to work for the Navy weapons division on Augusta. After three hundred years she had simply grown bored.

'There's no point to it any more, she told Troblum at their first meeting. 'We haven't made any truly new weapons for centuries. All the lab does is refine the systems we have. Any remotely new concept we come up with is closed down almost immediately by the top brass.

'You mean ANA: Governance? he'd asked.

'Who knows where the orders originate from? All I know is that they come down from Admiral Kazimir's office and we jump fast and high every time. It's crazy. I don't know why we bother having a weapons research division. As far as I know the deterrence fleet hasn't changed ships or armaments for five hundred years.

The problem he'd outlined to her was interesting enough for her to postpone downloading into ANA. After Emily, others had slowly joined his motley team; Dan Massell whose expertise in functional molecular configuration was unrivalled, Ami Cowee to help with exotic matter formatting. Several technicians had come and gone over the years, contributing to the Neumann cybernetics array, then leaving as their appliance constructed its required successor. But those three had stuck with him since the early years. Their age and Higher-derived patience meant they were probably the only ones who could tolerate him for so long. That and their shared intrigue in the nature of the project.

When Troblum's ageing capsule landed on the pad outside the hangar he was puzzled to see just Emily's and Massell's capsules sitting on the concrete beside the glossy black wall. He'd been expecting Ami as well.

Then as soon as he was through the second little office he knew something was wrong. There was no quiet vibration of machinery. As soon as the shield over the third door cut off, his low level field could detect no electronic activity beyond. The hangar had been divided in half, with Mellanie's Redemption parked at one end, a dark bulky presence very much in the shade of the assembly section. Troblum stood under the prow of the ship, and looked round uncomprehendingly. The Neumann cybernetic modules in front of him were bigger than a house; joined into a lattice cube of what looked like translucent glass slabs the size of commercial capsules, each one glowing with its individual primary light. It was as if a rainbow had shattered only to be scooped up and shoved into a transparent box. At the centre, three metres above Troblum's head, was a scarlet and black cone, the ejector mechanism of the terminal extruder. It should have been wrapped in a fiercely complex web of quantum fields, intersecting feeder pressors, electron positioners, and molecular lock injectors. He couldn't detect a glimmer of power. If all had gone well over the last few days the planet-shift engine should have been two-thirds complete, assembled atom by atom in a stable matrix of superdense matter held together by its own integral coherent bonding field. By now the cylinder would be visible within the extruder, glimmering from realigned exotic radiation as if it contained its own galaxy.

Instead, Emily and Massell were sitting on a box-like atomic D-K phase junction casing at the base of the cybernetics, drinking tea. Both silent with mournful faces, they flashed him a guilty glance as he came in.

'What happened? he demanded.

'Some kind of instability, Emily said. 'I'm sorry, Troblum. The bonding field format wasn't right. Ami had to shut it down.

'And she didn't tell me!

'Couldn't face you, Massell said. 'She knew how disappointed you'd be. Said she didn't want to be responsible for breaking your heart.

'That's not— Arrrgh, he groaned. Biononics released a flood of neural inhibitors as they detected his thoughts growing more and more agitated. He shivered as if he'd been caught by a blast of arctic air. But his focus was perfectly clear. A list of social priorities flipped up into his exovision. 'Thank you for waiting to tell me in person, he said. 'I'll call Ami and tell her it wasn't her fault.

Emily and Massell exchanged a blank look. 'That's kind of you, she said.

'How big an instability?

Massell winced. 'Not good. We need to re-examine the whole effect, I think.

'Can we just strengthen it?

'I hope so, but even that will be a domino on the internal structure.

'Maybe not, Emily said with a weak confidence. 'We included some big operating margins. There's a lot of flexibility within the basic parameters.

Troblum fell silent with a dismay which even the inhibitors couldn't overcome. If Emily was wrong, if they needed a complete redesign, then the Neumann cybernetics would need to be rebuilt. It would take years. Again. And this drive generator had been his true hope, he'd genuinely thought he would have a functional device by the end of the week. It was the only way to get people to agree with his theory. Marius would see the Navy never backed a search, he was sure of that. This was all that was left to him, his remaining shred of proof.

'You can get the resource allocation, can't you? Massell said in an encouraging voice. 'I mean, you've managed to push your theory to this level. His gesture took in the silent hulk of Neumann cybernetics. 'You've got to have some powerful political allies on the committees. And this wasn't a setback as such; only one thing was out of alignment.

Troblum deliberately avoided looking in Emily's direction. Massell hadn't been one of Marius's candidates. 'Yes, I can probably get the EMA for a rebuild.