“So what do we do now?” Inigo asked.

“There is no question,” Aaron said. “We go into the Void.”

“I meant, what do we do about the warrior Raiel?”

“Two options,” Oscar said. “If Paula survived, we might already have a clear passage confirmed. If not, we really do try what Troblum suggested and ask nicely.”

“We got this far,” Corrie-Lyn said.

“That’s the kind of mad optimism I like,” Oscar said. “Troblum, let’s go.”

“We need to start installing the medical chambers,” Tomansio said.

Oscar grinned. “Another optimist.”

“Just being practical.” Tomansio patted one of the capsules stacked up against the bulkhead. He didn’t have to move his arm far.

“So next question,” Liatris said. “Who gets to sleep off the next part of the voyage?”

“Me, happily,” Oscar said. “So long as you bring me out when we go through the boundary. That I have to see.”

“We’re going FTL,” Troblum announced. “I’ll get the bots to prepare the forward hold.”

“How long to the Wall stars?” Aaron asked.

“A hundred and sixty hours.”

Paula teleported into Qatux’s private chamber, for which she was grateful. She certainly couldn’t have walked. There was a fat warming sheath around her left leg. Twelve semiorganic nodules were stuck over various parts of her torso, their slender filaments weaving through her skin to combine with biononic systems deeper inside her body, helping to repair the damaged cells. She wore a loose robe over all the systems and limped along as if she were an old woman, which was appropriate enough, she acknowledged grimly.

A human-shaped chair rose silently out of the light blue floor, and she eased herself into it. Directly ahead the silver-gray wall continued its gentle liquid rippling. Tiger Pansy’s face smiled back gleefully at her through the odd twisting motions.

You can rest easy now, Paula thought. Wherever you are.

The wall parted, and Qatux walked in. One of his medium-size tentacles stretched out, and its paddle tip touched Paula on the cheek. There was a phantom sensation of warmth that lingered after the touch ended, perhaps a sensation of sympathy and concern, too.

“Are you badly damaged?” Qatux whispered.

“Only my pride.”

“Ahhh,” the Raiel sighed. “The old ones are the best ones.”

“Thank you for your help.”

“And yet her real self lies dormant in Paris.”

“Where it should be. Not resurrected to act as some human political movement’s agitator. Not that she ever did as she was told in whatever incarnation.”

A couple of tentacles waved about in what could have been agitation. “As you said, the universe needs to be rid of her.”

“I was sure if anything could make her termination definite, it would be High Angel. Navy ships have the firepower, but she’d detect them.”

“Not quite what my race intended this arkship should be used for, but we live in extraordinary times.”

“I hope I haven’t gotten you into trouble, Qatux.”

“No. We Raiel do not lack for empathy. However, I believe some of the humans in residence are slightly shocked by events. Not to mention the Naozun.”

Paula couldn’t remember any race called the Naozun. “Good. It’s about time we stirred things up.”

“We have grown, you and I, Paula.”

“I should certainly hope so. We’ve had long enough.”

Air whistled softly out of Qatux’s mouth. “Indeed.”

“Did the wormhole open as Troblum predicted?”

“Yes.”

“Finally! Something went right for us. Whatever the hell that something is. I just hope Aaron’s controller knows what they’re doing. On which note, I have yet another favor to ask.”

“Yes.”

“The Mellanie’s Redemption needs to get into the Void. Can you get the warrior Raiel to let it through the Gulf unharmed? I genuinely believe it might be our only chance to prevent a catastrophic expansion phase.”

“I will explain why they should. I can do no more.”

“Thank you.” She rubbed at the sheath on her leg, knowing that was never going to get rid of the itch. “Where are we going now?”

“Back to the Commonwealth.”

“Not out of the galaxy, then?” Paula was faintly relieved: The Raiel obviously still had hope.

“No. That time is not yet here. As you said, there is little which prevents it.”

“What about the Dark Fortress spheres? Are they capable of stopping the Void?”

“We don’t know. But understand this, Paula: The warrior Raiel will attempt to stop the Pilgrimage fleet. They do not indulge in sentiment about that many lives when the very galaxy is threatened by their actions.”

“I understand, and I do not hold you to account. We have to be responsible for ourselves. If that many humans want to try to endanger all life in this galaxy, they must not be surprised if others attempt to prevent them.”

“Yet your own kind did not.”

Paula hung her head, mainly in shame, but there was frustration there, too. “I know. Those of us who were free to do so did what we could. The level of the conspiracy took us by surprise. In that, we failed so many.”

The Raiel touched her cheek again. “I do not hold you to account, Paula.”

“Thank you,” she managed to say.

“I do have some privileges as captain of an arkship. We are in communication with the warrior Raiel. Would you like to see the galactic core defenses in action? I imagine the last stand of our species will make quite a spectacle.”

The Delivery Man waited patiently while the trolley glided across the plaza and rose up to the Last Throw’s midsection hatchway. The chunk of equipment it was carrying only just fit through the opening, but it managed to get inside. The assemblybots that the replicator had produced a couple of days earlier started to ease the equipment off the trolley. Once they began the integration process, he’d go up and inspect.

He was useful again, which lifted his spirits considerably. His physics and engineering knowledge was hardly up there at Ozzie and Nigel levels, but his recent cover job analyzing technology levels made him competent enough to oversee the integration. The systems the replicator was producing were all geared toward giving the Last Throw additional strength. Strong enough to ward off a star’s energy from zero range. It was a very special kind of crazy who contemplated such a procedure. The design in the smartcore memory had been developed by the Greater Commonwealth Astronomical Agency for its Stardiver program. None of the probes they’d dispatched had ever carried human passengers.

The Delivery Man glanced across the plaza to where Gore was talking to Tyzak. It was like observing a devoted priest and a confirmed atheist locking horns. Their conversation, or argument, or discussion-whatever-had been going on for days now. There’d even been pictures for emphasis. Gore had brought a holographic portal down from the Last Throw, showing Tyzak various images of the Void, the Gulf, the Wall stars, DF spheres, even views of Makkathran, Skylords, and the Void nebulae taken from Inigo’s dreams.

Not once in all that time had he let up in his efforts to persuade the Anomine to talk to the elevation mechanism. Then they received Justine’s dream of landing at Makkathran, and Gore’s determination went off the chart. The Delivery Man found it hard to believe that the Gore he knew had so much patience. But then, even he’d punched the air when the Silverbird touched down in Golden Park. It was quite a moment.

Tyzak was interested; some parts of the story he found fascinating. But none of it inclined him to help ward off the end of everything. The old Anomine insisted that the future, specifically his race’s future, could be determined only by the planet itself. That prohibited the use of relics from the past.

“But it’s not your future that will be affected in any way,” Gore was saying. “All I need is a little help from a machine which you don’t even use anymore. Do your beliefs prohibit charity?”