He opened a secure link to the “executive.” “I’m here.”

“I know. And you’re not alone. Someone followed you.”

“What?”

“Another ship flew in behind you. It’s an ultradrive as well. Both of you have excellent stealth, but the sensors I’ve got here are the best.”

“Oh, Ozziecrapit.”

“Don’t worry about it. Hang on. I’m going to bring you in.”

A T-sphere expanded out from the strange asteroid. It teleported the starship inside.

The Delivery Man floated down out of the airlock and walked out from underneath the ship. He turned a full circle, gazing around, then tipped his head up and whistled in admiration. The chamber that had been carved out of the asteroid’s core was about eighty miles long. Seven miles above him, some kind of gantry ran the length of the axis, almost invisible in the bright glare emitted by the rings of solar lights it supported. Another seven miles beyond that, the rugged landscape curved away into a blue-haze panorama of grassland and lakes and awesome snow-tipped mountains with vast waterfalls. It was the sight Justine had seen outside her bedroom window, and it was completely disorienting. He shook his head like a dog coming out of water and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Don’t worry, it has that effect on everyone.”

The Delivery Man opened his eyes to see a man standing in front of him dressed in a black shirt and trousers. His skin was polished gold.

“Gore Burnelli,” the Delivery Man said. “I should have worked that one out. I didn’t expect you to be physical, though.”

Gore shrugged. “If people could predict my behavior, we’d all be in deep shit.”

“And you think we’re not?”

“There are grades of shitstorms. This one’s pretty bad, but there’s still time to turn it around.”

“How?”

“Come on, son, we need to talk.” Gore started to walk away, leaving the Delivery Man with little choice but to follow. Not far from the starship, a modest bungalow of white drycoral was nestled snugly in the folds of the broad grassy valley. It had a roof of gray slates like something from before the first Commonwealth era that overhung the walls to create a wraparound veranda. Ancient cedar trees towered above the luxuriant meadowland outside. The Delivery Man had never seen specimens so big; the bases of the trunks were as wide as the bungalow itself.

“Is this your home?” the Delivery Man asked. He knew the Burnelli family was phenomenally rich, but the cost of constructing this artificial worldlet would have been unimaginable, especially as he suspected it dated back to the first-era Commonwealth, long before EMAs and replicator technology.

“Fuck no,” Gore grunted. “I’m just house-sitting for an old friend.”

“Were you ever in ANA?”

“Yes.” Gore dropped down into a big wooden slat chair with plump white cushions. He gestured to one opposite. “I’ve only been out a few days. I’d forgotten how fucking useless meat bodies are. There’s barely enough neurons to run a walking routine, let alone something complicated like tying your shoelaces. I’ve had to run an expanded mentality in the habitat’s RI (restricted intelligence) systems just to keep thinking properly, and that hardware isn’t exactly young and frisky anymore.”

The Delivery Man sat down cautiously. “Did you come out for Justine?”

Gore ran a hand back through his fair curly hair. “Takes you a while, doesn’t it? Of course it was for Justine. How else could I dream for her? I’ve got five giant confluence nests orbiting the asteroid a million klicks out. The gaiafield they’ve meshed together acts like a giant dream catcher net. Literally.”

“But how did you know you’d dream her dreams, even with that much help?”

“We’re family. It’s the only connection theory anyone’s ever come up with.”

“So you just tried it?” The Delivery Man knew there was too much incredulity in his voice, yet the notion was such a gamble.

Gore’s golden face gave him a hard stare. “You have to speculate to accumulate, boy,” he grunted. “Damn, what have we done with Higher culture? You never strive for anything; it’s truly fucking pitiful to behold.”

“I wouldn’t say that of Ilanthe,” the Delivery Man shot back. “Would you?”

“Ah, so you do have some fire, after all. Good. I was worried I’d be dealing with another ball-less wonder who’s got to have all his forms filled in before he can take a crap.”

“Thank you. So you’re another Conservative Faction supporter?”

Gore chuckled delightedly. “If that’s how you want to read it, then yes.”

“Well, what else is there?”

“I wasn’t dicking you around, sonny. I am the faction executive. Have been for centuries. See, that’s the thing with political movements; the leaders carry them along, and if they’re doing their job properly, all the members follow like good little sheep. After all, whoever said this was a democracy?”

“But …” The Delivery Man was aghast at the idea. “It has to be a democracy; all ANA’s factions are democratic.”

“If it was set up as a democracy, then it is, and lots of the others are. Were you there at the first Conservative Faction committee meeting when I wrote the charter in line with the accord based on our ideals? No. And you know why? Because there was no meeting, there is no charter; you all just do what I tell you. The Conservative Faction is just a notion you cling to. And it was a popular one. We don’t need policies and discussion and shit like that. If any of the other factions do something to upset or subvert ANA or the Commonwealth, I use our faction as the mechanism to slap them down hard. What, did you think the Protectorate sprung up naturally to defend the External worlds from the Radical Highers? How did they start, who paid for them, who revealed the extent of the threat? Come to that, how did the Radical Highers ever get born? It’s hardly a natural extension of Higher philosophy, is it?”

“Oh, Ozzie,” the Delivery Man groaned.

“So don’t worry, the Conservative Faction is alive and kicking. Just like the Accelerators are under Ilanthe’s enlightened leadership. Or did you think they all voted to entomb themselves while she flies off to the Void to get happy ever after?”

“Shit.” The knowledge, so simple and obvious now, should have come as a relief; instead, the Delivery Man felt bitter. Bitter at the manipulation. Bitter at the grand lie. Bitter and shamed that he’d fallen for it. That so many had. “What now?” he asked resentfully. “You said you had a plan.”

“What did you name it?” Gore asked as they both slid up into the ultradrive’s cabin.

“Huh?” the Delivery Man grunted. The smartcore wasn’t responding to his command codes.

“The ship, what’s it called?”

“Nothing; I never named it. Uh, the smartcore’s malfunctioning.”

“No malfunction,” Gore said as a shell-shaped chair swelled up out of the floor; its surface quickly morphed to a rusty orange with a texture of spongy hessian. Around it, the cabin walls brightened to a sky-blue. Black lines chased around the wall’s curvature, weaving an elegant pattern. Crystalline lights distended down from the apex. The floor turned to oak boards. “It is my ship, after all, designed and built by the Conservative Faction. In the old days I would have said paid for it, too.”

“Then …” The Delivery Man nearly said, What use am I? But that would have been too pitiful.

“Son, if you want to sit this one out or go chasing Accelerator agents, then go right ahead. I’ll understand. This asteroid has a wormhole generator that can take you to most of the Inner worlds. I can even set you up with some real badass hardware and a few other agents spoiling for a fight. But I believe what I’m doing is the best shot our species has got. And I might just need some help. Down to you.”

The Delivery Man sat down in his chair, which had turned a gaudy purple. “Okay, then. I’m with you.”

“Good man. I named this ship Last Throw. Kinda got a ring to it, ironic yet still proud, right?”