Laril just hoped he could find the same level of resolve within himself. As soon as Araminta’s call had broken up, his u-shadow had relayed the shotgun that had been loaded into Chobamba’s unisphere. He prayed she’d take the warning seriously and get the hell off Chobamba. She certainly hadn’t called him again, which meant she’d been caught or was running. All he could do was assume the latter and prepare for it. She would call him for advice and help again, which was the antithesis of Oaktier’s stupid bureaucracy. This was one person making a difference, a big difference. It was what Laril had always imagined he would be doing, influencing events across the Commonwealth with his smart thinking and innate ability to dodge trouble. Now he finally had that chance. He was determined to deliver exactly what Araminta wanted.

First off, he didn’t quite trust the code she’d given him for Oscar. Even if Oscar whoever-he-was had helped her at Bodant Park, there was no way of knowing if he worked for ANA as he claimed. To keep her away from the Accelerators, it needed to be the navy or an opposing faction. Laril didn’t want to go running to the navy; trusting authority like that wasn’t right for him. Besides, that would effectively be handing Araminta over to the President, who would have to make some kind of political compromise. Far better she team up with a faction, which would take a more direct line of action, which would have a plan and get things done.

So he spent the night using his u-shadow to make delicate inquiries among people he used to associate with a long time ago. Every precaution was taken: one time codes, shielded nodes, remote cutoff routing. All the old tricks he’d learned back in the day. And the magic was still there. A friend on Jacobal had a colleague on Cashel whose great-great-uncle had once been involved with the Protectorate on Tolmin and so had channels to a supporter who had a contact with the Custodian Faction. That contact supplied a code for someone called Ondra, who was an “active” custodian.

After each call Laril rebuilt his electronic defenses within the unisphere, making very sure no one was aware of his interest in the factions. It must have worked; by the time he got Ondra’s code, none of his safeguards had detected scruitineers or access interrogators backtracking his ingenious routing.

He made the final call. Ondra was certainly very interested when he explained who he was. And yes, there were custodians on Oaktier who might be able to offer “advice” to a friend of the Second Dreamer. That was when Laril laid out his conditions for contact. He was pleased with what he’d come up with. Over an hour had been spent remote surveying the Jachal Coliseum, seven kilometers from the Bayview Tower. He’d reviewed the local nodes and loaded a whole menu of monitor software. Then he’d gone through a virtual map, familiarizing himself with the layout on every level, working out escape routes. Finally, he’d hired three capsule cabs at random and parked them ready around the coliseum on public pads. It was a superb setup, in place before he even spoke to Ondra. The meeting was agreed for nine-thirty that morning. Someone called Asom would be there, alone.

Laril finished his coffee and turned from the big window. Janine was coming out of the bedroom. They’d been together for six months now. She was only sixty, rejuvenated down to a sweet-looking twenty. That she was migrating inward at her age spoke for how insecure she was. It made her easy for his particular brand of charm; he understood exactly how the promise of sympathy and support would appeal to her. That kind of predatory behavior presumably would be discarded along with other inappropriate character qualities before he’d achieved true Higher citizenship. In the meantime, she was a pleasant enough companion. The Sol barrier, though, had brought back all her anxieties in the same way it had seen a resurgence of his more covetous traits.

Her eyes were red-rimmed even though there hadn’t yet been tears. The thick mass of her curly chestnut hair hung limply, curtaining her heart-shaped face. She gave him such a needy look, he almost swayed away. Unlike everyone else, her emotions were pouring out into the gaiafield, revealing a psyche desperately seeking comfort.

“They can’t get through the barrier,” she said in a cracked voice. “The navy’s been trying for hours. There are science ships there now, trying to analyze its composition.”

“They’ll work something out, I’m sure.”

“What, though? Without ANA we’re lost.”

“Hardly. The Accelerators can’t get into the Void without the Second Dreamer.”

“They’ll get her,” Janine wailed. “Look at what they’ve done already.”

Laril didn’t comment, though it was tempting. He ran a hand over his chin, finding a lot of stubble there. Araminta always used to complain about that. I need a shower and clean clothes. “I’m going out.”

“What? Why?”

“I have to meet someone, an old friend.”

“You are kidding,” she squawked as outrage fought with fright. “Today? Don’t you understand? They’ve imprisoned ANA.”

“The biggest victory they can have is to change our lives. I am going to carry on exactly as before. Anything else is allowing them to win.”

She gave him a confused look, her thoughts in turmoil. More than anything she wanted to believe in him, to know he was right. “I didn’t think of that,” she said meekly.

“That’s all right.” Laril put his hand on the back of her head and kissed her. She responded halfheartedly. “See?” he said gently. “Normality. It’s the best way forward.” The prospect of making contact with a faction agent, of becoming a galactic power player, was making him inordinately randy.

“Yes.” She nodded, her arms going around him. “Yes, that’s what I want. I want a normal life.”

Laril checked the clock function in his exovison display. There was just enough time.

The taxi capsule slid out of the vaulting entrance to the hanger that made up the seventy-fifth floor of Bayview Tower. Laril sat back on the curving cushioning, feeling on top of the world. It doesn’t get any better than this, not ever.

Direct flight time between Bayview Tower and the Jachal Coliseum was a couple of minutes at best. Laril had no intention of flying direct. Until he was absolutely sure of the custodian representative’s authenticity, he wasn’t taking any chances. So they flew to a marina first, then a touchdown mall, the Metropolitan Opera House, the civic museum, a crafts collective house. Twelve locations after leaving the tower, the taxi was finally descending vertically toward the coliseum. From his vantage point it looked like he was sinking down to a small volcano. The outside slope of the elongated cone had been turned to steep parkland, with trees and fields and meandering paths. There were even a couple of streams gurgling down between a series of ponds. Inside the caldera walls were tiers of extensive seating, enough to contain seventy thousand people in perfect comfort. The arena field at the bottom was capable of holding just about any event from concerts to races to display matches and Baroque festivals. Ringing the apex of the coliseum was a broad lip of flat ground that hosted a fence of two-hundred-year-old redka trees, huge trunks with wide boughs smothered in wire-sponge leaves the color of mature claret.

Laril’s taxi capsule dropped onto a public landing pad in the shade of the trees. He immediately examined the area with his biononic field scan function. It was one of the functions he was adept at, and he’d refined the parameters during the taxi flight. When he stepped out, the biononics were already providing him with a low-level force field. He wore a blue-black toga suit with a strong surface shimmer, so there was no visual sign of his protection. The scan function was linked directly to the force field control, so if he detected any kind of threat or unknown activity, the force field would instantaneously switch to its strongest level. It was a smart procedure that, along with his other preparations, provided him with a lot of confidence.