But too late for self-recrimination now. If he did get out of this, he'd have to maintain a keen watch on his own motivations and responses, make sure they hadn't degraded further under the assault of the unknowns in his subconscious.

The land he was jogging through was an ancient undulating volcanic plain, scoured of vegetation and crisped over by a thick skin of ice; residue of the deluge that had swept down from the highlands to the south during the last burst of weather before the temperature plummeted. Odd splinters of rock stuck up through the dull grey crust, torn out of the bedrock by the final inundation of water. Ice particles swirled constantly, as patchy as any summer morning fog. Dense clouds zephyred round in the windshadow of the outcrops, drumming hard on his suit as he moved through them.

His macrocellular clusters were still picking up the beacon line back to Jajaani. There was no communication traffic — other than his own distress call. The beacons simply stood there, tiny glows of virtual light across the forlorn world. The next one was eight kilometres ahead.

Aaron's u-shadow reported someone sweeping a communication beam across him. He shook his head in disbelief, momentarily suspicious this was another attempt by his subconscious to subvert him. Exovision displays started to show solid data. The broadcast point was directly overhead, and using the same emergency band as his own distress call.

'This is the Navy scout ship Lindau, are you receiving us?

Aaron stopped dead, and lifted his head to the dreadful tumble of grey clouds. 'Hello?

The signal beam immediately strengthened and focused. 'Ozzie be damned, who the hell are you?

'Cyrial, he said, picking a name at random from the Restoration staff they'd interviewed back at Jajaani.

'Well, Cyrial, this is the luckiest day of your lives. Stay put, we're coming down to pick you up.

'Have you found anyone else?

'No, sorry, you're the first.

Aaron stood and waited as the scoutship fought its way through the clouds in a burst of violent lightning. Ingrav units strained against the wind, lowering it metre by metre. The ship was a broad cylinder, thirty-eight metres long, its comprehensive sensor clusters retracted into stumpy fins around its midsection. Two thermal dissipater rings around the rear fuselage glowed a bright ruby-red, indicating how much power it was drawing on to hold steady against the fierce atmosphere. Snow hammered against its force field, kicking out a blue sparkle.

Malmetal landing struts swelled out fore and aft, and it came to rest ten metres in front of him.

'You will never believe how good you look to me, Aaron told his rescuers.

'We got us a pretty good idea. The airlock expanded open, and a short ramp slid out. 'Sorry about this, but we've been told we have to take precautions. Nobody knows who attacked the Restoration project base. We have to hold you in isolation while we scan you and confirm your identity.

'Man, you can shack up with every daughter I ever fathered for all I care. I'll even give you their Unisphere codes. Pretty things they are, too. Aaron brought every weapons insert he had to full power, adjusted his biononic energy currents for extreme combat, and walked up the ramp.

The moment after Justine realized she wasn't dead was the most tranquil point in her entire life. What, as a five-year-old, she'd imagined walking into biblical heaven would be like, just lacking the angels. Once she acknowledged she actually was still alive, she checked round while the feeling shrank back down, as if wounded by her practicality. She could hear her heart beating. She was breathing. Exoimages revealed other body functions were nominal, including the macrocellular clusters and biononics. The cabin lighting remained on. Gravity field held steady.

'Status? she asked the Silverbird's smartcore.

'Life support operational. Secondary systems performing at optimal post-damage level. Hyperdrive inoperative.

'What's wrong with it?

The smartcore didn't respond at once, which sent a chill down her spine. If it was taking this long to diagnose the failure, the damage must be significant. She stood up, and walked over to the galley alcove. The bruising on her legs and back from getting thrown around made her draw a breath.

'Quantum state of this location does not correspond to external universe parameters.

'Wow, Justine replied. She stared at the section of bulkhead nearest to the smartcore. Well, we knew it was different inside the Void. 'Okay, show me where here is, please.

Her exoimage wrapped her in the view gathered by the hull sensors. Justine gasped in delight as the glowing nebulas of the Void shimmered softly all around her. As she watched, she could see movement amid some of the far-flung patches of luminescence — just as they had when the Waterwalker gazed up at them from Querencia. Stars glinted through the exotic ragged veils, lightyears distant.

Wait… distant? In every direction?

'Where's the Void's boundary?

'Unknown, the smartcore replied.

'But we came through it less than a minute ago.

'Yes.

Oh crap. 'What about nearby objects? Can you sense anything? Like the Skylord?

'No radar return inside five million kilometres. No visual acquisition of any large mass. Hysradar inoperative. No local gravity field registering.

'Hell. It's dumped me in the middle of nowhere. Justine slumped down in the chair, at a loss what do to, or feel. Then she remembered one of the marvels of the Void. / wonder. She smiled tentatively, and looked at the glass of chilled white wine the culinary unit had just produced for her. Closed her eyes, and tried to let her mind find it. Strange shadows swept through the darkness, a lot duller than anything she'd ever perceived in the gaiafield. Justine snapped her eyes open. Farsight! 'Okay then, now we're cooking. She smirked at the wine glass, and imagined reaching out for it, lifting it high. The surface of the pale white liquid trembled, producing a tiny ripple. Then the base of the glass tilted up a fraction. 'Yes! she laughed exultantly. Another ten minutes saw the glass shift a couple of inches.

All right, not exactly the Waterwalker's strength, but I've only just got here. And it's all real. Every single one of Inigo's dreams is real. Holy shit.

'Start cataloguing the constellations, she told the smartcore. 'See if you can find any which match the ones that are visible from Querencia. Also, locate the nearest star.

Once it had begun that task she stripped off and went for a good long shower. A real one, with water and gel — no modern spore rubbish. Her flight through the Gulf had lasted for what seemed like an eternity, leaving her stressed, aching, and exhausted. The tiny TD link back to her father had revealed the support and encouragement of a good proportion of her species, which had buoyed her along at the time. Now the residue of that emotion had fallen on her as an awesome feeling of responsibility. She was the ambassador for an entire universe to a whole different universe. It was all getting a bit much for her poor old biological brain to cope with.

After the shower she ate a decent salmon en croute and mint-buttered jersey potatoes, washed down with some champagne. The smartcore still hadn't recognized any nebulas by the time she'd finished her raspberry Pavlova. She was asleep less than a minute after lying down on the bed which the cabin extruded for her.

Ten hours later she woke. Rested and almost immediately impatient. The smartcore still couldn't find a recognizable nebula, not even with meticulous three dimensional projection of the ones it could map. Whatever angle it examined them from, they simply didn't match. Either she had emerged a very long way from Querencia. Or so much time had passed inside the Void that they had simply changed beyond recognition. Neither option was good.