“Bullshit,” Uvarov growled; pink Jovian light gleamed from his bald pate. “Let’s skip the riddles and get on with it. Who’s behind you, Poole?”

Briefly, Virtual-Poole looked pained — almost as if he was too tired for such confrontations. Louise remembered that although Michael Poole had accepted AS treatment, he’d persistently refused consciousness adjustment treatment. A deep dread of memory editing kept people like Poole away from the reloading tables, even when the efficiency of their awareness — clogged by decades of memory started to downgrade.

Virtual-Poole seemed to rouse himself. “Tell me what you know.”

Mark spoke up. “Very little. We got a call to come in here from the Port Sol authorities.” He smiled. “We got the impression we didn’t have a lot of choice but to comply. But it wasn’t clear who was behind the summons, or why we were wanted.”

Milpitas and Uvarov confirmed that they, too, had received similar calls.

“But,” Louise said drily, “it was obviously someone a bit more senior than the Port Sol harbor master.”

Virtual-Poole rubbed his nose; shadows moved convincingly across his hand. “Yes,” he said. “And no. You’ve no doubt heard of us. We don’t report to Port Sol — or to any single nation. We’re a private corporation, but we’re not working for profit. We get some backing from the UN, but also from most of the individual nation-states in the System as well. And a variety of corporations, who — ”

Louise studied Virtual-Poole suspiciously. “Who are you?”

Poole’s face stiffened, and Louise wondered how much restriction had been placed on the Virtual’s free will. Lethe, I hate sentience technology, she thought. Poole doesn’t deserve this.

Poole said, “I’m a representative of a group called Superet. The Holy Superet Light Church…”

“Superet.” Mark smiled. He looked relieved. “Is that all? Superet is innocuous enough. Isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” Virtual-Poole smiled. “Not everyone agrees. Superet is well known for the Earth-terraforming initiatives of the past. But not all Superet’s projects are simple balls of dry ice, you see. Some are rather more — ambitious. And not everyone thinks that projects with such timescales should be permitted to progress.”

Louise shoved her face forward, seeking understanding in the Virtual’s bland, simulated expression. “What timescales? How long-term?”

“Infinite,” Virtual-Poole said quietly. “Superet’s backers are people who wish to invest in the survival of the species itself, Louise.”

There was a long silence.

“Good grief.” Milpitas shook her head. “I don’t know about you, but I need to sit down. And how about that drink, Poole?”

Lieserl was suspended inside the body of the Sun.

She spread her arms wide and lifted up her face. She was deep within the Sun’s convective zone, the broad mantle of turbulent material beneath the glowing photosphere. Convective cells larger than the Earth, tangled with ropes of magnetic flux, filled the world around her with a complex, dynamic, three dimensional tapestry. She could hear the roar of the great gas founts, smell the stale photons diffusing out toward space from the remote core.

She felt as if she were alone in some huge cavern. Looking up she could see how the photosphere formed a glowing roof over her world perhaps fifty thousand miles above her, and the inner radiative zone was a shining, impenetrable sea another fifty thousand miles beneath her. The radiative zone was a ball of plasma which occupied eighty percent of the Sun’s diameter — with the fusing core itself buried deep within — and the convective zone was a comparatively thin layer above the plasma, with the photosphere a crust at the boundary of space. She could see huge waves crossing the surface of the radiative-zone “sea”: the waves were g-modes — gravity waves, like ocean waves on Earth — with crests thousands of miles across, and periods of days.

Lieserl? Can you hear me? Are you all right?

She thrust her arms down by her sides and swooped up into the convective-zone “air”; she looped the loop backwards, letting the floor and roof of this cavern world wheel around her. She opened up her new senses, so that she could feel the turbulence of the gas, with its almost terrestrial density, as a breeze against her skin, and the warm glow of hard photons diffusing out from the core was no more than a gentle warmth against her face.

Lieserl?

She suppressed a sigh.

“Yes. Yes, Kevan. I’m perfectly all right.”

Damn it, Lieserl, you’re going to have to respond properly. Things are difficult enough without —

“I know. I’m sorry. How are you feeling, anyway?”

Me? I’m fine. But that’s hardly the point, is it? Now come on, Lieserl, the team here are getting on my back; let’s run through the tests.

“You mean I’m not down here to enjoy myself?”

The tests, Lieserl.

“Yeah. Okay, electromagnetic first.” She adjusted her sensorium. “I’m plunged into darkness,” she said drily. “There’s very little free radiation at any frequency — perhaps an X-ray glow from the photosphere; it looks a little like a late evening sky. And — ”

Come on, Lieserl. We know the systems are functioning. I need to know what you see, what you feel.

“What I feel?”

She spread her arms and sailed backwards through the buffeting air. She opened her eyes again.

The huge semistable convection cells around her reached from the photosphere to the base of the convective zone; they buffeted against each other like living things, huge whales in this insubstantial sea of gas. And the honeycomb of activity was driven by the endless flux of energetic photons out of the radiative sea of plasma beneath her.

“I feel wonderful,” she said. “I see fountains. A cave-full of them.”

Good. Keep talking, Lieserl. You know what we’re trying to achieve here; your senses — your Virtual senses — are composites, constructs from a wide variety of inputs. I can see the individual elements are functioning; what I need to know is how well the Virtual sensorium is integrating —

“Fine.” She rolled over onto her belly, so that she was gliding face-down, surveying the plasma sea below her.

Lieserl, what now?

She adjusted her eyes once more. The flux tubes came into prominence, solidifying out of the air; beyond them the convective pattern was a sketchy framework, overlaid. “I see the magnetic flux,” she reported. “I can see what I want to see. It’s all working the way it’s supposed to, I think; I can pick out whatever feature of the world I choose, here.”

“World”?

“Yes, Kevan.” She glanced up at the photosphere, the symbolic barrier separating her forever from the Universe of humanity. “This is my world, now.”

Maybe, just don’t lose yourself down there, Lieserl.

“I won’t.”

It sounded as if there was some sympathy in his voice — knowing Kevan, there probably was; they had grown almost close in the few days she’d had left after her tour with him around the Sun.

But it was hard to tell. The communication channel linking them was a path through the wormhole, from the Interface fixed among the habitats outside the Sun to the portal which had been dropped into the Sun, and which now sustained her. The comms link was ingenious, and seemed reliable, but it wasn’t too good at relaying complex intonations.

Tell me about the flux tubes.

The tubes were each a hundred yards broad, channels of magnetic energy cutting through the air; they were thousands of miles long, and they filled the air around her, all the way down to the plasma sea.

Lieserl dipped into a tube, into its interior; she felt the tingle of enhanced magnetic strength. She lowered her head and allowed herself to soar along the length of the tube, so that its walls rushed past her, curving gracefully. “It’s terrific,” she said. “I’m in an immense tunnel; it’s like a fairground ride. I could follow this path all the way round the Sun.”