“Kid, the Wars were over before I was born. All the technology — the cities, the wormhole paths across the Mantle — all of it had gone. There were just a few scraps left — like this suit, which my father salvaged.” He grinned again, his face splitting like a skull. “It used to belong to police, in one of the great cities. Police. Do you know what that means?

“The suit kept us alive — my parents and me — for a while. Then, after they were dead—”

She tried to fill her voice with contempt. “You used it to fly around the Mantle being the Hero.”

He looked angry. “Is that so terrible? At least I help people. What will you do with it, little girl?”

She reached out for him, turning her hands into claws. In a moment, she could crush the life out of his bony neck—

He returned her stare calmly, unflinching.

She tipped backwards and Waved away from him.

Thea surged along infinite corridors of vortex lines. Floating spin-spider eggs padded at her faceplate and legs. The Quantum Sea was a purple floor far below her, delimiting the yellow Air; the Crust was a complex, inverted landscape beneath which she soared.

Waving was glorious. She stared down at her silver-coated body; blue highlights from the corridors of vortex lines and the soft purple glow of the Sea cast complex shadows across her chest. Already she was moving faster than she’d ever moved in her life, and she knew she was far from exhausting the possibilities of this magical suit.

She opened her mouth and yelled, her own voice loud inside the helmet.

She flew, spiraling, around the arcing vortex lines, her suited limbs crackling with blue electron gas; breathless, she swept from the leafy fringe of the Crust forest and down, down through the Mantle, until it seemed as if she could plunge deep into the bruised-purple heart of the Quantum Sea itself.

She turned her face towards the South Pole, that place where all the vortex lines converged. She surged on through the Air, drowning her doubts — and the image of the Hero’s disquieted face — in motion.

…But there was something in her path.

Spin-web.

The web was fixed to the vortex line array by small, tight rings of webbing which encircled, without quite touching, the glowing spin-singularities. The web’s threads were almost invisible individually, but the dense mats caught the yellow and purple glow of the Mantle, so that lines of light formed a complex tapestry.

It was really very beautiful, Thea thought abstractedly. But it was a wall across the sky.

The spin-spider itself was a dark mass in the upper corner of her vision. She wondered if it had already started moving towards the point where she would impact the net — or if it would wait until she was embedded in its sticky threads. The spider looked like an expanded, splayed-open version of an Air-pig. Each of its six legs was a mansheight long, and its open maw would be wide enough to enfold her torso.

Even the suit wouldn’t protect her.

She swiveled her hips and beat at the Magfield with her legs, trying to shed her velocity. But she’d been going as rapidly as she could; she wouldn’t be able to stop in time. She looked quickly around the sky. Perhaps she could divert rather than stop, fly safely around the trap. But she couldn’t even see the edges of the web: spin-spider webs could be hundreds of mansheights across.

The web exploded out of the sky. She could see thick knots at the intersection of the threads, the glistening stickiness of the lines themselves.

She curled into a ball and tucked her suited arms over her head.

How could she have been so stupid as to fall into such a trap? Lur and Wesa, even through their tears, would think her a fool, when they heard. She imagined her father’s voice: “Always look up- and downflux. Always. If you scare an Air-piglet, which way does it move? Along the flux paths, because it can move quickest that way. And that’s why predators set their traps across the flux paths, waiting for anything stupid enough to fly straight into an open mouth…”

She wondered how long the spin-spider would take to clamber down to her. Would she still be conscious when it peeled open her Hero’s suit as if unwrapping a leaf, and began its work on her body?

…A mass came hurtling from her peripheral vision, her left, towards the web. She flinched and looked up. Had the spider left its web and come for her already?

But it was the Hero. Somehow he’d chased her, kept track of her clumsy arrowing through the sky — and all without her realizing it, she thought ruefully. He carried his sword, his shining blade of Corestuff, in his bony hand.

…But he was too late; already the first strands of webbing were clutching at her suit, slowing her savagely.

In no more than a few heartbeats she came to rest, deep inside the web. Threads descended before her face and laid themselves across her shoulders, arms and face. She tried to move, but the webbing merely tightened around her limbs. It shimmered silver and purple all around her, a complex, three-dimensional mesh of light.

The web shuddered, rattling her body inside its gleaming suit. The spin-spider was approaching her, coming for its prize…

“Thea! Thea!”

She tried to turn her head; thread clutched at her neck. The Hero was swinging his sword, hacking into the web. His muscles were knots under his leathery skin. Thea could see dangling threads brushing against the Hero’s bare arms and shoulders, one by one growing taut and then slackening as he moved on, burrowing into the layers of web.

He was cutting through the web towards her.

“Open the suit! It’s caught, but you aren’t. Come on, girl—”

She managed to raise a trembling hand to her chest. It was awkward finding the seam, with the web constantly clutching at her; but at last the suit peeled open. The soft, warm stink of spin-spider web spilled into the opened suit.

She pushed away the helmet and drew her legs out of the suit.

The Hero, his crude web-tunnel already closing behind him, held out his hand. “Come on, Thea; take hold—”

She glanced back. “But the suit—” The ancient costume looked almost pathetic, empty of life and swathed in spider-webbing.

“Forget the damn suit. There isn’t time. Come on—”

She reached out and took his hand; his palm was warm and hard. With a grunt he leaned backward and hauled her from the web; the last sticky threads clutched at her legs, stinging. When they were both clear she fell against him; breathing hard, capillaries dilated all over his thin face, the Hero wrapped his arms around her.

The tunnel in the web had already closed: all that remained of it was a dark, cylindrical path through the layers of webbing.

And, as she watched, the spin-spider’s huge head closed over the shining suit.

“I always seem to be rescuing you, don’t I?” the Hero said dryly.

“You could have saved the suit.”

He looked defensive. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You didn’t even try. Why not?”

He brushed his stiff, yellowed hair out of his eyes. He appeared old and tired. “I think I decided that the world had seen enough of that suit — enough of the Hero, in fact.”

She frowned. “That’s stupid.”

“Is it?” He brought his face close to hers. His voice hard, he said, “It was that moment when I woke to find you inside the suit. I looked through that plate and into your eyecups, Thea, and I didn’t like what I saw.”

She remembered: In a moment, she could crush the life out of his bony neck —

“I saw myself, Thea.”

She shivered suddenly, unwilling to think through the implications of his words.

“What will you do now?”

He shrugged thin shoulders. “I don’t know.” He looked at her cautiously. “I could stay with you people for a while. I’m not a bad hunter, even without the suit.”