Watching from a stable dais where reality is not shifting, the humans witness two Zajinets (one scarlet, one blue) in their fiery trace form, while the audience/witnesses/congregation are clothed in sculpture forms, using everything from naked rock to decorated ceramic spheres.

<< . . .preserve . . .>>

<< . . .in finding, hold onto . . .>>

<< . . .converse manifests . . .>>

<< . . .obliterate . . .>>

<< . . .a focus . . .>>

The first Zajinet’s legal adversary – or whatever it is – blasts a reply:

<< . . .single thread! . . .>>

<< . . .single thread! . . .>>

<< . . .saved softly in confusing dark . . .>>

<< . . .their only hope . . .>>

Lila, her hair a shining violet today, examines a small disc embedded in her glove.

‘One of them’ – Lila points – ‘we’ve dealt with before. The other Zajinet’s a stranger.’

A wave pattern shimmers in the air between the Zajinets, linking the scarlet and the blue; then it fades. Each Zajinet twists, shrinks to a point, and is gone.

As the other Zajinets flicker out, the humans wonder what the hell they have just witnessed.

Aware that he had to return to Tangleknot, Roger transferred to the narrative outline level and jumped far ahead, to an UNSA base in Arizona, Earth, on the day that Ro’s twin sons, Dirk and Kian, were to attempt their first flights into mu-space, knowing nothing of the bombs planted in their ships.

Three viewpoints were tagged with high priorities. Roger opened them all.

Up in the control tower, Deirdre Dullaghan, the twins’ closest friend, stands next to Chief Controller Bratko. From here, through blue-tinted windows, the poised ship appears to be dark metal banded with black, though her true colours are bronze and dark turquoise.

‘—clearing you to go,’ says one of the controllers.

Pale flames expand into brightness at the rear. The vessel rocks, straining against the brakes.

‘My God,’ says Deirdre. ‘Will you look at that.’

‘Makes my heart thud,’ says Bratko. ‘Every single time.’

Then he is leaning forward. Two of the controllers rise from their seats.

A lone man is sprinting towards the runway.

‘Who the hell is—?’

‘Dirk.’ Deirdre is unnaturally calm. ‘Something’s wrong.’

‘Shut down,’ commands Bratko. ‘Immediate shut down.’

The controllers work the system, their movements frantic.

‘No response. Main thruster’s still burning.’

‘Shit.’

In the Pilot’s control couch, Kian closes his eyes.

‘Pulse engines are go.’

Here the engine roar is muted. Status displays brighten. His ship is straining against the leash. But even with all that happening, his inductive senses can reach beyond the hull, because he is a twin, and he knows when his brother is near.

Dirk is running hard and scared.

‘Control? Come in, control,’ says Kian, then switches his focus to the ship. ‘On-board command: shutdown-shutdown-shutdown.’

Nothing. No comms response, no reaction from his ship.

Some processes, once started, cannot be stopped.

*

Dirk’s legs are pumping as he runs, filled with adrenaline, red-lining the anaerobic systems of his body because the bomb is concealed within the starboard delta-wing, and there can be only seconds left before – no! – a percussive blast slams him to the ground – Kian! – but it is the engines, kicking up to a new level of thrust, and the bastard thing has not exploded yet. He is on hands and knees, blood dripping everywhere, and whatever he does he will have to do from here.

It begins as a pulse inside his head, the build-up of energy from the satanin-satanase reaction. An onlooker would see glimmering sparks of gold inside his obsidian eyes, brightening further, vision inoperative as both eyes shine, yellow and lupine; and then he lets rip – careful – but keeping control as he senses the device’s counter-measures – there – and fights them down because detonation is the last thing he wants – got it – and the detonator circuits die, but the bastard thing is dangerous still. The next priority is to get it off the ship.

A dorsal hatch opens, and Kian looks out, sees Dirk and senses the situation, and uses his inductive senses to work the ship’s systems directly, causing an access hatch to pop open beneath the starboard wing. Working with him, Dirk disables the bomb’s electromagnets as he runs forward once more, and is in time to catch the deadly white box as it drops from its hiding place.

Heavy as a bastard.

Up in the control tower, they must have seen something was wrong, because emergency TDVs are hurtling across the runway, strobing orange. Within seconds, the lead vehicle has screeched to a halt.

‘Hey pal, you OK?’

‘Get away!’ Dirk swings the heavy bomb – and himself – on board the vehicle’s flat bed. ‘Get us the hell away from here!’

‘Bozhe moi, you got it!’

The driver spins his TDV on the spot, then accelerates away from the runway, heading for the airbase boundary and the red Mars-like desert beyond.

*

But this was no single-pronged attack. Up in the sky, two shapes are growing larger; and everyone knows that the airspace should be clear when there are UNSA launches scheduled.

Kian slides back into the control seat.

‘Oh, God.’

The brakes come free and his ship begins to roll.

At the boundary the TDV brakes, its thermoacoustic motor whining. The driver calls: ‘You all right up there, pal? If you want, I could—’

But Dirk has already flung the bomb away.

‘Take us back,’ he yells. ‘Don’t hang around.’

‘Bozhe moi!’

After the explosion, a black twisting column of smoke crawls up into the sky . . . where two vessels are growing much larger, their target clear.

Kian’s ship is still on the runway, accelerating.

The first intruder ship lets rip with an energy beam, missing Kian’s ship but ploughing a trench in the runway before it, causing Kian to brake. His ship howls as it pulls off to the side, coming to a halt.

As the enemy ship banks, ready to curve back on a strafing run, the second intruder flies diagonally behind it: two sets of weapon systems on the brink of cutting loose.

Seconds remain, no more.

Then a new vessel bursts out of the sun, shining silver and delta-winged, its graser-gatlings splitting the air, and the paired intruders have no chance.

Both Zajinet ships explode.

Standing beside the TDV, the driver wipes grease from his forehead.

‘And what the Devil was that silver ship?’

Dirk’s laugh is shaky but proud.

‘That was my mother.’

Roger switched back to overview. The main narrative thread proceeded with the twins’ friend Deirdre delivering a massive kick in the groin to one of the controllers, Solly, who had planted bombs in both ships. A military team disarmed the second bomb. Roger really had to go, but he could not take this crystal with him – no personal possessions were allowed in Tangleknot, plus any item was subject to long examination before being brought inside. He tried to work out the minimum he must experience in order to understand the point.