Luckily, autohypnosis is a basic part of Labyrinthine education.

‘Thank you,’ he says to Xala, as if grateful. ‘Press here?’

‘That’s right.’

He takes his time lying back on the couch and getting comfortable, while his internal voice talks his divided self through progressive relaxation with definite commands – move your hand – designed to kick in if he senses danger or ambient mu-space – remember to move your hand – before pressing the stud and falling backwards into sleep.

]]]

Roger shivered at the memory of risk, although it predated his own birth by more than a standard decade, therefore his father had clearly survived whatever followed. Only selective mindwipe had rendered those memories inaccessible to Carl, even when conjoined with his beloved ship, who retained these fragments in her own deep unconscious.

It was strange to immerse himself in his father’s memories of Molsin, after his own experiences there last year.

sequence [[[

Golden sleep, and his hand is rising, reaching for the delta band—

Coldness.

—and falls, as they drop straight away into realspace once more. Perhaps they were in mu-space for longer than it seems: perhaps it took time for the suggestion to kick in, to remove the band and come awake while the others slept.

He feels a hand on his forehead, and the delta-band comes off.

‘—are we?’ someone was saying.

It is the father of the family, Carl realises, squinting his way to wakefulness. They are in a cabin formed of something akin to flowmetal, but not a material used by Pilots.

A Zajinet ship. It was always a possibility.

But he had not intended to sleep in coma while surrounded by wakened human criminals, never mind the Zajinet crew, and even the ship itself: Zajinet vessels are mystery.

‘What kind of a ship is this?’ asks someone.

‘Ain’t no kind of ship at all,’ says one of the pseudo-priests. ‘It’s a robbery.’

Someone has already pocketed the funds paid in advance. Do the passengers really have anything worth stealing? Worth setting up a real voyage with Zajinets?

‘No robbery,’ says Xala. ‘That’s not it at all.’

Carl misinterpreted the hard man: it was not a threat but an assessment.

‘We have a little problem,’ Xala continues. ‘Someone isn’t who they claim to be.’

Oh, shit.

He feels the pulse behind his eyes, energy building up. His tu-ring is ready to cut loose.

‘Someone’s not quite human.’ Xala nods to the nearest bulkhead. ‘So they tell me.’

Zajinets could sense Pilots. Of course they could.

Ready.

But the chances of being able to fly a Zajinet vessel, even if he can take out the crew without causing damage to the ship, are minimal. And then there is the family, with children he will not allow to be harmed.

The fake priests are sitting up but saying nothing, analysing the situation.

All except one.

No!

Carl sees it now, the thing that the Zajinets must already have sensed: the shards of darkness, twisting. The sense of something deep and awful controlling what might once have been a normal man; or perhaps there had to be something odd about a person to render them vulnerable to such manipulation.

Greybeard.

It is stronger now, the darkness, as Greybeard stands amid glimmering smartmist, ready to destroy everyone. For the sake of visible persuasion, he grabs Xala by the throat one-handed, while keeping hold of the carry-case he has had all along; but the smartmist is the deadly threat.

Carl should have seen this coming.

But the darkness . . .

It’s a weird, faint phenomenon – and for now, irrelevant.

Everyone is holding still, Scarface included. Even Xala is not struggling, for the one-handed pinch-hold around her throat is to intimidate, not kill. Not yet.

‘No need to speak, sweetheart,’ Greybeard tells her. ‘It’s your weird-minded masters I’m talking to. You hear me, Zajinets?’ Then, to Scarface and the other hard men: ‘Change of plans. We’re going to drop off the case all right’ – he hefts it briefly, his other hand still firm against Xala’s throat, fingers and thumb ready to pinch the larynx fatally shut – ‘but not on Nerokal Tertius. And you bastards are not coming with me.’

As their faces tighten, Greybeard adds: ‘You’ve already been paid, so nothing else matters. Check it now.’

There are glances exchanged and holovolumes opened, and nods among the hard men.

‘I don’t like threats,’ says Scarface.

‘Me neither,’ answers Greybeard. ‘But that doesn’t— Oh, look. One of the xeno bastards is here.’

A section of wall is flowing open, revealing a shining scarlet lattice-form. On the deck lies a pile of what looks like blue sand. Zajinets clothe themselves in solid material, but perhaps they act more freely in their natural form.

Pretty much everything Carl knows about Zajinets is conjecture.           <<Darkness will not flee.>>           <<Weak agents so we do not care.>>           <<Strength in coherence.>>           <<Beware the light.>>

As a Zajinet communication it is typical, perhaps clearer than the average, but useless to Carl.

‘I think you’re bluffing.’ Greybeard squeezes Xala. ‘I think you care what happens to her.’ He speaks as if he understands the Zajinet.

You know the lightning.

The words are a splinter of memory, from one of his Tangleknot instructors.

You know how fast it moves.

So often there have been misunderstandings and violence between Pilots and Zajinets, though it has never spilled over into protracted military engagements. Can they be allies here?

Xala’s scalp tattoos are writhing in response to her agitation.

Become the lightning.

Then Greybeard’s tu-ring shines, and the Zajinet’s lattice-form jumps in the air and pulses – as if receiving a shock – before returning to its normal steady shine.           <<Entanglement is mutual.>>           <<Beware beware beware.>>           <<Agree to projection.>>           <<Severance or mutual death.>>

Carl holds back, tensing with the effort. The Zajinet is somehow entangled now with Greybeard’s tu-ring. Any attack on Greybeard will injure the Zajinet also.

‘Drop me off where I tell you,’ says Greybeard. ‘And I’ll release the link and you go on your way, everyone safe and sound.’

He releases Xala. She slumps to the deck.

‘Do the honours, will you?’ Greybeard adds to Scarface. ‘Delta-bands for everyone. We’re flying onwards now.’

The Zajinet drifts out, ignoring the pile of blue sand on the deck.

‘You don’t look very scared.’

Shit.

Greybeard is addressing him.

‘I-I’m scared.’ The shake in his voice is easy to produce. ‘Believe me.’

‘Good.’

All around, Scarface is pressing people’s delta-bands, sending them back into sleep. When everyone but he, Carl and Greybeard are under, Scarface says: ‘You’ll be last to activate the band, is that it? While we’re helpless.’

‘You’ve been paid and you’re safe. If I needed to kill you, I could do it now.’

Scarface nods. ‘All right.’

Greybeard and Scarface turn to look at Carl. He has no choice but to lie back, check the delta-band is snug on his forehead, and put his finger on the activation stud; but he does not press down. He hears the two men lie down, and senses the activation of their delta-bands; then he opens his eyes.

Transition.

It is like liquid amber filling the air: spacetime as it is meant to be, the fractal freedom that exhilarates. Carl swings himself off the couch and onto his feet.

He is in his element, but so is the Zajinet crew. Through the still-open doorway he finds a short corridor and follows it, entering a round windowless chamber where three Zajinets are floating. One is blue tinged with green; another is green tinged with blue.