Because this was a Zajinet vessel, no Pilot ship, and the aliens’ major weapon systems appeared to be powered down – but that was no guarantee because some energies could be loosed with almost no warning. The one certain way to destroy the bastards was before they saw you.

Then a signal from Jakob sounded loud.

**What is your purpose, Zajinets? Know that the realspace-tan-gential planet is maximally dangerous.**

So Jakob was trying to warn them about Fulgor. All very well, if you assumed the Zajinets were not on the Anomaly’s side; but after four centuries of contact, was there a single Pilot or ordinary human who could claim to truly understand even the simplest Zajinet communication? Never mind their hidden motives and political manoeuvring.

<<Cold black is yes.>>

<<Safe is not here or there.>>

<<Black cold a bad awakening.>>

<<Brace for reception.>>

With no change in trajectory, the Zajinet vessel continued to draw near. Piet-and-ship remained the closest among the Pilot squadron, which meant they would be first to die; and how else could you analyse the situation?

**Stay back.**

That was Jakob’s command, having no effect on the approaching ship. The follow-up was to his fellow Pilots:

**Make ready but do not power up your resonator cavities.**

Piet and ship had already followed the first part of that command, hearing but not processing the second, because – look! – something was happening, and this was it – now – the moment for proving courage.

<<Cannot.>>

<<Receive/refuse not.>>

<<Your kind is reason.>>

<<Refuse not.>>

The smooth Zajinet hull was cracking open, and no one but Piet-and-ship had noticed.

It’s firing!

I see it, my love.

Piet-and-ship kicked hard into a swooping geodesic that led closer to the Zajinet ship and the risk was huge—

**Hold back. Gunnarsson, hold back!**

—with some kind of defensive sparkling around the target’s hull as something launched but whatever was about to happen the rest of the squadron had to live – Alice, if only – and ship-and-Piet filled with massive build-up, acceleration bringing the enemy closer, close enough to be sure – aim now – and then there was a mental shout of triumph and release – yes! – as resonator cavities let loose and energy burst out in one massive pulse with Piet-and-ship arcing side-ways and hoping for escape while not betting on it since the point was the Zajinets must die and here came the explosion now.

Like a many-dimensioned snowflake formed of fire.

Beautiful flames, denoting death.

We did it, my love.

Yes, we did.

More vessels came out of nowhere, shimmering into existence, and for a moment Piet-and-ship panicked; but it was Alice and the Pilots she commanded, come in response presumably to a cross-continuum signal blasted through by Jakob or one of the others.

**What the bloody hell?**

A long dark tube, glistening like a beetle’s carapace, was skimming through golden space towards Alice’s ship. Piet felt terrified, enough to twitch right out of conjunction trance, just for a moment. He sent a desperate signal:

**It’s a Zajinet torpedo!**

Alice, in danger. He had killed the vessel but failed to stop the—

**Piet, stay back.**

Ship-and-Piet, reintegrating, slowed to take a long, curving glide around the cloud of glowing debris, all that remained of the Zajinet vessel – we got them! – while desperately trying to scan the tube like object that Alice was snagging, controlling, bringing alongside her ship.

**Oh, Piet, you fool. You bloody stupid fool.**

**Alice! What are you doing?**

It was slipping through her hull’s event membrane – allowed inside! – through a dilated opening into a cargo bay, then hidden as everything closed up once more. Had Alice really just taken an alien bomb on board her ship?

Shining light accompanied her disappearance, as she transited back to realspace.

What’s going on?

I don’t know.

After a moment to prepare, ship-and-Piet did likewise, following Alice’s insertion angle.

Black space and silver stars surrounded them.

Alice broadcast a realtime image of her cargo bay’s interior, as ship’s bulkheads extruded tendrils with fractal branching fingers to explore the torpedo-like object’s hull. It did not take the tendrils long to crack the thing open, because that was what the tube was intended to do: split itself apart in order to deliver the contents.

Oh, no.

Which were not a detonating weapon, not at all.

Another screw-up.

Revealed was a dark-clothed man in a foetal position: a man who began to tremble and shiver, eyelids flickering. Within a minute, he was mostly awake.

‘H hello?’ he said in Spanalian.

‘You’re safe.’ Alice appeared on the edge of the holo image, having left her control cabin to enter the cargo bay. ‘You’re safe, my friend.’

‘Yes. Saved. Me.’

‘Who saved you? And who are you?’

‘T-Tannier. Peacekeeper. Molsin.’

A survivor of the catastrophic fighting among Molsin’s sky-cities! That was incredible. But how could the man be inside a—?

‘Zajinets. S-saved me.’

Piet Gunnarsson felt his personal universe collapse.

SIX

THE WORLD, 5570 AD

The desert excavation was huge, lit primarily by the silvery light of Magnus which, like the other two visible moons, was almost full. Only Magnus showed, as it always did, black filigree across its shining disc. Here, it was cool enough to work comfortably from a while before midnight until pre-dawn; but the teams were dedicated and the shifts were long, often starting when the night air retained its warm edge.

From time to time, Seeker had wondered about Starij and Kolarin, whether their leadership style was too harsh; but when he checked, no trace of disgruntled flux leaked from the working men and women. All two hundred were volunteers, everyone’s skin showing as polished silver, a sign of health and tranquillity, not to mention excitement about their goal.

What lay beneath the heavy, compacted sands was a trove of Ideas whose trapped flux tantalised him even during the day while he slept, enthralling him in dreams as well as wake-fulness. But this was not just whorls of flux, fragments of knowledge floating on the winds – these Ideas were trapped within a buried, ancient vessel capable of flying across the voids of space, out among the moons and stars; and that vessel’s existence was a startling concept in its own right.

This night, Seeker had arisen early, and remembered staring at his hand for a disconcerting moment in the moonlight as he woke, seeing only living crystal before the tag-end of his daymare faded. By the time he sat down to breakfast, algal flakes and sweet pear milk as usual here in camp, all dreams were forgotten.

Now, as he watched the excavating teams at work – at the moment, they required no Seeker’s guidance – he sensed an approaching female presence before she rounded a sandstone pillar and walked into view, pulling down the hood that had covered her head. Not one of the volunteers, then, for Seeker knew them all.

**The work proceeds well, Seeker?**

He did not know her, but a Seeker always dealt politely with strangers.

**It seems that way. Does the project interest you?**

It was a long trek from the nearest cavern town. Although supply caravans were a regular feature these nights, pure visitors to the project were rare. Not everyone shared a Seeker’s need to pull Ideas into mind, to knit Ideas into Themes, to revel in knowledge.