‘I would die to protect this place.’

That caused Mum to frown.

But she said nothing, since a group of Pilots was passing by, conversing in rapid Aeternum. And a few moments later, a female voice called down from an overhead balcony.

‘Miranda Blackstone, is that you?’

‘Laura?’

Mum’s smile was glowing, and Roger could see how she must have looked when younger, say about his age now. She waited for the woman, Laura, to descend on a floating disk.

They hugged, then:

‘This is my son, Roger.’

‘No! But you’re so—Well. I’m pleased to meet you, Roger.’

‘Ma’am.’

They shook hands, the ancient ritual strange to Roger.

‘We have so much to catch up on,’ said Laura. ‘There’s a new trade hall that I’m heading for right now, and we can have a meal there: lunch, breakfast, dinner, whatever.’

Was there no standard time for the city? Or perhaps it was obvious that the Blackstones were newly arrived from realspace, from some arbitrary timezone on a world with an arbitrary rotation period. He could learn so much just by talking to people - but Mum and Laura looked brimming with words, anecdotes and reminiscences waiting to spill out, tales of people and places that had no relevance to him. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear; but the best way for old friends to catch up is alone.

‘I’m perfectly happy,’ he said, ‘to wander the city by myself.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Laura. ‘I mean- Miranda?’

‘No, I . . . Is that what you’d prefer, Roger?’

‘Definitely. Why don’t you two go off and catch up?’

‘If you’re certain, then.’

‘Here.’ Laura pointed, and Roger’s tu-ring flared orange. ‘Directions to where we’ll be. Or just ask anyone. We’ll be in the Keynes Centre, just off Feigenbaum Flowbridge.’

‘I love the names.’

‘You’ll grow used to them.’

There were so many places to stroll. After an hour of dazzling, mind-bending sights, he settled down for a cup of jantrasta in a golden building where he sat on the ceiling - from the perspective of the atrium he had entered by - watching others walk up walls or along landings that turned through paradoxical angles. For a moment he was struck by the sight of a wide-shouldered young woman in a black jumpsuit, with some kind of firearm tagged to her hip. She looked at him, broadcasting a sense of physicality; and they smiled at each other, in a moment of connection that might have led somewhere, if the universe had been different.

Then several other Pilots similarly dressed joined her, she nodded, and they departed together, heading in the direction of Hilbert Hall. A fleeting near-encounter that would never have a follow-on: just one of the many odd things that seemed to happen the more he opened his senses to this place.

‘Military,’ said a voice behind him.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Those people in black.’ It was a shaven-headed man who was standing there. ‘They’re military, or the closest thing we have to it.’

‘Uh . . . Right.’

‘You’re wondering how I know you’re new here.’ The man smiled. ‘Believe me, it shows. I remember how it was for me.’

He was blocky, his sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms cabled with muscle.

‘There’s no shame in it,’ said Roger.

‘My point exactly. My name’s Max, Max Gould.’

‘Roger Blackstone.’

‘So you live on a realspace world? Er, you mind if I join you?’

Max sat down - or up, whatever you called it, since when you craned your head back, there were upside-down people walking above you - and ordered a drink. It rotated into existence in mid-air, just above his outstretched hand, and he grasped it.

Roger had failed to manage the procedure so smoothly.

‘I live on Fulgor, if you know of it,’ he said.

‘Oh, yes. I visited Petrurb, years ago. Love the quickstone buildings.’

‘That’s in Tarquil,’ said Roger. ‘I learned to speak Quitalan in school, but not very well.’

‘Hmm. So how are you finding Aeternum, using it for real? You sound practised enough.’

‘If I stick to Core Aeternum, I get by. So far.’

‘Taking on new upgrades gets ever harder.’ Max sipped, put the cup down - or up, whichever - on the table. ‘Anyone who’s been on a high-distortion geodesic knows how it goes, especially a hellflight.’

‘Catching up on a century’s worth of language changes . . . That must be interesting.’

‘I’ve only done it once, to that extent. All I can say is, I’m glad I had the experience, and I’m far too old to repeat it.’

‘Wow.’ Roger wondered what it would be like, not just to fly a ship, but to follow time-distorting trajectories that took you out of synch with everyone you knew at home. ‘I can’t imagine.’

He looked inside his cup. Empty. A refill might be nice - except that he was conversing with a stranger who had simply sat down, seemingly open but with enough personal power to mask an ulterior agenda.

Dad had said his cover needed to remain intact. So far, this Max had asked nothing about Roger’s family; but it was an obvious way for the conversation to go next.

‘Anyway.’ With an abrupt wrist-twist, Max caused his drink to rotate from existence. ‘It was nice talking to you, but I have a meeting I need to attend.’

He stood up, and held out his hand.

‘Er, right.’ Not sure of the protocol, Roger stood also. ‘Nice to—’

They clasped hands.

Max’s grip was unbreakable.

‘What—?’

Something, a dislocation in space, revolved around them. Fastpath rotation. Then Max released his hold.

They tumbled into a steel-lined vault.

‘Steady on,’ said Max. ‘You’re fine.’

‘Where the hell have you taken me?’

‘You know the meeting I said I have to attend?’

‘Huh?’

‘This is it.’ Max gestured, and a portion of wall melted away. ‘Tell me what you see.’

It was a maelstrom of black chaos, a thunderstorm in a cell, a whirlwind of black nothingness: a hypergeometric storm, at whose centre slumped a small figure bound in a flowmetal chair.

‘What is all that?’ Roger took several steps back. ‘What’s going on in there?’

The blackness battered against some invisible barrier as if trying to get out.

‘So you do see it.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘All I see,’ said Max, gesturing for the wall to reform, ‘is an exhausted prisoner, seated in an otherwise empty cell.’

The darkness continued to rage, as the gap dwindled, the wall shutting out the maelstrom once more.

‘Who are you? Is Max Gould your real name?’

‘More or less, and I’m a friend of your father’s. From your reactions, you perceive the threat more easily than he could have. Many times more clearly.’

‘Threat?’ But he could not help looking at the wall, wondering whether it could hold against the massive forces behind it. ‘What threat?’

‘It would be best for Carl,’ said Max, ‘if you didn’t go into details of what you’ve seen.’

‘Best for Dad how? How could this cause him trouble?’

‘There’s a possibility it might trigger, well, some odd and dangerous reactions. I cannot explain further, but understand I’m telling the truth.’

‘As you have so far?’

‘Exactly so. Now, shall we go and see him?’

‘See Dad?’

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

They swirled into a conference chamber, where Dad leaped from a chair at their appearance.

‘Roger! What are you- How did you get here?’

‘We had a nice chat,’ said Max. ‘He’s a fine young man.’

‘Thank you, Commodore, but I happen to know that.’

Roger noted the rank: Commodore.

Perhaps he needed to remain quiet for now.

‘Right. So, Roger Blackstone.’ Max’s eyes were compelling. ‘Since you have the makings of a fine Pilot, exactly what purpose are you about to devote your life to?’