—We form a war council, Ulfr. Soon we will meet together, the first of us.

—What war?

—I believe you know, inside yourself.

This was impossible, even for dreamworld.

—No. I need to wake up.

—You will awaken later. For now, just wait.

He stared around, looking for a weapon. Then it came to him that he was not under attack, not truly. And finally he realized that he had not taken a breath since this place had appeared.

When he tried, there was nothing to breathe; yet his body did not panic.

—So we wait. What for?

—Two of our comrades.

He nodded, composing himself.

—There is no hurry.

The crystalline woman smiled.

TWENTY-ONE

FULGOR, 2603 AD

Rafaella exulted. Inside her cache was the fragmented self of Daniel Deighton, or more precisely the quantum state of his plexweb at the instant of his death. Soon she would loose it from the cache, letting it flood through her; but first she would sink deeply into code-trance, performing the trickiest of mindhacks as she cleared space inside her own brain-plus-plexweb, a psychocomputational feat impossible to explain to a non-Luculentus.

Soon, though, she would face the problems that had doomed her predecessor, Rafael - extending her neurocognitive capacity to handle her enlarged mind. In his case, there had been a network of distributed plexcores buried in many locations; and the need to avoid lightspeed delays had been the proximate cause of his death, for he had relied on comms relays using processors in mu-space, controlled by Pilots.

I have more resources than you ever had, sweet teacher.

She settled down in lotus position, on the median strip of carpet that ran along the south wing’s main corridor. It pleased her to command the carpet to flow, bearing her along as she closed her eyes and sank deep inside her awareness.

A faint ting at the edge of consciousness indicated a comms request. So soon after Daniel Deighton’s death? She would need to answer.

‘Hello, ma’am,’ said a pretty young woman in Skein.

‘Your ident says you’re Alisha Spalding.’ Rafaella spoke, but only in Skein; in reality, her lips did not move. ‘You’re a student . . . and soon to be upraised.’

‘Yes, ma’am. That’s why I hoped I could prevail on you for a favour, if you’re the kind of person who likes lecturing to interested audiences.’

‘I presume you already know that I am. And you’d like to engage me as a guest speaker?’

‘With expenses reimbursed, of course.’

Rafaella considered the young woman’s soft, ripe mind and the ease with which she could plunge inside her plexnodes. But there were two problems: one was the use of in-Skein protocols instead of direct person-to-person tightcode, leaving data that might be traced by forensic specialists; the other was the lack of a true plexweb - because the girl was not yet a Luculenta - rendering her a delicious short-term snack that would in the aftermath feel empty.

‘Of course. And do you have a subject in mind?’

‘Perhaps the hyperdimensionality of realspace would interest you enough to—’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But some of your past research in architectural frames used n-dimensional techniques that included Calabi-Yau perspectives for the transfer of load. At the sub-femtoscopic it matters because—’

‘In fact I do recall my own work, but it’s no longer of interest.’

‘Oh. I was so hoping to see a true Luculenta not just demonstrating in-depth understanding, but presenting it in a way that simpler minds could grasp.’

‘You say that with a straight face, Ms Spalding. So, all right.’ She had decided: this morsel was for later, not now. ‘Give me some interesting analysis of your own, some original work on the topic, and share it with me.’

‘But it’s your thoughts we’d—’

‘And I’ll explicitly acknowledge your contribution as a collaborator. That’s my condition.’

‘Well . . . Thank you.’

‘Call me when you’ve got something. Endit.’

The virtual holo disappeared from Rafaella’s awareness.

Now I’m alone.

‘House, give me privacy for one hour.’

In lotus, she sank her chin and closed her eyes, deep into trance. She felt like a miner excavating the caverns of her own mind, chipping and picking away at internal walls, rearranging her geometry of self. And then she was ready.

To enjoy!

Her internal buffer screamed.

Come to me, Daniel Deighton.

And he burst out, flooding into her; she yelled in ecstasy.

You’re mine!

A tsunami of pleasure, orders of magnitude beyond anything before, crashed through her.

You’re the first.

She cried out again as cognitive patterns and raw emotions swirled and tore inside her.

The first of so very many.

It was profoundly satisfying. Yet she remained so hungry.

I could eat the world.

And soon perhaps she would.

Behind the study hall was a bluegrass park bordered with indigo trees. Alisha stepped out of the building and onto the grass, and considered kicking off her shoes, or commanding them to dissolve into her other garments. Whether her conversation with Luculenta Rafaella Stargonier had been success or failure, she was not sure; but the outcome was certainly a challenge

New research. For a guest speaker’s talk.

It was not as if Alisha was aiming to get a doctorate in the subject. On the other hand, if she managed to impress such a Luculenta, there would be tangible advantages.

Across the park, she could see Dr Helsen talking to a burly man. Thinking back, Alisha recalled her first sight of Helsen from the saucer-balcony, and the way that Roger had stared at both her and - yes, this same man.

Blinking her smartlenses to magnify, Alisha lipread Helsen’s words.

‘—to make the call, Greg. Now we wait to . . . Look, there she is.’

Shit.

Alisha double-blinked back to normal vision. Helsen was waving at her.

They were talking about me.

She advanced toward them. Helsen came to meet her, while the man - Greg, presumably - stayed where he was.

So she won’t have to introduce you?

‘Alisha. I was wondering if you’d been able to contact Rashella Stargonier.’

‘Yes, although that’s not her name.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘She’s Luculenta Rafaella Stargonier now. A recent change.’

Trained to notice minutiae, Alisha noted the dilation of Helsen’s irises, a fifth of a second before she looked down to her right.

Surprised pleasure?

It was an odd reaction.

‘But you’ve talked to her,’ said Helsen. ‘Did she say yes?’

Now her tonality was lower and slower, as if fighting hesitation. As if puzzled by something.

‘No, but she didn’t turn me down outright. I’ve got to do some work to impress her.’

‘Well . . .’

‘And I’d like to do it. In fact I’m determined to, Dr Helsen.’

‘Good for you, Alisha. Let me . . . Let me know how you get on.’

‘Of course, Doctor.’

‘Then I’ll let you go. See you tomorrow.’

Helsen turned and walked away. The man, Greg, was already gone. Maybe waiting to meet up with Helsen out of sight?

Why would he do that?

But it was strange, the disappointment in Helsen’s voice, as if she had expected more from Alisha’s call to the Luculenta.

I wish Roger was here.

Speaking of strange, why had he seemed so withdrawn and jumpy the night before leaving on holiday? And on a sudden offworld trip with his parents, so soon after the semester’s start.