Mum kept her voice low as she talked to Dad.

‘Varlan didn’t want us to hang around, did he?’

‘Probably Helena was giving him a hard time.’

‘So when you and Varlan talked in private . . . Was there anything Roger and I should know?’

‘No. Maybe.’

He looked bereft. For a moment, Roger came out of his reverie, wondering how Dad could bear to part from his ship and return to his quotidian existence down below, to his life that was one long acting performance.

After leaving the ship wearing quickglass suits as before, they had jetted to Varlan Trelayne’s orbital, where Varlan was quiet and his wife Helena once more did not appear. Meanwhile Dad’s ship returned to mu-space, to do whatever it did while waiting for his call.

‘Xavier Spalding is an interesting character,’ said Dad finally. ‘And some of his merchandise could be classified as weapon systems, in the right context on the right world.’

Roger pulled himself into the conversation.

‘You’re saying Alisha’s father is an arms dealer?’

‘That’s exaggerating Varlan’s findings. Let’s say he has more clout and more connections with interesting parts of society than you’d expect, given his respectability.’

Then Dad’s expression compressed with concentration, his gaze defocusing. An incoming private call. His throat moved with subvocalized speech. Then he spoke aloud.

‘Since this affects my family, I want them in on this.’

A real-image holo sharpened before them: the shaven head of Xavier Spalding.

‘That’s fine. If Alisha were at risk, I’d forgo all other considerations.’

‘I’m not clear what you’re offering, or the price.’

‘Future friendship is enough.’

‘That’s not specific, but anyway, in return for what?’

‘There have been certain serious crimes among Luculenti recently. Nothing made public.’

‘And you think I’m involved?’

‘If you were, Carl, I wouldn’t be warning you.’

‘Warning me about what?’

‘All arrivals at Barleysugar Spiral are being deepscanned by peacekeepers. ’

Mum sucked in air, then bit her lip.

‘That’s perfectly all right with me,’ said Dad.

‘If you’ve nothing to hide.’

‘I don’t, in fact.’

‘I mean absolutely nothing at any level, no subterfuge of any kind. Nothing to show up using the new scanners they’re deploying in public for the first time.’

Dad looked very calm.

‘Designed to counteract all known subversion and shielding methods,’ Xavier Spalding went on. ‘And since my folk had some involvement with the design, I’m rather proud of it.’

‘So why tell me?’

‘Well . . . Hello over there, Roger. Alisha seems fond of you.’

‘Er, hello, sir.’

‘Call me Xavier. And allow me to present you with a gift, Carl. And my respects to you, Mrs Blackstone.’

Dad blinked.

‘Received. Thank—’

‘Endit.’

Mum said: ‘What has he sent you, Carl?’

‘Full schematics and in-house control codes for developers.’

‘The scanner design,’ said Roger, ‘but not the shieldware?’

‘Perhaps they never coded any.’

‘So do we go back to Varlan’s place?’

‘No. Let’s not compromise him further.’

‘But if they deepscan us for real’ - Mum glanced up to her right, envisioning consequences - ‘they’ll suspect Varlan too.’

‘No, it’s okay.’ A complex three-dimensional tangle of arcs and nodes glowed above Dad’s tu-ring. ‘Our current shieldware can upgrade itself to cope.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘No. But I’ll let you know.’

Mum and Roger stared at each other.

This is nuts.

But in a few seconds, Dad was chuckling.

‘We got it, folks. The developers’ control codes swung it for us.’

‘So—?’

‘So let me deploy the deltas to your tu-rings, and we’ll be ready for them.’

Part of one wall was transparent, revealing black space and the growing orange splendour of Barleysugar Spiral.

Roger’s tu-ring chimed, acknowledging the upgrade.

‘Got it,’ he said, as Mum nodded.

‘And now we work on staying calm,’ said Dad.

They continued to drift towards Barleysugar Spiral.

Among the uniformed officers was a Luculentus in civilian clothes. His hair was coppery, intertwined with bronze wires, and he introduced himself as Superintendent Sunadomari.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Dad. ‘Is there something going on?’

‘We’re just performing extra checks.’ Sunadomari looked at one of the officers, who nodded. ‘And of course you’re fine.’

Other arrivals, newly disembarked from spaceborne bubble-capsules, were walking through checkpoints as they entered the apex lounge. Some headed for the bars or restaurants, to enjoy the view from space for a while longer; others streamed for the central column, and lined up to wait for a free descent capsule.

‘You’re not checking departures?’ asked Dad.

‘Actually, we are. Down at the surface, before they enter.’

‘Ah. That makes sense, Superintendent.’

Roger wondered where the new scanners were. From the body language of the officers, the tightening of their muscles when passengers passed through certain locations, he thought the scanners were looped in arches through the quickglass walls and ceiling. Insinuating the scanners inside the architecture was discreet - a smartmiasma would have been more obvious, though only to a minority: those with extended turing functions, and Luculenti.

‘You’ve a successful career, Mr Blackstone. I don’t suppose you’ve ever met Dianne O’Mara or Yukiko Kaku?’

‘No, I don’t believe so. What’s their line?’

‘Lab equipment, mainly, for offworld export.’

‘I’ll look out for them.’

‘Or Stephanie Argentum?’

‘Head of the Silver House?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Um, I talked to her deputy twice for short periods, a couple of years back. I can send you logs of our meetings, if it’s official. One of their subsidiaries hired me for a short project.’

‘No need.’ Sunadomari’s eyelid gave the faintest of flickers. ‘Just wondering if we had mutual acquaintances. Please have a pleasant trip home.’

‘Thank you.’

Roger followed his parents, knowing they would have seen what he had: Sunadomari accessing private logs while talking to Dad, using peacekeeper privileges. Checking Dad’s story, and fast-viewing the meeting logs.

This might have been worrying, but as they walked on he could hear the superintendent having a similar conversation with a newly arrived couple, asking about some other acquaintance they might have in common. At certain levels of commerce and society, connected-world thinking applied: on Fulgor, you were rarely more than three ‘handshakes’ removed from any chosen person.

Their descent through the shaft of Barleysugar Spiral was slow and steady: the capsule lightly scented with roses and playing soft baroque music; their conversation apparently free - wondering what the peacekeepers were up to, and whether there had been a reason for Sunadomari’s particular questions. But their choice of words and tonality - and visual expression - formed an elegant masterpiece of subterfuge, every nuance designed to convince watchers of their innocence.

Roger’s inward preoccupation would appear natural, he hoped; but no one would guess what he was thinking of: strange half-seen dreams, soundbites from odd conversations, all involving people he knew closely, yet whose names were lost to him.

Maybe I’m turning psychotic.

It could happen, though he was careful in his choice of study methods. On Earth, Dad had told him, research on ‘logotropes’, a kind of viral alternative to Luculentus plexwebs, had caused disaster. Their most able designers had fled to the world of Nulapeiron, adopting new identities among the founding colonists, hoping to continue their work. It was one of the few pieces of covert intelligence Dad had shared - dated, but still secret - and it had been to discourage Roger from trying out certain new thoughtware for Fulgidi who were desperate to enhance their minds.