Huddled in the shelter, there was little talk.

  Vasta seemed the most agitated, the most tense. It had been her idea to take the break, but Salma wondered if she had slept herself at all. Still, she seemed determined, if somewhat dishevelled.

  When the various domestic routines were done, it was time to face it all again.

  Salma felt oddly queasy. From the mundane to the existentially strange, in a few footsteps. A picnic breakfast to the destiny of the universe. She wondered if she would ever get used to this, despite all her years with the strangeness of Feathers.

  Or maybe that was just how it was to be a human being.

  Vasta said, ‘Time to suit up again, I guess.’

  Meriel and Doria shared a glance.

  Meriel said, ‘Elizabeth – I did think we’d take the time to talk this over before we went out there again. I mean it’s a pretty weighty encounter we’re going through, a big decision we need to make. And we’re all exhausted. I think. Overwhelmed—’

  ‘Maybe,’ Vasta said. ‘But there’s only one question we need to ask.’

  Doria frowned. ‘What question?’

  But Vasta, cool, determined, didn’t reply to that. ‘No more discussion. Let’s get this finished.’

  Meriel hesitated, then shrugged. ‘OK. I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  Outside, Terminus was waiting, as far as Salma could tell hovering in the exact same place as before their break. Salma wondered what strange communications it might have shared with its own masters while the group had slept.

  She wondered if it ever tired.

  Or he, as she persistently found herself thinking of Terminus. If he didn’t sleep, what must he be thinking, when alone?

  Did he dream? If so, what of?

  Her instinct at moments of doubt like this, through her life, had been to turn to Meriel, as a surrogate aunt if not a replacement for a parent. But Meriel was already marching, with Vasta and Doria, directly towards Terminus.

  So Salma hugged Feathers, and followed the rest.

  When they reached Terminus, Vasta took one step beyond the others and glared up.

  ‘We have a response,’ she said. ‘But first we need answers from you. Or from those who control you.’

  There is no direct control—

  She spoke over it. ‘Your objective, your first objective, in our universe is to transform our own galaxy into a creation node. A super-quasar. Correct?’

  Your language is imprecise but not incorrect.

  ‘And with time, once one node has been established – then you spread further?’

  A single creation node is enough to ensure that at least part of a cosmos has become eternal. But, yes, the adaptation would be progressed, to other locations, other galaxies.

  Vasta laughed at that, harshly. ‘A pyramid scheme. You sound like the last app that tried to sell me life insurance. And this adaptation – just considering our own galaxy – it will no longer function as a galaxy, will it? As a star-making, naturally evolved machine?’

  The normal functions of the Galaxy in that sense would be terminated for a better end.

  ‘And Earth? Earth, that unique birthing place of life – unique in our universe, anyhow?’

  The Galaxy’s transition must necessarily impede the progress of life on Earth—

  ‘Impede? Ha! There’s a sales app’s euphemistic language if ever I heard it. Earth is already being “impeded” by your clumsy toy quasar, my friend. And now we’ve seen a creation node. A planet like Earth could never survive on the fringe of a formation like that, could it? Even the radius of the Galaxy away.’

  Before the node was initiated the planet would be – could be, if chosen by you – evacuated. The inhabitants made safe.

  ‘As you’ve made Feathers’ people “safe”, have you? Where are they now? Oh, I’m sure there are a few samples safely locked inside some multiversal zoo, with other infant intelligences who have served the eternal ones’ purposes – or might, some day. While you use samples of them, like poor Feathers here, for your ends.’

  It would not be—

  ‘Even if we survived your handling, it would be the end of us as a species, wouldn’t it? In terms of our own development as a civilisation, even our future evolution. And is that not your purpose? To preserve, to sustain – but never allow to challenge?’

  She paused, walked up and down before Terminus.

  Doria muttered, ‘That grandstanding might work in some government chamber on Earth, but I’m not sure it’s going to work on Terminus and his puppet masters.’

  Meriel smiled. ‘But it’s all she’s got. And she’s magnificent. It’s a bluff, but what a bluff—’

  ‘No!’ Vasta cried now, waving a fist at Terminus. ‘No, we will not cooperate with you! We will not help you set up your eternity machines in our reality. We reject an infinite future as pets of your masters. And we will not allow you to meddle with our own galaxy. If we’re alone in our universe then it’s ours to explore, or not. And to quicken. It would be an unconscionable crime if life were, after all, able to emerge elsewhere in that sea of stars, a possibility wiped out by you, because of our collusion.’ She glared now. ‘I know we don’t have the power to defy you. And I know that I am speaking, without authority, for the whole of our species, past and future—’

  ‘Not to mention the whole damn galaxy, past and future,’ Doria muttered.

  ‘You will spare us,’ Vasta said. ‘You will abandon your attempts to build the quasar, the node. You will allow Earth to recover. No. Hear me out. You will also spare our world from twenty-five thousand years of emitted a Galaxy-core heat. All the quasar radiation that’s already crossing the Galaxy towards us. You will fix that too, as paradoxically as you like. And you will let mankind resume its course …’

  ‘You tell him,’ Doria called.

  But now Vasta seemed to be becoming exhausted, running down. Salma, holding Feathers, thought she staggered a little.

  Meriel hurried forward, put an arm around Vasta’s waist. She tapped her own helmet. ‘Enough. You made your point to Terminus. And all that’s been recorded. When we get back home, and everybody figures out what you have done today, there’ll be parades in the streets.’ She led Vasta back to the hab, slowly.

  ‘Huh. You really think so?’

  ‘I really think so. But it’s done now. Come now, sit …’

  Outside the hab’s fabric wall, Meriel helped Vasta settle on a stool. Vasta had her eyes closed.

  But she seemed to shudder. Without opening her eyes she murmured, ‘Oh, what have I done? Who am I to have negotiated away the future of the race – the world? I must go back – back to Earth. Explain all this, explain what I’ve done. Take the consequences.’

  Doria knelt before her, held her hands. ‘You were the person who was on the spot. You were the person who had to make a choice. Who else but you could have challenged Terminus? That’s who you are. And what you did.’

  Salma said, ‘She’s right.’ Hesitantly, she hugged Vasta – but Vasta remained stiff, unresponsive, her head turned away.

  ‘And,’ Meriel said now, ‘think about what you didn’t do. Maybe you could have parlayed this confrontation into a throne for yourself. There are plenty who would have. Alexander of Macedon. Genghis Khan. Napoleon. Hitler. Lawson of the Appalachians … A throne of eternity.’

  ‘Huh. I never thought of that,’ Vasta said. ‘I always figured ruling the world is an overrated ambition—’

  You will be sent home, if you wish it.

  That was Terminus.

  They turned to see. That charcoal-coloured sphere still hung imperturbably in the sky.

  Vasta seemed almost too tired to speak. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Salma took a step forward. ‘But what about Feathers? This is her home. Can she stay here?’

  That was a sudden impulse on Salma’s part, and the rest looked around at her, perhaps surprised.

  If you wish it. If she wishes it.

  ‘And I—’ She took a breath. ‘I will stay with her.’

  Meriel sighed. ‘I was fearing you might say that. Because that means I’ll be staying too.’

  ‘And me,’ said Doria. ‘Obviously.’ She smiled. ‘When you get back, Elizabeth, give my regards to Jeorg North. The bastard.’

  Salma felt overwhelmed.

  If you wish it. And.

  Vasta looked up. ‘And what?’

  If you or your descendants change your minds.

  We will be waiting.

  42

  They spent a few more days, thinking it through. Being sure.

  They put their plans, again, to Terminus.

  Again Terminus agreed to their wishes.

  And then, it seemed suddenly, came the moment when Vasta, suited up, carrying a small pack of samples, data, records, walked away from the group and stood, as instructed, directly beneath the hovering Terminus.

  In her last moments Vasta stared up at that charcoal-grey sphere, hanging in space without a tremble, as ever without visible support, a minor miracle in this arena of miracles.

  The last couple of days had been one long hug, as Vasta suspected she would always remember it. She knew she would always miss these people terribly. She had become used to their way of pitching in and working things through, rather than having to figure it all out herself as a scientist working among hostile civilians back on Earth.

  Now, whatever difficulties she faced, she would be effectively alone again – alone, among billions of humans, none of whom could possibly understand what she had been through. Alone for ever – as long as she lived.

  She touched her throat, her pendant—

  ‘No. I’m not ready—’

  She thought she felt the folding of spacetime around her—

  Year 54

  AD 2309

  43

  And she found herself standing alone on a dark plain, under a crowded sky – but a familiar sky, star-scattered, with one brilliant stand-out pinpoint, and a clutter of engineering drifting above. Dark, drab ground beneath her feet.

  This was Planet Nine, surely. That brightest star must be the Sun. She was a mere seven hundred astronomical units away from Earth, rather than universes adrift.

  She saw no signs of a human presence down here, no habitats.

  But there, yes, hanging in its stationary orbit like twin metallic moons, there was the battered old Cronus, its hulls multiply and visibly patched. When she inspected magnified images through her smart faceplate, the forward hull showed an odd yellowing to her eyes. The result of years of exposure to cosmic radiation around Nine, perhaps.

  Years. She felt an odd tug of nostalgia – and a touch of fear. Had she been so long away? Had she jumped to the far future?

  Still, there was nobody here. Nobody called.

  She was the outsider here now. She had to be patient.

  She set her suit comms system to relay a simple I’m here! message. Surely the Cronus would pick it up, if nobody closer.

  She put her one small hand-package down on the ground beside her – the familiar charcoal-black ground of Nine, the near-Earth gravity just as she remembered it. And stood there.

  She could do nothing but wait.

  Belatedly she thought to look for the quasar spot in Sagittarius. She squinted, tried to make out the constellations—

  ‘Identify yourself.’

  The sharp words, loud in her earpieces, startled her.

  Then light splashed around her.

  Looking up, the glow was dazzling. Screening it with her gloved hand, she saw a small craft descending from the sky, coming down right on top of her – no, it was a little to the side.

  ‘Nice ship. How does it work? I don’t see any thruster exhaust—’

  ‘Identify yourself.’

  A gruff male voice. She sighed. ‘You remind me of another disembodied floating head. We called him Terminus … he had no manners either. Oh, never mind.’

  ‘Identify yourself.’

  ‘I am Elizabeth Vasta. Science Adviser to the President. Umm, who’s the President now?’

  ‘Your identity is confirmed as Elizabeth Vasta.’

  ‘How can you tell that? … Never mind.’

  ‘You aren’t the Science Adviser any more.’

  ‘Well, that’s typical. You’d think they’d have baked me a cake …’ She was thinking slowly, she knew, despite the smart-ass quips. A way to cover when out of her depth, as she had felt many times when dealing with politicians and those who orbited them. As she felt now.

  The craft descended further. The light splashing around her brightened further, and she raised a hand while her faceplate filters adjusted to shield her eyes.

  ‘What date is it, by the way?’

  ‘Stay still. You will be taken on board for decontamination and interrogation.’

  ‘Charming. What date is it?’

  ‘Stay still—’

  ‘You can tell me that much.’ She tried to keep the tension out of her voice.

  ‘The year is 2309. AD, that is.’

  ‘That late …?’

  So. Forty-three years since the arrival of the Cronus at Planet Nine. To her – what, a few weeks? Her own timeline and that of her universe were out of synch, it seemed, and maybe that was no surprise.

  ‘Forty-three years. I wonder if the maintenance company is still looking after my apartment in New LA. I wonder if LA is still there—’

  ‘Stay still.’

  ‘Couldn’t you tell me who you are? I’m a little disoriented down here.’ She tried to keep the pleading, the weakness out of her voice.

  There was a hesitation. ‘I am coordinator of this facility. My name is Oliver Mason. I report to the colony supervisor, then to the government of Earth, then to the Solar System Council.’

  A Solar System Council, now. That was new. Or old, depending on the date; new to her. Sounded like a good idea. And … Mason? Any relative to the President – surely ex-President by now? I knew she had a son …

  ‘Can’t you tell me anything? What about the quasar? Uh, the Galaxy-centre heat source? Can’t you tell me that much?’

  Another hesitation.

  ‘The source was extinguished in the year 2266.’

  Just as Cronus had arrived, as her party had departed to … elsewhere. Terminus had kept his promise.

  ‘I can imagine that much damage must have remained, even after the source was gone. You could tell me that much, surely.’

  A hesitation. ‘The world is … recovering. You will be briefed.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you—’

  ‘Stand still, please.’

  The craft descended slowly, dazzling her with the arc lamps trained on her, so she could see nothing of it at all.

  44

  Two days after the return of Elizabeth Vasta to Planet Nine, Oliver Mason called what he termed a summit meeting.

  And Tiff North’s presence was summarily demanded.

  The meeting was held on what had once been the bridge of the Cronus, before it had been decommissioned – the bridge of a ship Tiff’s father, Jeorg, had once rammed with his own interplanetary vessel. Only to make his peace with the authorities, settle down, find gainful employment back on the Moon – he always was a gifted pilot – and become father to Tiff, a pilot herself, now forty years old. And Tiff, always attracted by the family legend, had travelled out to Nine on one of the many follow-up flights, and as a lunar ambassador had become a senior figure in the governance of the little colony that had developed around the old Cronus – with, thanks to her ancestry, a certain notoriety.

  But despite such ambassadors – and even with the presence of the Conservers’ antique Shadow, the first ship here – Earth was still in de facto control of what had become a strange little colony on the edge of the Solar System.

  Tiff herself had been born some eight years after the collision incident at Saturn, born into an age still preoccupied with the mystery at the edge of the Solar System and beyond: the irruption of Planet Nine, Feathers, the Galaxy-centre quasar. She could just remember President Mason’s fifth and final term. She remembered how those remaining of the Shadow crew had been lauded across the Solar System – some even going virtual for debriefings, even lecture tours of Earth, before receding back into the anonymity of their culture’s deep-space habitats, and eventually back to Nine itself. All save Boyd Hart who had found the lecture circuit too much fun to abandon.

  But that profound mystery had continued to loom over petty human disputes and issues – even as many of those issues, economic, cultural, even concerning the survival of the species, had intensified over the decades precisely because of the fall-out of that mystery.

  And so, helped by the recognition, or notoriety, from her father’s name, Tiff had put in for a placement here herself, in the rough-and-ready science colony that had grown up around Nine – this place whose existence had notoriously shaped her father’s whole life, and, subsequently, hers.

  Which was why Oliver Mason had now included Tiff in this meeting on the Cronus bridge. A meeting, she presumed, to decide how to handle the strange return of Elizabeth Vasta – once science adviser to Mason’s own grandmother, during her terms as President of Earth.

  Also in the meeting Mason had included John Smith, a now very elderly (said to be well over a hundred) and still unofficial ambassador of the group most outsiders still called the Conservers. Another passenger on that fateful flight of the Cronus to Saturn and then to Planet Nine, and another who had never gone home.

  So, as Oliver Mason took the command chair once occupied by a long-retired Emmanuel Caspar, he felt that the main factions of spacegoing humanity could at least be said to be represented by the three of them: the Conservers, the Earth authorities, the lunar capitalists, working together in this age of tensions. Here they were, trying to handle something that had come from outside decades ago, and outside the human world altogether.

  Something represented by Elizabeth Vasta.