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The wooziness came as quickly as last time - more quickly.

Her legs folded.

She stayed liked that. Every time she regained consciousness Wanton-poda sprayed her again until she could not tell where the effects of one spray ended and another started. The Extro removed everything from her confinement space, including its own aquarium.

Gradually her mood calmed, making it easier to refuse food.

Siphonophores passed in and out of her cell so frequently that she barely noticed them. They were intertwined with the ghosts and the visions she began to have as a consequence of the sedation.

Time became irrelevant; it also became everything. A single moment would expand and exist for ever, and at other times Wanton-poda would tell her that days had passed.

Once, her mind cleared from the mixture of wake and sleep to the sound of Wanton-poda screaming. The Siphonophores were back, and had gathered around the little cephalopod like ghouls around a corpse.

Mira caught a glimpse of Wanton-poda spinning in an erratic, exhausted fashion as they bounced it from one to the other, each contact producing another scream.

Eventually they left. Wanton-poda bobbled over to its rest tank and sank into the rejuvenation mixture.

Mira slept again and awoke the next time feeling clearer in the head. How long since the Extro had administered the sedation? She glanced out to the bio-lab.

Wanton-poda was still in its tank.

Noticing her movement, it emerged and floated slowly into her containment booth.

‘Wanton-poda seems unwell,’ she said quietly.

‘Mira-fedor speaks.’

‘They have hurt you.’

‘Highness Most Capable: Evolution is not pleased with Mira-fedor’s progress. She does not thrive.’

‘That is my choice, not yours.’

‘That is not relevant.’

Mira forced herself upright. ‘I wish to talk to you.’

Its ear flaps lifted. ‘Mira-fedor must not use aggressive behaviour.’

She nodded. ‘I promise.’

‘Wanton-poda does not understand that meaning.’

‘I will use . . . c-calm behaviour. But t-tell me what they want.’

‘Wanton-poda observes that your child is not thriving. You must ingest more nutrients or it may not survive.’

‘But I don’t want to survive. Not if I am to be kept here and told nothing.’

‘Wanton-poda is confused. It is well acknowledged that humanesques can use resolve to change predicted outcomes but my understanding is that it is usual for that resolve to be utilised for survival, not against it.’

Mira sat straighter, holding her head against a spinning sensation. Lethargy of blood flow. She had lain still for far too long. Her fellala had gone and she wore a thin captive’s robe which showed the bulge in her abdomen.

‘I had thought that Post-Species like you would have retained some connection with their origins. That you would understand. Clearly that is not the case.’

‘Wanton-poda senses criticism in that statement but is not sure. Mira-fedor appears to need something.’

‘If I can’t have my freedom then I must, at least, have knowledge. I am nothing without it. I must make sense of things.’

‘Knowledge.’ The creature twirled gently, a clockwise movement that Mira decided was musing. ‘Wanton-poda will tell you of our worlds. Fear and anxiety emotions are known to be diminished by familiarity.’

‘I need water,’ said Mira.

Wanton-poda floated out through the translucent wall and returned towing a plastic tube in its small gravity field. It dropped the tube in Mira’s lap and waited.

When she’d swallowed the contents, it hovered down closer to her eye level.

At this proximity she could see the cephalopod’s organs beneath the bell-shaped exterior, and a small, dark tumourlike mass she assumed to be the implanted Post-Species Identity. She wondered how well it would survive outside its host. Or indeed why it had chosen such an impractical and seemingly delicate body to inhabit. If she reached quickly towards it she might be able to—

Wanton-poda shot away from her, spinning quickly counter-clockwise, as though it had read her thoughts.

‘Wanton-poda acts fearful. I had thought