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The conveyor stopped in the recesses of a food depot storage area, and began its loop back to the fumigation chamber. The dim lighting and lack of ‘esque or alien presence confirmed Thales’s impression that it was station evening.

They crept past the automons and large refrigerated containers, and into the warren of narrow service corridors. Eventually one led them out into a busy food court.

Thales hesitated, crouching down behind a row of cleaning trolleys. He gave Mira the credit clip. ‘My face ... I’ll wait here.’

She nodded and returned shortly with warm bread and berry tubes. Thales ate his ravenously but the Baronessa sipped her drink slowly, nervously glancing around.

‘I’ll watch now,’ said Thales, brushing the crumbs from his fingers and standing.

With obvious relief she sank down behind the trolleys and began to nibble on the bread. But her whole body started to tremble, as though the food somehow made her weaker. When she tried to stand her legs collapsed underneath her.

Thales leant down to her. ‘Baronessa?’

‘The child . . .’ she cried, clutching her stomach. ‘Thales! Help me!’

TEKTON

Tekton paused at the door to Lasper Farr’s cabin and reviewed the spatial image of the map he’d committed to memory. Samuelle had been showing him the route on the comm-desk when something had sent her wheezing out of the cabin with unseemly haste.

It had occurred to Tekton right then that using Samuelle’s spare nano-suit might be a clever way to reach the upper levels of the ship’s bow without too much fuss. The Commander’s soldiers were, after all, used to seeing Samuelle in it.

And up to this point, his idea had worked. He’d proceeded unhampered through the ship, disguising his face by pinching the suit’s hood so tight that only his eyes remained visible.

He’d scarcely been given a backward glance by the soldiers running to their docking duties, and now he stood on the brink of entering Farr’s cabin.

According to the suit’s ‘cast link, the Commander had already left the ship. It was possible he’d taken the device with him but Tekton didn’t think that likely. Farr wouldn’t risk having it on station.

Tekton tried the door but it was locked.

Pacing a few steps either way, he checked for observers. Satisfied that no one was close enough to hear, he returned and experimented with the suit’s various add-ons. To his delight it confused the locking system into opening with a simple jamming device. Samuelle had shown a certain flair when she’d had this made.

Farr’s cabin was a replica of Samuelle’s, though larger and furbished with an infinitely superior comm-desk. Clothes hung neatly in a cupboard, and the tightly tucked bed sheets looked unused. The black box artefact that Tekton had seen on Edo sat to one side of the comm.

He wheezed his way to it in Samuelle’s suit and sat down. ‘Balance,’ he said.

The box sprang a beautiful three-dimensional representation of a Lorenz attractor.

Now what? asked free-mind.

Ssshh, I’m thinking, logic-mind replied.

It was the first time since Jelly Hob’s timely rescue of him that his minds had been vocal.

Need another cue word, logic-mind decided.

Hampered by his own limited memory, Tekton was forced to take a risk. Moud, activate and synchronise with ship s AI.

The delay was short.

Good evening, Godhead. I am your new moud. Fully synchronised with your previous assistant.

Yes. Yes. Review of all my conversations with Lasper Farr. Rank verbally emphasised words.

Review shows the greatest verbal emphasis on the words ‘shame’ and ‘balance’, it replied almost instantly.

Ah. Yes. ‘Shame.’

A light beam shot from the undulating image and hit Tekton squarely in the eyes. His surroundings darkened, and he fell into a mind-space occupied by a pond of spinning lights like a shift sphere, though infinitely denser. The lights looped and spun and knitted in an elegant and never-ending fashion.

Fascinating. Logic-mind was entranced. Endless possibilities, dependent on changes made to the parameters