Ysbel did her best. She chased up requests for information about Goodwill Saltmire, Joyous Hightower and Solomon Firststar, emphasising their involvement in a wrongful death investigation. Two agencies claimed that they had no records of contacts with the named individuals; three others stalled; S&S continued to blank her. She tried to search in reverse, checking records of known separatists, but had no luck. She found copies of contracts between Development and Works and Joyous Hightower’s cartel, but all of them were straightforward agreements. Strictly business. Every other line of her investigation was likewise dead-ended.

She was in the middle of collating all of this for Mitkos when her link flashed up a red-lined message. Special Operations, the agency directly answerable to Mother, had been alerted to her interest in the map and her connection to Goodwill Saltmire, and was sending someone to interview her.

6.

The Special Operations agent, a slim woman in her sixties with white, woolly hair and a brisk manner, was waiting outside Ysbel’s cabin when she returned from her run the next morning. Like Ysbel, she was a Moonsdaughter: Iryn Moonsdaughter. Like Ysbel, she had been quickened by a combination of genomes stored in Mother’s archives and grown to term in an artificial womb, but Ysbel had been born in the Gathering Place during the planned population boom which had increased the human population to more than twenty thousand souls, while Iryn Moonsdaughter was Second Generation, born on the Moon before First Contact. She accepted Ysbel’s offer of coffee and explained, as they sat by the ashes of last night’s fire, that Ysbel’s queries had raised a flag and Mother had taken an interest in the map and the peculiar little figure.

‘We need to resolve this as quickly as possible, and believe that you can be of some help,’ Iryn said. ‘How would you describe your relationship with the bailiff, Goodwill Saltmire?’

‘Professional.’

‘How many times have you met him?’

‘Just once. As stated in the report of my visit to the scene of the wrongful deaths.’

‘There have been no other meetings that were unreported for whatever reason?’

‘If I had met him again, I would have put it on record.’

‘I’m not accusing you of anything, Ysbel.’

Sitting straight-backed on an upturned log, the woman reminded Ysbel of one of her teachers. Patient, kindly, severe.

‘There was a brief correspondence about the course of the investigation and its outcome,’ Ysbel said. ‘I appended copies of our exchanges to the file. And that was that, until the letter about the map.’

‘You haven’t put the letter and the photograph it contained on record.’

‘They contain sensitive material. I can give you copies.’

‘Good. As to the documents, I’ve already reached out to your superior. He gave me the originals, and some idea of your findings. I need you to write up a formal summary, too.’

‘Of course,’ Ysbel said, trying not to show her dismay.