today they’ll shake hands. She’s sitting against the wall of the hangar, watching a few boats launching for the gas giant, when Margit signalgesturehintwaves a hand in front of her. “Where were you!” “Out there,” says Darling, pointing through the containment wallfieldbarrier.

“There’s time for that,” says Margit. She’s happyfondpleased and Darling didn’t think she’d be happyfondpleased. She was suspiciousanxiousdoubtful, then outwardreserveddistant, now happyfondpleased. When Darling’s Martian name is put to the chit, she’s even more happy. “Don’t fussvexworry,” says the ex-boat worker.

“I won’t tell a soul. Credits pay for quiet. Do you know what you’re doing?” “Not yet. I’ll learn.” “It’s riskyunlucky.” “I’ve seen. I’d like to see more.” “You know the Lights are changing.” Darling’s surprised to hear someone admit it. To her.

“I know. And maybe that’s what I want to see. I’ll learn.” “You will.” Margit is stableseveresteadfast. “What will you do?” And Margit’s dark eyes flameglowflickerflare. She’s three times Darling’s age, but now seems younger. “Child,” she says, “what won’t I do?”

Eynar pits oot a advert

But Eynar writan his wirds leuks grim.

“Bar”, hid raeds. “Going Concern.”

He checks his skeulbeuk. “Get Away

From It All. Opportunity

For Fantastic Growth.” He adds

exclamaetion mairks, than hits

delete. He adds a dose o hashtags

an thinks on wha might sairch thaim oot.

The text’s gaan oot tae the center o tings:

Alpha Centauri, than Sol, fer Mars.

An than fae thir back intae the haaf.

Muckle orbital fock first,

than muckle grunders wi fantasies

o fock like him. Than peedier pieces,

peedier fock at canno thole

thir haem an canno thole a dreef.

Can Eynar thole a dreef? Weel,

he’s time. Months, likely, aye,

afore thir ony replies. Can aye

chaenge his mynd. He leuks aboot

his Hoose, hids chairs an taebles, waas

hung wi viddies, print-oots, bruck.

He pits a simpler message tae Noor:

“Coman oot. Waant onytheen?”

Eynar sends out an advert

But Eynar writing his words looks grimgrey. “Bar”, it reads. “Going Concern.” He checks his textbook. “Get Away From It All. Opportunity For Fantastic Growth.” He adds exclamation marks, then hits delete. He adds a lot of hashtags and thinks about who might search for them.

The text is heading out to the centre of things: Alpha Centauri, then Sol, for Mars. And then from there back into deep space. Biggreat orbital people first, then biggreat planet-dwellers with fantasies about people like him. Then littler placedistancepartwhiles, littler people who can’t stand their home and can’t stand a crowdherd.

Can Eynar stand a crowdherd? Well, he has time. Months, likely, yes, before there are any replies. Can always change his mind. He looks around his House, its chairs and tables, walls hung with video screens, print-outs, rubbishscrap. He sends a simpler message to Noor: “Coming out. Do you wantneed anything?”

Stoor