He was pushed into a square room with what looked like intricate brass Victorian plumbing – hissing pipes, valves and dials with quivering needles – over three of the walls. Something like a brass lampshade built into the ceiling pointed at the fourth wall, which was bare and white.

‘What is this place?’ Ryan asked.

‘The think-scanner,’ said Masst, and the plumbing seemed to hiss a little more spitefully.

‘Is it gonna hurt?’

‘It shouldn’t do, if you don’t resist.’ Masst held one of the pipes and it glowed, as the hissing grew to gurgles. ‘I will ask you questions, and the machine—’

‘Scans what I’m thinking?’

‘That is correct.’ Masst studied him. ‘You are familiar with the technique?’

‘Well, this ain’t my first rodeo, you know?’ Ryan bit his lip. ‘Um, no offence, sorry. I’ve never been to a rodeo.’

Masst was unmoved. ‘Stand back against the wall, please.’

‘I really haven’t! Scan me and you’ll see. I’ve never even ridden a horse.’

‘What is a horse?’ Masst enquired.

‘Er – doesn’t matter.’ Ryan started towards the wall, then hesitated. ‘Look, is my granddad gonna be all right with your … Legate, was it?’

‘We are not animals.’

Ryan would’ve given a wry glance to camera if he could’ve. ‘Yeah, well. See, I … I’m just a boy,’ he said, wide-eyed, remembering what had got Masst rattled last time. ‘I’m scared, I don’t know what’s going on …’

But the centaurion wasn’t buying it this time. ‘If you are innocent as you claim, you have nothing to fear.’ He gestured to the wall. ‘Proceed.’

Ryan did as he was told and stood against the wall. He had a sudden flashback to being eight years old, his nan pushing a ruler down over his hair to mark his height with a pencil. Then, with a chill, he realised the image in his mind was flickering in front of him, a little blurred and in muted colours like a filter was placed over the image.

He felt his insides squeeze at the sight of his happily smiling nan. But then the image hissed away like steam.

‘Everything on this damned ship is so damned old,’ Masst muttered. ‘Should’ve been impounded decades ago.’

‘Why wasn’t it?’ asked Ryan. ‘If chasing after these Wraith things is so important, why are you travelling around in a worn-out old ship?’

‘I am conducting the enquiry.’ Masst was holding the pipework, and gasped when a gout of steam scalded his hand. Nan’s image returned fuzzily. Ryan gazed at it and wished she were still alive. Wished she were with him now.

Masst noticed his attention. ‘She is … family?’

‘She was,’ Ryan corrected him. ‘She’s dead now.’

‘I have lost family too,’ Masst said, lowering his head. ‘My life-partner. My child.’

‘The Wraiths?’