Commander of Shoals found himself looking at images of other godkillers, their shattered hulls tumbling through the skies of a thousand worlds.

It was as if something had affected them all instantaneously.

It was only in that same moment that he recalled his final meeting with Trader in Faecal Matter of Animals.

Commander of Shoals whipped around in a half-circle, his enormous bulk smacking into that of the timorous aide, sending the underling tumbling and squawking with fright.

Commander of Shoals’s manipulators twisted with giddy joy and he spun wildly around the chamber, while his support staff fled, unnerved by this most uncharacteristic behaviour.

Trader had done it. The vicious old fool had actually pulled it off.

He had ended the war.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Five Years Later

Corso glanced to the west and saw the Lantern Constellation rising into view as the sun set. He checked his pressure suit’s filters, took one last glance at the ruins that had been his principal occupation for the last few years, and was on his way back to the truck parked nearby, when suddenly Dan called in over the short-range.

‘Got some news, Lucas. Commander Nabakov says the landing party should be here a little after noon tomorrow. When will you get back here?’

‘I’m finished,’ Corso replied. ‘I should reach there just after they land. Thanks for the heads-up, Dan.’

Four and a half years before, the Mjollnir had limped away from the expanding nova, reaching a star system less than a hundred light-years away only after a difficult and hazardous six-month journey, their long-range sensors having picked up a potentially habitable world there. Its atmosphere had proved deadly, but it carried life in the form of hardy flora and small brown-pelted animals, even the largest of which had soon proved to represent no threat, as well as the scattered remnants of a long-abandoned Emissary settlement.

They had named the world Pit Stop, and started the work of repairing the Mjollnir ’s drive system, but it soon became clear this was going to take longer – much, much longer – than any of them might have suspected.

Only lichenlike growths studded the sandy, gritty soil. The sun was far away and dim, even during summer, and at night the ground frosted over. It was nobody’s idea of paradise, therefore, but – as Corso soon realized – it wasn’t really so different from Redstone. He’d found himself getting used to the idea that he might have to spend the rest of his life here.

Once the exploration ship California had come within range of the Mjollnir ’s transceivers, a few weeks before, Corso had known he should feel elated. But, instead, he had felt only an obscure sadness he couldn’t begin to explain.